I stood back to admire the garden I spent a lifetime perfecting...
It was tall and green and filled with flowers.
Bright yellow sunflowers towering overhead. Happy.
I leaned forward onto the tips of my toes
to smell the big yellow blossoms, anticipating their fragrance.
No scent.
Reached up to touch a petal between forefinger and thumb.
Rubbed gently, only to feel the fabric of faux-ness touch my skin.
In the middle of the garden, a hole. Visible only to the few invited in. While building the garden I'd fall into the hole, feeling like I'd tripped, wondering if I'd hit rock bottom. Each time climbing out as quickly as I could, pretending it never happened. Lifting my head high to admire the faux flowers.
Until the time I crashed all the way down.
Hit so hard I couldn't even ask if it was bottom.
So hard. So hurt.
Creeping was the only way out.
Slowly, slowly I made my way up to flat land. Light.
And then I saw them...
Wildflowers of all different colours.
True beauty skimming the garden floor.
Natural. Quiet. Easy. There.
And so it began.
The slow journey of removing all I had built
to make way for that which blossoms naturally.
The grace that is always there.
You might be standing in a garden like this right now. Looking around at everything you've built, wondering why it doesn't feel like you thought it would.
I see you and can relate to your story.
the beginning
Twenty years ago, I left IBM. I had a business degree from McMaster, I excelled at my job—but I was performing to fit in and it burnt me out.
So I built my own business. I used every framework I'd learned, every "best practice" I'd been taught. And I built something successful that looked nothing like IBM—but felt exactly the same.
The business looked successful from the outside. Forbes, Vogue, GQ, and Elle hired me to guide their writers. BBC, The Globe and Mail, and CTV featured my work.
But applying all the “right” business theories, I built a business that required me to work harder than I could sustain.
That's when I crashed.
I rebuilt focusing entirely on humanity—inner work, spaciousness, connection—rejecting anything that felt like productivity or performance.
But this was unfulfilling. I swung too far the other way.
both, and
What I Learned About Being Human
Honouring the whole person isn't choosing humanity over productivity. It's integrating both. People need meaningful contribution AND space to be human.
How That Shows Up In My Work
I work with individuals AND organizations—because real transformation requires both.
You can do all the inner work in the world, but if you go back into a system that punishes boundaries, you either leave or revert back.
And organizations can change policies, but if people still believe their worth comes from productivity, they won't use them. They'll still burn out. That's why I create spaces for individuals and organizations.
Because culture change without inner work is just new policies nobody uses. And inner work without culture change is people setting boundaries in systems that punish them for it.
my work
I create spaces where people can see clearly—what they're carrying, what their systems are reinforcing, and what actually needs to shift.
I use embodied practices (movement, sound, creative exploration) because transformation doesn't happen in your head. It happens when you move what's stuck, sound what's silent, create what wants to emerge.
I work mostly with groups. The combined energy of people releasing together creates momentum you can't access alone. One person's courage opens the door for everyone else.
I come with questions and deep listening. I believe you already hold the answers—you just need space to hear them.
My work is informed by 25 years of learning through living. I'm a student of A Course in Miracles and "The Work" by Byron Katie.
If you're standing in your faux garden wondering how you got here, or if you've crashed into the hole and are looking for the way out—
The wildflowers are already there.
Let me help you clear the space to see them.
with love,