Woven Earth Traditions

Beaming with curiosity and wonder at life, the nuanced complexity of healing and the beauty of messy authenticity.

I am a lover, (swamp woman, as my friends call me) because I’m not afraid of the depths and dark places. And I somehow create an air of existential okayness in the most unruly set of circumstances. Earth reverent, hilarious and squishy, sometimes more paranoid than what makes sense, total sweetheart (with a little spice). I live in the garden during warmer seasons and thrive bundled in a good wool blanket passing as a scarf in the winter. I make music and art and the best soup. My home and kitchen table will undoubtedly remind you of your most cherished childhood auntie or grandmother.

Through my practice, I orient to the body as a wise woman. Focusing on the unconscious realm and the emotional imprints that have shaped your experience. Learning from them the story they have to tell about your life, your lineage, your perception of the world, and the wounds you’ve received from damage done that wasn’t your fault.

Through intuitive psychosomatics, ritual, time travel, deep presence and affirmation - I guide you towards sensation and memory to find the words that need to be spoken, the wounds tucked like rope around your organs that need to unwind, your mothers voice caught in the back of your throat like an echo, and the movements your animal body needs to shake off.

Together, we move slow. Inviting in deeper coherence. Allowing life to flow through you with ease and joy once more. Like you mean it with your whole entire heart. The living wisdom that emerges when a body remembers itself, when you remember your life is meant to be lived for ((YOU)) is absolutely profound and awe inspiring. What a gift it is to witness such embodied transformation.

My path into this work has been shaped by my own transformations, curiosities, grief ruptures and truth seeking. (Mostly on the bathroom floor, because we all know its the best place to wail) I entered the places where old belief systems had taken root.

I listened deeply to memory braided into tissue, lodged in bone, and knotted into the architecture of my cells. I watched the stories loosen. I let them crack me open. I picked up my scattered pieces, broke the spells and clawed (crawled?) my way into believing I was whole.