08/02/2026
I stumbled into sound healing the same way most people find their most transformative tools—
through breaking.
Through grief.
Through the quiet unravelings that force us inward.
I didn’t find sound because I was curious or looking for a new modality to add to my work. I found it because my nervous system was fried, my heart was heavy, and the version of me I was trying to hold together was no longer sustainable.
Sound met me when words failed.
When thinking my way through pain stopped working.
When my body needed something slower, deeper, more honest.
It didn’t fix me.
It softened me.
It gave me a way back into my body when I felt disconnected from myself and the world around me.
And now — returning to Nicaragua — I can feel how full-circle this all is.
This land held me during some of my most fragile years. When I was rebuilding after loss. When I was learning how to trust myself again. When I was figuring out how to stay.
And here I am, coming back once more — not as the same woman, but not as someone entirely new either. Coming back as a mother. As a leader. As someone still very much in the process of becoming.
I don’t come here because life is perfect.
I come because this place reminds me how to listen.
How to slow down.
How to be with what’s real.
Sound taught me that healing doesn’t come from pushing forward — it comes from allowing. From letting yourself be held long enough to remember who you are beneath the noise.
And lately, that’s all I’m interested in.
Returning.
Listening.
Letting the land, the body, and the breath do what they’ve always known how to do.
No answers.
No conclusions.
Just presence.