“Imagine having a palm-full of magical seeds, but the ground is already chock full with growth. The space must be cleared and rested. It must be rained upon and glowed upon by the sun, moon, and stars.
You are that space that must be cleared and rested and rained and glowed upon, so that your wild seed can be planted, so that your wild woman can remember her four-legged self and have room to roam.”
A student of the human experience.
I've spent much of my life exploring what it means to be human.
What makes us who we are. What shapes us, separates us, connects us, and calls us toward becoming more fully ourselves.
My curiosity has led me through medicine and psychology, ancient wisdom traditions and modern science, spirituality, poetry, and the natural world. Along the way, I've become an acupuncturist, a founder, an educator, a writer, and a facilitator of conversations and experiences that invite us to look deeper.
But beneath all those roles is something much simpler: a lifelong fascination with the extraordinary experience of being alive. The willingness to take risks. The commitment to finding every last piece of myself. And helping others to do the same.
I'm drawn to the places where seemingly different worlds meet. Science and spirit. Body and psyche. Masculine and feminine. The ordinary and the sacred.
Much of my work is about building bridges between them—and helping people discover that what they've been seeking may not be something they need to become, but something they're ready to remember.
A little more about me…
I'm a mother, a wife, a lover of language, a student of nature, and someone who has learned that life rarely unfolds according to our carefully constructed plans.
I've known grief and reinvention, the beauty of belonging and the ache of separation. I've learned as much from the experiences that undid me as from those that helped me find my footing.
Motherhood has been among my greatest teachers. So has the natural world, with its endless reminders that life moves in seasons, that transformation has its own intelligence, and that becoming often asks us to surrender what we thought we knew.
I write, teach, facilitate, and practice because I remain endlessly curious about the same questions:
What does it mean to live fully? To know love in all its forms? To inhabit our bodies, our relationships, and our lives with greater awareness?
And what becomes possible when we stop trying so hard to improve ourselves and begin listening more deeply to who we are?