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I grew up in chaos.
My childhood was filled with dysfunction, instability, and mental illness. I learned to survive in a home where I was expected to carry the emotional weight of the adults around me. Addiction, trauma, and unpredictability were my normal and somewhere in the middle of all that, I became the caretaker. I didn’t have time to be a child. I was too busy cleaning up the emotional messes of everyone else, burying my own pain to make it through the day.
At 22, I packed a suitcase and ran. I moved to Italy alone, chasing beauty, culture, and fashion—anything that looked and felt different from the world I came from. I worked in the fashion industry, curated elegance, and lived a life that, on the outside, looked glamorous. I thought I had escaped the poverty, the trauma, the dysfunction. But the truth is: I had escaped everything except myself.
I had never stopped to heal.
Years later, the cracks started to show.
My body began to betray me—hypothyroidism, followed by Graves’ disease. My nervous system was constantly in overdrive, my immune system confused and inflamed. I was exhausted, anxious, and disconnected from my own body. Still, I pushed through… until pregnancy brought me to my knees.
I started having panic attacks. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t breathe. I slipped into undiagnosed postpartum depression, isolated and drowning in silence. The medical system had no answers, just labels. I knew something deeper was at play
That’s when I found Breathwork. Or maybe—it found me.
Breathwork gave me what nothing else could. It taught me how to come home to my body. It gave me access to the grief I had buried for decades. It helped me regulate my nervous system, release old trauma, and finally begin reversing generations of unspoken pain. It showed me how to be with myself in a way I had never learned growing up.
 
 
As my daughter started to grow I could feel that she was struggling, too. I watched her spinning in repetitive rituals, ruminating, battling intense fear and mental loops. Doctor after doctor misdiagnosed her. They gave us surface-level solutions and prescriptions (That I never filled). But my intuition screamed something different. This was OCD.
I trusted that voice. I researched, studied, and eventually diagnosed her myself. And in doing so, I cracked open a new layer of my own healing: I was no longer just healing for me. I was breaking cycles—for her, and for every woman who had been dismissed by a system that doesn’t listen.
Today, I help other's do the same.
I guide people back to their inner pharmacy, their own power to heal, feel, and rise. I teach Breathwork not just as a modality, but as a reclamation. I hold space for people who are burnt out, anxious, dismissed, and done with bypassing. For anyone who is trying to hold it all together while healing themselves and their children. For the children who want to stop bleeding from wounds that aren’t theirs.
Because healing is possible.
Even if it runs in your family. Even if it nearly broke you. Even if it didn’t start with you.
It can end with you.