Helping you reconnect to self-trust and possibility in the midst of challenge
The moment things changed
It started abruptly back in 2019 as we were in the midst of moving countries (again) with our young boys. For as long as I remember I’d always had the internal hum of anxiety that I couldn’t quite shake. I had my coping mechanisms of course, some helpful and some not so helpful. But this time it was different.
The anxiety steadily became full-blown panic attacks, which led to insomnia - pacing the house at all hours of the night flooded with a deep sense of fear that wouldn’t leave. Within a month I was unable to work, parent or do much of anything except lie on the sofa fizzing with panic - I desperately wanted it to stop and I had no idea what to do.
My body was a stranger, throwing out debilitating symptoms and not being able to perform the most basic of tasks. I was desperate to ‘fix’ it and make it better - surely there was a blood test that would reveal something, a thing I could do to magic it all away?
We heal through attuned support, kindness and connection
When we arrived in France, the country that we’d call home, we lived with my mother-in-law. Her house became my sanctuary, I was cooked for, cared for and loved gently back to life. I was allowed to find my own pace, not rushed and pushed into feeling better.
Every day I took myself on the same circular countryside walk, encouraged by the gentle changes in the landscape as the seasons progressed. My recovery wasn’t quick, it mirrored the pace of nature. I refound myself through the steady beat of connection - to myself and in relationship to others and the wider world.
A new way forward
As I slowly came back to life my curious heart began to explore the ‘why’ behind my collapse. I learned more about the effects of trauma and discovered the language of my nervous system. I started to understand my physiological symptoms and how they were tied to all the ways my loving body had fought to protect me over the years.
It was like putting together a vast jigsaw puzzle and it helped me comprehend the ecosystem of me in a very different way.
I could offer myself compassion, kindness and understanding instead of berating my body for flooding me with strange reactions and symptoms.
Until my burnout, being in my body had been the thread of connection that followed me through my life. As I learned this new language of my body’s responses and reactions I started to understand why.
My journey of recovery led me to explore the world of somatics and neuroscience more deeply. My training and expertise grew in the direction of what I do now - you can find out more about my path by clicking below.
Your body is the place where life happens,
being in our bodies brings us to life
Life is complex - it can be magical and mysterious, beautiful and painful. And life happens in and through our bodies.
Because of this how we relate to our bodies and how we feel in them can also be beautiful, painful and mysterious.
Your body is the place of your pain, hunger and fear. It’s where you experience loneliness, heartache, anxiety and illness. Your body is here even when it feels hard to be here.
Bodies are also where we feel alive, and vital. Filled with wonder and brimming with possibility. They’re where we experience our creativity, self-expression, connection and love. Our bodies are here, especially when here is a place we want to be
My story
When I was in primary school the thing I remember loving most (apart from my rabbit) was disco dancing classes in the local school hall. I wore shiny leotards and sparkly legwarmers that my mum made me and I felt free.
I was usually an anxious and introverted child but for some reason when I danced that all evaporated - I could access a part of me that didn’t overthink, and I got lost in the freedom and joy of my body - it felt earth-shatteringly powerful.
Over time that sense of freedom in my body dissipated. The roles society asked me to play encouraged me to take up less space. To question how I moved through the world. My body felt like a ‘thing’ that wasn’t towing the line - too big, soft, too many messy emotions. I learnt to control it and fix it’s ‘problems’ so I could fit into what society deemed acceptable.
Our culture supports this disconnection we feel from our bodies -It tells us certain bodies are allowed to do things that other bodies aren’t. That there’s a correct way to be a body. It chops us into parts that are acceptable or not acceptable. We’re encouraged to feel less, prioritising our intelligence above all else - our bodies are just meat puppets carrying us around - This is disembodiment.
Embodiment (and somatics) invites us to heal this body-mind divide, encouraging us to learn how to be with our body in its wholeness, finding a way to welcome all parts of ourselves, full spectrum. It considers our social context as well as our physicality. It allows us to take up the space that is rightfully ours.
What brings me to life
My passion is supporting people on this journey. So you can create a loving relationship with yourself, awaken your strength and wisdom and feel at home in your body. So you can rekindle self-trust, grow capacity and experience a renewed sense of possibility in all moments of life.
I love the work I do because this is my work too. For a long time, I lived my life headfirst and bypassed my body. I pushed and forced and numbed and coerced myself into the shapes I believed I should be taking up.
As someone who has lived through burnout and acute trauma, learning to compassionately welcome all parts of myself and speak my body's language has changed my life, and I don't say that lightly.
Now, I use my training, education and experience to help people get closer to themselves and unpack the layers of habits and conditioning, so they can hear what their body is telling them and know who they really are.
On a personal note
The acute trauma of losing my mum to cancer when I was 21 created a core of disconnection. Being in my body was unbearable - it was where the grief lived, and I had no idea what to do with it except push it far away.
I spent a long time avoiding my feelings, numbing the pain and diving into hedonism. I didn’t know how to ride the waves of what I was feeling. I just wanted it to stop.
It sounds dramatic but recovering the connection to my body saved me.
A dear friend dragging me to a yoga class meant I started to discover a way to be alongside what felt impossible to hold and reminded me that joy could exist in my body again. I found a space where I could remember that my body was a place of refuge, not just despair.
Of course, my broken heart wasn’t miraculously healed, but once a week, I had a sanctuary to meet my big and heavy emotions - the sadness that sat in my belly, the longing I felt for my mum - and not push them away.
It started a journey of meeting myself over and over - one that I’m still on today. A journey of exploring and understanding how we can sit alongside our messy, beautiful humanness.
I never thought I would feel anything but raw grief around my mum’s death, but I learned something I now hold close in my work: we don’t erase our pain, we grow around it.
There is hope, connection and possibility on the other side of the hardest things. We can soften, and heal. We can establish trust in ourselves again when we feel like it has been lost and we can do it without bypassing, forcing or pushing past the reality of our pain.
Healing happens within the context of our lives, it unfolds slowly, taking into account the complexity of being human and allowing space for our physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual well-being.
My continuing journey has woven together somatic and cognitive therapies, ceremony, emotional emancipation, and the ongoing work of dismantling how I’ve internalized systems of oppression. Each of these threads has helped me reclaim my sense of self - not just within my own body, but within the collective.
This is the foundation of the work I do now. Helping others ride the waves when the storms get high. Creating space to find the anchor of the body, gently reminding them that support and connection are here even when it feels far away.
Not because forcing ourselves into feeling is better. But because some part of all of us knows - despite all of our pain - the hard moments are what allow love to exist.