WHERE I COME FROM

I was born in a small town in Eastern Russia highly intuitive, sensitive, and endlessly curious about people. I never fit traditional boxes. I felt things deeply, and from an early age I could sense there was always more happening beneath the surface of people's lives.

My father was a pastor. I grew up surrounded by spiritual rituals and moments that felt otherworldly. That early exposure to faith shaped me—but it also planted questions I wouldn't begin to answer until much later.

WHAT BROKE ME

When I was a teenager, my family immigrated to the U.S. We had no community, no support. Not long after we arrived, I was sexually assaulted by someone my family trusted. I told no one for ten years.

I married young. The relationship was toxic. It ended the day he choked me during an argument. As terrifying as that moment was, it broke something open—I knew I couldn't keep living this way.

THE TURNING POINT

I began the inner work—not just to survive, but to understand myself. I wanted to feel safe in my body again. I wanted to stop numbing out—the drinking, the smoking, the ways I had learned to disappear from myself—and start living with clarity and intention.

As I healed, something long-buried came to the surface: I'm bisexual.

For years I had hidden that part of myself out of fear, survival, and internalized homophobia so deep I hadn't even named it yet. The church I grew up in had taught me that part of me was wrong. So I buried it. I performed straightness, performed goodness, and performed belonging—until I couldn't anymore.

Coming out wasn't one dramatic moment. It was a slow, tender process of reclaiming who I really was—and unlearning the shame that had been woven into me since childhood.

Leaving religion was its own kind of grief. The beliefs I had grown up with weren't just doctrine—they were identity, community, and safety. And they came with fear baked in—a fear of darkness, of evil, of what might reach you if you stepped outside the church's protection. For years I was afraid of demons. Not metaphorically—truly, physically afraid. Leaving meant dismantling that fear piece by piece, learning to trust that I was safe in the world without a doctrine to protect me. I faced the darkness I had been taught to fear—and found it had no power over me.

And then there was my body itself.

I used to hate being pale. I grew up in Russia, where I stood out as a redhead, and when we immigrated to the U.S., I stood out as a Russian immigrant who doesn’t speak English. I spent years at war with my skin—wishing I looked different, wishing I took up space differently, wishing I could disappear into something more acceptable.

Learning to accept my body—my skin, my appearance, my physical self—was not a small thing. It was part of the same work: coming home to what is actually mine.

So I left the relationship. I left the church. I quit drinking. I quit smoking. I left behind the version of myself built to make others comfortable. And I began rebuilding from the inside out—not toward a perfect version of myself, but toward an honest one.

FROM HEALING TO GUIDING

The deeper I went into my healing, the more I needed better tools. I trained in clinical hypnotherapy, trauma-informed coaching, EFT and tapping, and sex and pleasure coaching—not to collect certifications, but because each one helped me go somewhere I couldn't reach before.

Now I bring all of it—the training and the lived experience—into the room with every client.

WHAT I BELIEVE

You are not broken.

Your body is wise.

Healing is not performance — it's a relationship with yourself.

Slow and honest beats fast and performative. Depth creates freedom.

WHO I’M HERE FOR

• People leaving high-control beliefs or communities

• People who are going through a breakup or divorce

• Immigrants and cross-cultural humans navigating identity

• Creatives and sensitives who've dimmed their voice

• LGBTQ+ people reclaiming their truth

This isn't a space for quick fixes or polished transformations. It's a space for the real thing — messy, honest, yours.