I built this because I needed a map.

Born into survival mode. An absent father. A mother carrying the weight of illness — radiation at one year old, cancer at seventeen. I was the child who held it all, and I learned early that love meant sacrifice, that safety came from the masculine, and that the masculine couldn't be trusted to stay.

I built a business and lost it. Money moved through my hands and disappeared — some of it blocked before I understood why. I lost pregnancies. I sat in relationships that cost more than they gave. My body kept score: illness after illness, panic attacks, sleep that wouldn't come, eight years of depression, burnout that finally stopped me. I landed in Ibiza in 2015 — a new country, a new chapter — still running the same survival program in a different postcode.

The moment everything changed wasn't a breakthrough — it was a recognition. The pattern wasn't a character flaw. It was a nervous system response, an ancient survival code my body had been running since before I could speak. And a code that old can still be rewritten.

Live. Love. Lead. Not a framework I invented, but the path I walked, in this order, because the body doesn't skip steps: healing the body first — nervous system, cycle, hydration. Then the relational wounds — the father wound, the lineage, learning what it means to stand as a sacred mirror for a partner instead of disappearing into one. Then, only then, stepping into mission.

I'm teaching what I had to learn the hard way. Becoming the woman I needed when I was falling apart. Not a guru with it all figured out — a wayshower who's still walking it, one turn of the cycle at a time.

Before the Wound, there was her. A mother who carried radiation at one year old and cancer at seventeen, who taught me — without ever meaning to — that a woman's body can hold impossible things and still keep loving. On April 7th, 2021, I lost her. This is the piece I'm proudest of, and the one I most want you to read.