I'm a nervous system specialist, a Cognomovement practitioner, an author, and, depending on the day, a bit of a detective. Tell me where it hurts and I'll help you figure out what it's really about.
Here's the claim I stand behind: I can often find in about five minutes what talk therapy can circle for years. Not because therapy is bad. I spent 13 years with two good therapists, and I got real value from both. It's because talking about a pattern and finding where it actually lives in the body are two very different things.
Here's the real me, so there are no surprises. I'm warm and I'm direct, and fair warning: I have a favorite four-letter word (it begins with F) that I use with love, precision, and a genuinely impressive amount of range. It's a versatile little word. If a coach who swears isn't your thing, I'm probably not your person.
But if you want someone who can hold space like a boss and won't flinch when you bring her your worst, the messiest, the most tender, the "I've never said this out loud" parts, that is exactly where I do my best work. Nothing you bring me is too much. I've lived my own version of it, and I am not afraid of yours.
In 2018 I had a knee replacement that was supposed to fix my pain. Instead it kept me on crutches, handed me a CRPS diagnosis, and set off a fresh flare of the back pain I'd been carrying since a car accident in 1997. I was told the pain might just be my life now.
It is not my life now. In June 2024, four months shy of 50, I ran the Portland Half Marathon. No surgeries fixed the pain. Learning to work with my nervous system instead of against it did. That whole story, the messy middle included, is my book From Crutches to Half Marathon.
Before all this, I spent 24 years in high-pressure corporate work (cybersecurity sales, closing a million-dollar deal on crutches, running on adrenaline and calling it a personality). I moved from Colorado to Maine in 2020 to be closer to my parents. I hoped for a few easy years with them. Life had other plans, and I got here just in time to help. Turns out that's its own kind of gift.
Coaches, healers, founders, and high performers who look completely fine from the outside and feel a low hum underneath that never fully quiets.
The specific ache is different for each person, but it rhymes. It's the feeling that nothing you accomplish is ever quite enough, and neither are you. It's holding space for everyone else while running on fumes. It's your stomach dropping before your brain reads the price. It's being told to be more visible while your body insists that being seen is dangerous. It's doing everything right and wondering why your body didn't get the memo.
None of that is a character flaw. It's a nervous system doing exactly what it learned to do. And what's learned can be unlearned.
You are not broken. You are becoming.
If any of this sounds like you, the best first step is free.
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