meditation teacher. death doula. advocate. anxious buddhist.
Whatever brought you here: curiosity about your own mind, a loss you're experiencing or carrying, navigating life as it keeps shifting under your feet - this is a space to begin, deepen, or return to a practice that works with complexity instead of fighting against it. I don't work from a one-size-fits-all approach, instead offering more flexible, personalized options grounded in accessibility, not boilerplate standards. More information, more resources, more ways to meet yourself where you are, so you can find what fits the shape of your actual life.
The world isn't fixed, predictable, or permanent, and neither are we.
who am i?
A certified meditation teacher and death doula whose own practice has been about learning to know and accept herself, day by day — and letting go of the impossibility of perfection.
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working with me
1:1 meditation mentoring, grief support, end-of-life planning — all shaped around your individual needs and circumstances
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written musings
Reflections on curiosity, grief, the body, and whatever else is moving through practice lately.
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Interruption Is the Practice
I have a confession to make. After decades of practice, I still have a hard time getting to the cushion some days. My mind gets so creative with what suddenly feels urgent. Of course, I tell myself, I’ll meditate right after I do that thing — but that thing reminds me of another thing, and since I’m already up, I might as well do that other thing, too. Maybe you’re familiar with this mode, even if you’re not a meditator or someone who struggles to get to the cushion. I know I’m not alone in this, because one of the
Sitting in the Fog
I’m perimenopausal, and combined with being neurodivergent, it’s made organization and communication comically difficult. There are the classic “why did I come into this room?” moments a few times a day, but also the struggle of trying to get thoughts, which feel clear initially, to pass through the dense fog of shifting hormones and still make sense on the other side. While the ideas in my mind are perfectly formed, every time I try to put them into words, it’s as if they’ve gone through a kaleidoscope, scattered and only vaguely resembling what I meant to say. If ever there
Where There’s Smoke…
I have an overly sensitive smoke alarm for my nervous system. And honestly, I’m kind of grateful for it. It’s always on the lookout, ready to alert me whenever something feels off. Unfortunately, sometimes it goes off for the tiniest things — like sending an email to the wrong person, running a little late to meet a friend, or the (more than) occasional awkward social interaction. It senses smoke but can’t tell the difference between when it’s burnt toast or the kitchen is on fire. My nervous system is just waiting for disaster and on the lookout for all the