You already know the way. I just help you remember.
How I Work
If you've found your way here, chances are you've already done some work on yourself. You have a practice. Maybe you see a therapist. Maybe you've explored healing in different forms. And still, there's something more. A deeper layer you can sense but haven't quite been able to reach.
That's exactly where I meet you.
I want to say something clearly, because I think it matters. I am not here to heal you. You are not broken. You do not need anything removed, fixed, or cleared by someone outside of yourself. What I offer is something different: a guided return to what you already carry within you. Wholeness is not something I give you. It is something I help you remember.
My work moves from the inside out, and it is ecosomatic at its core, rooted in the understanding that your nervous system and the natural world are deeply connected.
Using yoga nidra, somatic movement, sound, voice, breath, and mindfulness, all practices rooted in traditions that have endured for thousands of years, I create the conditions for your own inner wisdom to become audible again. We work gently and deliberately, titrating sensation, widening your window of tolerance, and building your capacity to be with what arises rather than moving away from it. The tools you encounter in our work together are yours to keep. My intention is never for you to need me, or any practitioner, indefinitely. My intention is for you to leave more resourced, more trusting of yourself, and more connected to your own inner landscape, including the land itself, than when you arrived.
This is trauma-informed work. That means I follow your lead. Your pace, your edges, your agency. These are not just respected here, they are the whole point.
It also means I have spent 15 years not only deepening my study of these practices, but examining my own privilege and positionality, learning from teachers like Hala Khouri, Rev. angel Kyodo williams, Michelle C. Johnson, Seane Corn and Kerri Kelly, so that I can hold space with integrity across difference.
This work is for all women, including trans women and non-binary people, who are ready to slow down and be held.
I believe that the inside out work of personal healing and the outside in work of collective liberation are not separate. When a woman remembers her wholeness, she also remembers her interconnection, with herself, with each other, and with the earth. And from that place, something begins to shift, not just within her, but around her.
This is why I do this work.
Not only for the individual woman sitting across from me in the Barn, but for what becomes possible when more of us are resting, remembering, and returning to ourselves. Especially those of us with privilege and platform. The world needs women who are resourced, who are awake to themselves and to each other, who know that rest is not a reward. It is a form of resistance, and a foundation for building something more just and more beautiful together, for each other and for the planet we all depend on.
You already have everything you need.
Sometimes we just need someone to help us find our way back to remember that.
This is not a group sound bath.
You have options. San Diego is full of sound baths at yoga studios, rooftop pools, hotel patios, parks. Many of them are beautiful. And none of them are this.
A group sound bath holds many people at once. What happens at the Barn holds only you.
When you arrive, you are welcomed, not checked in. You are offered hot tea and honey and given a few minutes to actually land. Then we sit together briefly, just the two of us, and I listen. Not to assess you or move quickly past you, but to genuinely understand where you are that day. What you're carrying. What your body and nervous system are asking for. That conversation shapes everything that follows.
A session at the Barn is not one thing. It is an intuitive weaving of yoga nidra, sound healing, somatic awareness, and breathwork, drawn together in the moment, specifically for you. The space is yours completely. No strangers beside you, no holding yourself together for anyone else's comfort. You can cry. You can be still. You can let something move through you that has been waiting a long time for permission.
The instruments I work with, including a 100-year-old Burmese temple gong, are played specifically for your body, your breath, your rhythm. Not for a room of twenty. For you.
And when it is over, we close with intention. You leave through the garden, feet on earth, held by something you may not have words for yet.
This is not a sound bath. This is rest that actually reaches you.