I didn't find
this work.
I needed it.

Modelling

I entered this world as a teenager. Walking into casting rooms, being scrutinised for the way you look — that is not a healthy foundation for a young girl. When you are chosen, it distorts the ego. When you are not, it confirms wounds you don't yet have words for. I learned to perform what I was not, to hide what I actually carried. Years later, I would want to ask that teenage girl: did you love to pose — or did you love how well you could hide? Performances, roles, masks with the purpose of making money — it was never my soul's blueprint.

Professional Windsurfer — Canary Islands, Hawaii

After finishing school and losing my father, I needed something to bring me back to life. The ocean did that. Not gently — but completely. Reading wind, reading water, reading the body's position in relation to forces you cannot control. The nervous system learns fast when the consequences are immediate. I was training somatic awareness before I had language for it — and learning to listen to something larger than myself. The ocean was my first real teacher, in ways that went far beyond the physical.

Music — UK

Then came the music. It saved me in a different way. I wrote over a hundred songs — putting into words and melody all the pain I carried from childhood, from a family dynamic that was never conventional and became my deepest wound. Reading those songs back years later, the healing I was unconsciously walking through was obvious. But I didn't see it at the time. I mistook what was becoming a path of music as medicine for a path of music as entertainment. I'm grateful now that it didn't work out the way I wanted. The music industry, like modelling, asked me to perform, to hide behind a mask. That was never the blueprint. But the voice — the voice was always being prepared for something else.

The Crack — 2019

Then everything stopped. I found myself in one of the darkest moments of my life. The kind of darkness where the simulation can no longer hold. Something broke open — not gently, not on my terms. At 23, what I can only describe as an awakening began. Not the kind you read about. The kind that dismantles everything you thought you knew and leaves you standing in the rubble, asking questions you don't have language for yet.

It cracked open a connection to something I couldn't close again. A connection to sound, to ancestral memory, to a way of working with the body that I hadn't been taught — but that felt deeply familiar. I followed it. Not because it made sense at the time, but because my body recognised it before my mind could explain it.

The Bowl

A Tibetan singing bowl that had sat untouched for years. One day, something shifted. I heard it in my body before I heard it in the room: it is time.

I sat with the bowl and began to play. Within minutes I was in a state I had never accessed before. Tones came through my voice that were unfamiliar to me — not performed, not chosen. The vibrations reached layers of my system that nothing else had touched. That day I understood what ancient civilisations always knew: sound penetrates every level of the physical, emotional, and energetic body. It is one of the most direct pathways to shift vibration, consciousness, and the patterns that hold us in place.

The Training

That moment with the bowl set everything in motion. What followed was years of deep study and direct experience. Jonathan Goldman introduced me to the foundations of sound healing. Kimba Arem taught me to play the didgeridoo — an instrument that would become central to my practice. Michele Averard and Nestor Kornblum trained me to become a certified sound healing practitioner, which remains the formal certification I hold today.

Alongside the formal training, I went deeper on my own — self-studying quantum mechanics, holographic principles, and the physics of vibration to understand how frequencies sit at the core of how we create and perceive reality. Not only from the experiential side, but from the scientific one. I'm currently training in nervous system dynamics, continuing to deepen the bridge between somatic science and the cosmological framework that keeps revealing itself the further I go.

Visual Effects & Animation — Aardman, UK — 2022

While the awakening was unfolding, I needed to sustain myself. I joined Aardman Animations, where I spent four years building digital realities for the film industry. Creating worlds that look real but aren't. The irony is not lost on me — I was literally constructing simulations for a living, while living inside one I was actively dismantling. This career trained my eye for architecture, for structure, for the invisible frameworks that hold visible things together. But with each passing year, the soul's calling grew louder — and the transition into this work became less of a question and more of an inevitability.