My Story

When my partner was diagnosed with cancer, we were catapulted into a radically different world—one made of appointments, protocols, and acronyms. It was a world with very little space for breath. Everything became clinical. Everything was urgent.

There was no guide for the emotional, practical, or spiritual impact of what was happening to us. There was no space for the human story beneath the medical one.

Even together, it was almost too much to hold. And I remember thinking—over and over—how does anyone do this alone?

That question stayed with me. And over time, it evolved into something deeper:

Where are the spaces that honour illness, dying, and death as human passages—worthy of reverence, presence, and love?

I’ve been searching for those spaces ever since—and helping create them.

Over the past decade, I’ve trained as a Soul Midwife with Felicity Warner and studied contemplative care with Sensei Koshin Paley Ellison and Sensei Chodo Robert Campbell at the New York Zen Center. I’ve volunteered with Macmillan and Marie Curie. I’ve walked alongside people in homes, hospitals, and hospices—at kitchen tables, beside beds, in silence, in witness.

And through all of it, I’ve learned that serious illness is not just a medical event. It’s a profound reckoning—with time, identity, memory, relationships, and meaning. It’s a call to presence. And it asks more of us than we’re often allowed space to give.

So now, I offer that space.

Not as a therapist. Not as a clinician. But as a Soul Agent: someone who offers practical clarity, emotional steadiness, and sacred attention to the parts of life that medicine can’t always reach.

When things are foggy, I bring structure. When your mind is overwhelmed, I lend mine. I help name what matters and protect it. I walk beside you—quietly, steadily, with reverence for whatever this time is asking of you.

I respect all that feels difficult and painful, while offering steadiness, soul, and softness with spine.

I’m a qualified yoga teacher. I paint Ensō circles as a spiritual and creative practice. I write morning pages with devotion. I dance to feel into the corners of my body, and I love, love, love the sound of laughter—my own and anyone else’s. I delight in the tiniest things: a perfect coffee, a curl of steam, the moment light shifts on the wall.

These are the things that keep me rooted in love, beauty, and meaning.

These are the things I bring with me when I walk beside you.