The Living Tapestry of my Life Pilgrimage

The foundational roots of my diverse training were cultivated during a deeply formative ten-and-a-half-year period living in Germany and Switzerland.

Rather than unfolding in a linear chronological order, my studies during this European chapter existed as deeply interconnected, overlapping threads, with various masters and modalities cross-pollinating alongside one another.

I had first left Canada for Germany at eighteen, following a deep call in my soul that I couldn't fully explain at the time. I only knew that I needed to leave the life I knew and follow something that felt bigger than me. From there, I followed the opportunities that opened.

Then my twenties changed everything.

There were experiences that shattered me and experiences that opened me spiritually—sometimes the two happening at the same time. I was called to look deeply at myself and at Life, and to find my way in a life I no longer recognized. I wanted to understand why there had been so much pain and conflict, what was happening inside me, and how to live in this world with everything I was experiencing and beginning to see.

It was through that search that I found my way into yoga, meditation, healing, and the teachers and practices that would become part of the next ten years of my life.

My studies took me throughout Thailand, Nepal, Israel, Turkey and Europe, while my life in Germany and Switzerland became the ground from which many of these studies overlapped and deepened. Much of this learning unfolded through intensive trainings and modules spread across a number of years, with space between them to explore other teachings, practices and experiences.

Beginning in 1990, I entered three years of intensive trainings in the cosmic and earth-centered wisdom of the Andes with my Peruvian elder, Inca shaman, healer and musician Inti Cesar Malasquez. From 1995 to 1999, I undertook a four-year series of training modules in psychotherapeutic massage under massage master Dipamo Wehry at the Zentrum des Zyklones. Alongside these studies, my somatic exploration continued through Five Rhythms Ecstatic Dance and Biodanza with Giomar Morales.

Running alongside these concurrent somatic arts, a quiet, profound anchor of my subtle-energy training took root in Berlin-Wedding under the guidance of Carol Groedeke, a registered nurse and hidden master of vibrational medicine. Over six years of intensive in-person study that overlapped with my other practices, I was initiated as one of very few teachers of Heart Light Energi Arbeit (Heart Light Energy Work). Honouring Carol’s traditional way, I have practiced this heart-centered modality almost every day for more than thirty-two years. I have always kept this particular lineage entirely separate from my public business. It is never advertised, carries no fee, and is offered strictly by donation when someone finds their way to me.

In this same rich, overlapping era in Europe, my path expanded into the elemental dimensions of spirit through six years of study with Emaho, a master who beautifully synthesized Tibetan mysticism with First Nation teachings. From Emaho, I integrated a deep reverence for the earth, the invocation of higher frequencies, and a profound alignment with the natural elements.

This capacity for quiet presence was also recognized in Berlin-Kreuzberg by the Venerable Zen Master Young San Seong Do at the International Zen-Temple. Upon our first audience, Master Seong Do joyfully exclaimed that I possessed a “Big Buddha Nature” and personally invited me to join his students. When the time came for me to leave Berlin for Canada, he honoured me by wearing his formal robes to share a private farewell dinner.

Woven into these same transformative European years, my education into the mechanics of the physical and subtle body was further sharpened through travelling and studying with Hillel Kraus and immersing myself in Martial Dance—a somatic integration of Contact Improvisation, Feldenkrais, Tai Chi and Aikido.

During a deeply challenging chapter of my life, I found my own medicine through the power of sound. Inspired by the story of Mohawk activist and flautist Danny Beaton, who had found healing by returning to nature with a flute, I purchased a simple five-dollar Bolivian bamboo flute. For nine years, I played by myself in the quiet sanctuary of nature, praying and channeling my own emotional healing through the wind instrument. A few years into this solo journey, a friend gifted me a First Nations cedar flute.

When I eventually relocated to Vancouver, British Columbia, this raw, self-taught medicine caught the attention of local Indigenous communities. I was adopted into a First Nations circle, where an Elder listened to me play and said, “You have played enough as your own medicine; now it is time to play for the people.” From that moment forward, I was invited to share my flute medicine at sacred ceremonies, potlatches and sweat lodges, where I also served as a fire keeper. This path further evolved when I became a powwow drum singer with Green Earth Turtle Man, regularly weaving my flute melodies into the community’s gatherings.

One day, a music producer who had heard of my ceremonial flute work and my early pioneering practice with crystal singing bowls reached out to collaborate. This partnership ultimately led to the recording and production of two of my own professional sound-healing albums, which are now available across all major global streaming platforms.

Synthesizing my background in sacred somatic movement, in 2005 I developed my own expressive dance modality, Hula Akamai – Wisdom Dancing. This framework invites both the somatic release of trauma and deep-held emotional patterns, guiding participants into a space of soul sovereignty and empowerment by embodying core life wisdoms through expressive dance.

In 2013, I formally studied the HeartMath system, bridging my ancient, heart-centered energy traditions with the modern physiological understanding of heart rate variability (HRV) and heart-brain coherence. My path also led me into the traditional Hawaiian lineages of Harry Uhane Jim and his wife, Sila Bray, daughter of Kahuna David “Daddy” Bray. Through this lineage, I was entrusted with the ancient arts of Lomilomi, traditional healing touch, and Ho'oponopono. Through this sacred connection to the islands, I also welcomed the medicine of the 'Ohe Hano Ihu, the traditional Hawaiian nose flute, into my sound work and the absolute spirit of Aloha into my life.

When I think about where all of this really began, I go back to a little girl riding her bicycle to the rocks beside Lake Ontario.

I would have been about ten or eleven when I started going there. There were particular rocks by the water that became my place. I would ride my bike there by myself and sit. Sometimes I would think. Sometimes I would cry. Sometimes I would reflect on what was happening in my life. I would talk to God. I would listen. Somehow, being there beside the water and in nature helped me find my way.

Those rocks are still there.

My father knows exactly which ones they are. He has sent me pictures of them over the years, and whenever I return to Ontario, I still go back and visit them. Those rocks have seen me through every phase of my life, even when I didn't come back for many years.

Nature saved my life, that's for sure.

Long before I had teachers or practices or understood anything about healing, nature was where I went. It was my sanctuary. It was where I could be with myself, with God, and with Life. Somehow, I knew where to return.

There was already a lot happening in the life of that little girl.

My mother had left when I was seven. Six months later, my sister was in a devastating horseback-riding accident and remained in a coma for almost half a year. My father had to work, and for about a year and a half I was shuffled from neighbour to neighbour.

Everything that was my world was gone.

The bullying at school began almost immediately after the other children heard about my sister's accident. There were cruel jokes about what had happened to her. Children called her a cripple. I was already trying to navigate everything happening at home, and school became another place where I didn't feel safe or understood.

I had difficulty focusing at school. Instead of anyone recognizing that I was a little girl whose world had just fallen apart, my lack of focus was interpreted as misbehaviour or as something being wrong with me. Eventually, I was placed in a special education class.

What strikes me now is that nobody seemed to stop and ask what I needed. Nobody considered what all of this had done to me. Today, with what I understand about trauma, I can look back and see a little girl who was in shock.

Back then, we didn't talk about trauma the way we do now. Things happened, they were pushed under the carpet, and children were expected to carry on.

So I carried on.

Not long after all of this happened, when I was around seven or eight, I was watching television one day when a show came on about Jesus. I didn't grow up in a religious family, but when the show said to call on Jesus, I did.

I don't remember exactly what I said. I only remember calling out in the way a little seven- or eight-year-old girl would, and as I did, I cried.

Then I felt this warmth around me.

I felt soothed. I felt comforted.

I didn't really understand what God was. I only knew that I had felt something, and I wanted to understand it. I began looking for that connection and for how I could return to that feeling and stay connected to it. That search became a pilgrimage that has continued throughout my life.

I can see now that these were also the years when a survival identity began to develop—the identity I would spend so much of my young adult and adult life healing and finding my way out of.

Fortunately, in the middle of all of that, I had nature.

I had those rocks.

I had the water.

And I had that connection I had felt to Jesus in my heart.

Whenever I would go into nature—whether I was sitting on my rocks by the water, watching the sunset, sitting among the trees in the little forest, or simply finding somewhere outside where I could be—I always felt more quiet and settled. I felt a similar love, a similar connection. It was the closest I came to that feeling of warmth and connection I had experienced when I called on Jesus that morning.

Nature became my sanctuary.

Nature became my church.

It still is today.

This is where one of the deepest threads of my life began to show itself.

By the time I was thirteen, that little girl had become a goth punk.

From about thirteen until just after I turned sixteen, I spent periods of time on and off the streets. I hung out with street kids, skinheads and kids with mohawks. I panhandled. I slept in stairwells, stayed out all night at clubs, and sometimes slept in hotel bathrooms. I would go home and then leave again. I wasn't continuously homeless. I was a kid who was deeply rebelling against my life and my family and trying to find some sense of who I was.

Yet there was something else there too.

For the first time, I found real connection with other kids who were living on the fringe. After years of bullying and struggling to feel that I belonged within my family and school environments, I had found kids who felt more like family.

I found connection.

There has always been a rebel in me. I question things. I want to understand for myself. Even as a young girl, I was observing the world and asking questions about what I saw. Around twelve or thirteen, I was writing essays against racism and about why people should be allowed to love whomever they wanted to love. I was also discovering Joseph Campbell and the Hero's Journey and becoming fascinated by the idea of life as a journey.

At around the same age, another part of me was quietly exploring spirituality. I found a book about an earth-based spiritual tradition that contained a self-blessing ritual, and I began practicing it privately.

So there I was: a goth-punk kid spending time on the streets, questioning everything, finding belonging among other kids on the fringe, while privately reading about spirituality, blessing myself and trying to understand Life.

Just after I turned sixteen, the pain I was carrying became too much, and I tried to take my own life.

I had taken the pills when I heard a voice say very clearly:

I like to think it was my guardian angel.

Whatever it was, I listened. I spit the pills out and went home.

About a year later, I enrolled in a self-development modelling course. At the time, I was simply trying to find a way to bring myself back into Life. I began modelling and continued until I left for Germany at eighteen.

I had no idea where any of this was leading.

I was just taking the next step I could see.

At eighteen, I left Canada for Germany.

I didn't leave with some grand plan for what my life was going to become. I followed a deep call in my soul that I couldn't fully explain. I simply knew I needed to go.

Living in Europe opened an entirely new world to me. I was like a kid in a candy store. There was so much available to explore—spirituality, philosophy, natural healing, different ways of understanding ourselves and Life—and I soaked it all in.

It was food for my soul.

For so much of my youth, I had felt alone and isolated with this part of myself. I had kept my spirituality and so many of my deeper thoughts about Life largely to myself. Suddenly, I was living in a world where I could explore those questions, where there were people talking about these things, books and teachings and practices I could immerse myself in.

It felt like the ultimate soul food.

All the dormant seeds in me began to blossom.

Then an experience that happened when I was 20 while travelling Thailand, in between my seasonal working contracts, changed the course of my life.

I went through an experience that was deeply traumatic and, at the same time, something in me opened spiritually in a way I had never experienced before.

At the time, I experienced those as two very different things. On one hand, I was shattered. On the other, I was seeing through things I had previously taken for granted. I was having insights and experiences I didn't know how to explain. It was as though veils had been pulled away and I was seeing myself and Life differently.

The problem was, I had absolutely no idea how to hold any of it.

At that time, I had already started living in Switzerland, and when I returned from Thailand, I was experiencing dissociative amnesia. I remember looking at my own belongings and not recognizing them as mine. I didn't recognize the life I had been living. I was having what would probably have been called a nervous breakdown.

I was lost.

Somehow, I still managed to find a job and a new apartment. I showed up for what I needed to show up for, although even now I don't really know how I did it. Every night when I came home, I would cry and cry and cry. I felt so broken.

Then one night, there was a knock at my door.

It was a neighbour named Davide Signorotti who lived two floors above me. He had been hearing me crying night after night and had come downstairs carrying a white rose.

He told me he just wanted to make sure I was okay. He said I didn't have to be alone, and if I needed somebody to talk to, he was there.

Davide became my friend.

I was deeply touched. This stranger who had heard my sadness through the walls and simply came down and knocked on my door became, in his own way, a lifesaver.

At that time, one of the few people I felt deeply connected with was my friend Brigitte. She owned a metaphysical bookstore called Andromeda and, even before I left for Thailand, had been introducing me to meditation and opening doors into other areas of spirituality.

What confused me so deeply through all of this was the contrast I was living. When I was in nature, I could still feel myself. I could feel the love and connection I had always found there, and I felt enlivened by the spiritual insights and experiences that were opening in me.

Then I would go back into the world and have to interact with people, and it was as though all of that shut down.

I didn't know how to be me in the world anymore.

In a way, Davide knocking on my door was helping me enter the world again, little by little.

The question wasn't only, What am I seeing? What am I understanding?

It was becoming: How do I live it?

How do I bridge what I know into how I actually live?

How do I bring an insight into my body, into my choices, into the way I meet my emotions and relationships and Life?

I didn't have the language for it then, but I was beginning to discover something that would become central to my work decades later:

During that time, I frequented Brigitte's store almost every day. I would go to Andromeda for support and simply to connect with someone who had known me before everything happened.

She could see how deeply dissociated I was and became concerned about me. Her husband, Peter, was a master of psychotherapeutic bodywork, and she asked him if he would help me.

That was how I met Peter.

Together, these two remarkable people gathered around me.

They helped me. They taught me. They gave me countless hours of their time and never charged me a penny.

Peter started giving me regular two- to three-hour bodywork sessions, one to two times a week.

During one of those sessions, he was working with a particular point on my foot when suddenly I was pulled deeply inward and began wailing and crying with an anguish I didn't consciously understand.

Peter stopped what he was doing, put his arm around my shoulder and said, “I don't know who did this to you, but somebody really, really hurt you, and we're going to help you to heal this.”

Emotions, feelings and Pain had risen out of my body that I didn't even know was there.

When the session was over, I was in awe. It had blown my mind. I had so many questions.

Oh my gosh. How did that happen? How did that work?

Peter began explaining the body-mind connection to me and how emotions could be held in the body.

Massage itself wasn't new to me. I had always had a natural gift for it. Even as a little girl, I would massage people at family gatherings, and they would give me a quarter to rub their shoulders.

I had also received reflexology as a child because I had asthma. A neighbour of ours practiced reflexology, and while she worked on me, she would teach me things about what she was doing. So there had already been this familiarity with massage and working with the body from the time I was very young.

What Peter was showing me was something I had never known.

Please teach me. I want to learn.

So Peter did.

He began teaching me alongside the work he was doing with me. I was fascinated.

What was happening in my body?

How could touching a point on my foot open something I didn't even know I was carrying?

How could something I had no conscious awareness of still be held so powerfully within me?

Brigitte was opening other doors for me too. She introduced me to dowsing, traditional tarot, energy healing, Bach flower remedies, aromatherapy and crystals.

I wanted to understand it all.

My own healing kept opening questions, and those questions kept opening doors. The more I experienced, the more curious I became about the relationship between our bodies, our emotions, our energy and our inner worlds.

That curiosity eventually led me to the four years of formal study in psychotherapeutic bodywork mentioned above.

First I needed the medicine. Then I became fascinated by the medicine. Then I asked to understand the medicine. Then I studied it.

That fascination with the body began opening another doorway for me: movement.

As a little girl, I loved to dance.

I studied ballet, jazz and tap until I was twelve, but what I really loved was putting music on in our living room and just dancing. I would dance my heart out until I was red in the face.

Nobody called it improvisational dance then. I certainly didn't. I just loved to dance.

I remember entering a school talent show and dancing to Flamethrower by the J. Geils Band. I had a purple-and-white sequined bodysuit and a pink scarf that became my flamethrower.

I didn't choreograph the dance.

I just danced.

When I finished, I felt happy and excited and exhilarated.

Then I came down into the stadium to sit with the other students, and one of the girls who regularly bullied me, Kathy Saddleberger, looked at me and said, “Well, that didn't make any sense.”

It crushed me.

When I look back now, I have to give that little girl some kudos. I was already being bullied, and it had taken courage to get up there in front of everyone and simply dance.

After that, I felt ashamed, and I stopped dancing.

I had experienced a little bit of knee pain around that time, and that became the story I told people for years: Oh, I stopped dancing because of a knee injury.

Then, when I was twenty-two and visiting Toronto, I attended a World Healing Meditation and met a woman there who invited me to an improvisational Martial Dance class.

I hadn't danced since that experience at the talent show, except for in night clubs.

I went to the class and danced until I was red as a tomato.

I loved it.

Dancing came back into my life.

Martial Dance brought together Contact Improvisation, Feldenkrais, Tai Chi and Aikido, but there was another dimension to it that fascinated me. It was also psychotherapeutic. We were meeting ourselves through movement, tuning into our bodies and exploring what happened within us as we moved.

Another layer opened up for me.

Martial Dance was also about exploring relationship through movement—our relationship with ourselves and our relationship with another person. We learned how to remain ourselves while moving with someone else, how to stay connected to our own bodies while also feeling and responding to the person we were dancing with.

There wasn't simply one person leading and another following. We were learning to tune into something beyond either one of us individually—to listen for the movement arising between us and allow ourselves to move with what was coming through.

It became another way of learning how to be in relationship with myself, with another person, and with Life.

Another beautiful experience I had during that Ontario visit was attending my first goddess workshop, where I was introduced to crystal singing bowls.

As a little girl, I had loved singing, but after being laughed at, I had stopped.

During the workshop, a woman began playing one of the crystal bowls, and something extraordinary happened. The sound seemed to move right through me, and all of a sudden, I began toning and singing spontaneously.

I had never done anything like that before. I had never even been exposed to that kind of singing. Yet there I was, making these beautiful, almost angelic sounds, just vowels and tones flowing out of me.

Everyone was looking at me, saying, “Whoa! Where did that come from?”

I was thinking exactly the same thing!

Later, when I shared my singing with a friend, she said, “Oh my God, we've got to record that!”

I was still very shy about sharing my voice, even years later when I recorded my first album. For a long time, singing was something I did privately, for myself, as prayer.

Together with playing my flute, it became another beautiful way of connecting with my soul, with God, with Life and Love.

Not long after discovering Martial Dance, the flute and my voice, my life changed again.

In May 1993, an unknown technicality in my application led to me being forced to leave Switzerland. In less than twenty-four hours, I lost everything I had built there over nearly four years.

I was terrified. I had no idea what I was going to do or how I was going to find my way forward.

So I prayed.

Prayer had always been part of my life, although never in a religious sense. I've never been religious. My connection has always been directly with God, Great Spirit, the greater intelligence of Life.

When I look back at my writings from that time, they're actually quite beautiful. I can see how frightened I was, how uncertain everything felt, yet there was this conviction running through my words that I would be okay. I didn't know how, and I couldn't see the way forward, but I trusted that there was a way and that I would find it.

That connection was what carried me through.

I landed in Germany with very little. I had my drum and not much else.

Inti came to pick me up and took me to a storage unit he had in Frankfurt. There, he handed me a huge turquoise backpack filled with jewellery from Peru—silver, leather, crystals, masks and other beautiful things.

He said, “Here. You live off of what you can, and whenever we meet again, you give me half the profit and what's left over.”

That was it.

With a couple of dollars in my pocket and this enormous turquoise backpack, I went to Berlin to stay with a cousin.

I began selling Inti's jewellery at the markets, alongside jewellery and other pieces I made myself. I worked with leather and beadwork, creating pouches, medicine bags, watches and all kinds of things that I could sell.

That was my beginning in Berlin.

Not long after arriving, I entered a relationship with a man who initially seemed wonderful. Over time, the relationship became deeply manipulative and emotionally abusive.

I was still only twenty-two. I was already trying to find my footing after everything I had experienced in Thailand and Switzerland, and little by little I became so caught inside the manipulation and diminishment that I barely knew myself anymore.

Like a typical predator, he could feel the places inside me where I already believed I wasn't lovable or worthy, and he took advantage of them. Those were the places where his manipulation had power over me.

Eventually, something in me said, Wait. No. This isn't right.

Around that time, someone gave me a Louise Hay book, and I began doing inner-child work. I started recognizing those voices already living inside me that said I wasn't lovable, that I wasn't worthy.

He would tell me I was complicated. That I was unlovable. That I was lucky he loved me.

Those words fed directly into unconscious beliefs I was already carrying.

I began to realize that if I was going to break free, I needed to heal the places inside me that he was able to access—the Achilles tendons that gave his manipulation power. I needed to meet those inner voices and the wounds beneath them and begin healing them so that I could regain my own strength and self-agency.

It wasn't only about finding the strength to leave.

I needed the strength to stay gone.

So I set out to heal.

It would still take me about six months to finally leave, but something had changed. I had decided to fight for my life and find my way back to myself.

Within about a month of making that decision to choose myself, to begin questioning the stories I had believed about myself that had made his manipulation possible, paths began opening that led me to the teachers and masters I spoke about earlier—Emaho, Carol Groedeke, Giomar Morales and my Zen master, Venerable Young San Seong Do.

Around that same time, Hillel came to Berlin to teach a workshop. Learning with him again reminded me of who I had been before I became so lost in the manipulation. He had known me before that difficult chapter, and reconnecting with his teachings helped bring me back to myself.

When I look back at that time, I'm reminded of the saying, “When the student is ready, the teacher appears.”

I had arrived at a moment in my life, an intersection of possibility and growth, where I was finally ready to choose myself. To question the stories I had believed about my own worth and begin healing the places within me that had made me vulnerable to manipulation. And within such a short time, these remarkable teachers and their teachings began entering my life.

What life has taught me is that in every moment, there are multiple doorways available to us. Every choice we make opens a door, and through that door, a path begins to unfold.

Sometimes those paths lead to dead ends. Sometimes they lead us into experiences that are painful and difficult, where there is still something to learn. And sometimes a door opens into possibilities we couldn't have imagined, bringing us to a place within ourselves where we can finally begin to help ourselves.

It's amazing to look back and recognize, again and again, how we may not know what lies beyond the door we're choosing to open, yet when we make that choice, Life opens in ways we couldn't have imagined.

Life meets us. Life catches us. And new possibilities begin to unfold.

All of these teachings began unfolding alongside one another.

I was doing inner-child work. I was receiving and learning energy work with Carol. I was entering the elemental and spiritual teachings of Emaho. I was exploring myself and relationship through Biodanza. Hillel and Martial Dance remained another thread connecting me back into my body and myself.

I was healing while I was learning.

In 1995, I finally left the relationship.

Around that same time, I began seeing posters all over Berlin for a man named Dipamo Wehry and his training in psychotherapeutic bodywork.

Something about it kept speaking to me.

So I followed it.

That was the beginning of the four years of formal psychotherapeutic bodywork training mentioned above.

From there, these different paths continued simultaneously through the remaining years I lived in Berlin. They weren't separate chapters neatly following one another. I was studying with different teachers at different times, practicing what I was learning, healing, questioning, discovering and allowing each experience to inform the others.

My life itself had become the place where all of these teachings were meeting.

When I look back at those years now, I can see the extraordinary threads of grace running through them.

Had I not been forced to leave Switzerland, I wouldn't have been in Berlin. Emaho wasn't coming to the area of Switzerland where I had lived. Carol was in Berlin. Giomar was in Berlin. My Zen master, Venerable Young San Seong Do, was in Berlin. Hillel happened to come there to teach a workshop.

All of these remarkable teachers entered my life during a period when so much seemed to be falling apart.

I don't look at that and conclude that everything was destined to happen exactly as it did. What I see is the beauty of what became possible, even through circumstances I never would have chosen.

These experiences became part of the evidence that continued to strengthen my faith and trust in Life.

Even when I don't understand why something is happening, I know I can find a way. I can pray. I can remain connected to that greater force of Life. I can keep learning, keep showing up, and discover what is possible from wherever I find myself.

That faith has carried me through so much of my life.

Eventually, I was offered an opportunity to work at a hotel on Galiano Island.

I had already decided that I didn't want to work for anyone else again. I loved having my own practice and the freedom to work in my own way. Yet I felt such a connection to Galiano, to the ocean, the forests, and the natural beauty of the island, that I decided to take the opportunity.

I made a little agreement with myself: I'll stay as long as I'm happy.

There were some wonderful experiences during my time at the hotel, and I met beautiful people who are still dear friends today. There were also challenges, particularly in the interpersonal dynamics, that brought me into further learning and growth.

Eventually, I reached a point where I wasn't happy there anymore. I felt I'd learned what I needed to learn, so I left and opened my own practice on Galiano.

My work continued to grow and evolve as I brought together the different modalities I'd studied over the years. Massage, psychotherapeutic bodywork, sound healing, energy work, movement, and the many teachings that had become part of my life were finding their way into my sessions.

I also began my studies in Hawaii, travelling regularly to learn with my elders. In 2011, I was ordained as a spiritual healer and teacher in their Hawaiian tradition.

One of the things I love about the Hawaiian teachings is the principle that all wisdom doesn't come from one school. That resonated deeply with me because my own journey had always been one of exploring and bringing together different ways of understanding myself and Life.

Over time, I began sharing more of my own experiences and the wisdom Life had taught me in my work with clients.

People would sometimes say, “Luannah, you've got to write a book!”

I hadn't planned to become an author, a coach, or a mentor. My work simply kept evolving.