I am someone who embodies what I teach.

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I was born in England, raised around people who could see what wasn't visible to everyone else. The first spirit I ever saw was my grandfather's — though that was only after he'd already shaped so much of who I'd become. He was an undertaker by trade, gathering people after they'd passed and building many of the coffins himself, holding a deep reverence for both life and death. On his holidays he traveled through Southern England repairing churches damaged in the war — an extraordinary carpenter, restoring what had been broken. His other love was his garden: I remember the roses grown from cuttings out of the Queen's own garden, after he'd walked her grounds with the Legion and pruned them himself. He was proud of that, and humble about everything else. He worked his whole life toward a retirement he never reached — he died two years before it began. I was seven. Looking back, I understand now that he was the first safe masculine presence I ever knew. His death changed the trajectory of my life in ways I'm still understanding.

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As a child, before we moved to Canada, I rode — and fell off — a lot of large hunter-jumpers, 16 hands and up. I carried concussion syndrome for years without knowing it. I grew up, had kids, and assumed my anger, disregulation and rage came mostl from witnessing my father's behaviour— some of it did, but I now know some of it came from the brain injuries themselves.

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As an adult, spirituality got complicated for a while. My stepmother was a psychic who would share what she saw of my past lives, often unasked — it took me a long time to understand that as a boundary crossed, not a gift given. I explored different religions and beliefs trying to find one that I resonated with and also one that people actually lived on the day-to-day instead of just when people were watching.  When my children were young, I took a Reiki Level One class, and it gave language to what I'd already been doing instinctively. Level Two and Master came quickly, then teaching. But something was still missing — I've always been drawn to many modalities of connection and learning, and Reiki was one thread, not the whole cloth.

 

Then came the opportunity to work with Ayahuasca medicine. That is where the real healing happened — the beginning and ongoing recognition of self, ownership of old patterns, and confrontation with the toxic masculine I encountered even within some of the facilitators running those spaces. Not because of the medicine, instead because of my own healing and desire for something more... more connection... more understanding, I ended my first marriage. I then moved through another relationship I can question now but understand as necessary at that time — I was still healing from relational trauma, past and present, and from a lifetime of making myself invisible, of putting myself last.

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Then I met my soul-mate, my husband. When people ask how long we've been together, the honest answer is: In which life? This one, it's been almost eight years — but I know we've traveled together across many. The work though, isn't about the other lives; it's about this one — how do we meet each other now, with these personalities, these bodies, this history? That meant learning to listen, to my own body and to his.

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Four years ago, I trained extensively to work with more accessible psychedelics, and today I co-host groups and individual journeys with these medicines alongside him. My work is woven through with Reiki, earth medicine — stone, element, and plant work — and my training as a Druid, having just completed the Bardic grade and stepping into Ovate, running Pagan Sabbath circles honoring the Wheel of the Year.

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None of this that I write comes from a book, or from what's trending. I was doing soul retrieval and past life trauma work when people still looked sideways at it. All that I share is lived experience, and it continues to be lived. Living in sacredness is challenging — old patterns still surface, again and again. What I teach, I have walked, and I'm still walking it.