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About Me

I believe that I came out of the womb singing.

My mother tells me that when my rebellious four-year-old self refused to brush her teeth, get in the car, or sleep, she would sing to me. And immediately, something inside of me would shift. My tantrum tears would begin to dry, and I would release my resistance toward whatever I had been refusing to do. I love that even though my mother doesn’t have the most in-tune voice, she would sing to me as an act of love.

I continued singing throughout my childhood, humming constantly. I was unaware of when melodies poured through my lips and filled the room with sweetness or simply soothed the inner chambers of my heart. I filled endless notebooks with songs that moved through me and found pleasure in allowing harmonies to echo through my being.

And then I began to dance. 

I loved how pleasurable it was to groove, move authentically, and release any stuck emotions through my body in movement. Yet as an adolescent girl, I perceived the dance environment as intimidating and competitive. I often compared myself to others and would feel humiliated if I couldn’t learn the choreography as fast as others. I felt superior when I remembered the step and others stumbled.

As I grew older, I began to feel more insecure in my body and voice.

I still loved to sing, but I would either keep my voice to myself or experience an extremely agitated stomach, psychosomatic response, each time I was called to share my voice with others.

I still loved to dance, but I held all these limiting beliefs about why I shouldn’t consider myself a dancer.

When I moved to South America, my relationship with my voice and body began to shift.

After having shuffled around on endless busses from the hot and humid Amazon to the volcanoes and rivers of the Andes and the warm beaches along the Coast, I had witnessed many musicians hop on the bus, share a song or two, and then hop off with hands full of coins. I became curious to try this myself.

So one day, albeit terrified, I grabbed my ukulele and hopped onto a bus to sing.

Singing on these buses was a hardcore initiation as I learned to project my voice from my center, to anchor my body in steadiness to keep from being tossed around the curving bus, and to protect my ukulele from banging into anything. I began to receive such positive feedback from the listeners in the form of coins, smiles, and applause that I regained the courage to continue sharing my voice.

While I explored making music on buses and street corners and in restaurants, bars, and marketplaces, I felt that the authentic voice that wanted to channel through me arrived when I began to sit in ceremony with ancestral jungle medicine. 

I spent years living a humble, quiet, peaceful life in the mountains and jungles on different farms and permaculture communities in Ecuador, Peru, and Colombia.

And then Spirit called me to Buenos Aires, Argentina.

When I found myself lost in a natureless city, questioning why I had been brought to such a hustle and bustle environment, doubting completely in my intuition, and losing trust in the Great Mystery, I discovered Contact Improvisation.

I accidentally danced into my first contact jam in divine timing and perfect synchronicity. I witnessed a room full of bodies moving so freely and fluidly, pouring weight into each other, genuinely listening. I became enamored by the practice and began attending weekly classes and jams, immersing myself entirely in this transformative somatic gift that had welcomed me with such open arms. 

I felt that as I danced, I could integrate into my body temple so much of the spiritual and emotional healing that had begun moving through me in my time on the mountain. I had been diving deep into my womb healing journey after a long line of sexual abuses in this lifetime, and I noticed how so many of these themes, my wounds, the parts of me that still felt unworthy, my desires, my connections to others, all played out on the dance floor.

I discovered that the expressions of my emotions, my voice, and my body were intimately intertwined.

There were days when the songs that sang through me were melancholic and slow; the dance that moved my body was heavy and sluggish. 

There were days when my voice sang of sweet bliss, and my body trembled in an orgasmic dance of ecstasy.

I became curious about my ever-evolving phases, the different archetypes that emerged throughout my cycle, and the ways my voice and body responded to what was authentically alive for me.

And I began visioning Cyclical Healing, a culmination of wisdom about the moon, dance, vocal activation, prayer, and ritual that I have integrated over the last several years of my spiral.

I have reconnected to the joy of fully expressing my creativity, living in harmony with my moon phases, and trusting in myself and the mystery by giving myself permission to express my most vulnerable self.

Sometimes the emotions that pour through me don’t seem to be attached to a story; they may not even have words. But they may have a song or dance asking to be seen and held in love. 

Are you curious to explore how you could live in alignment with your phases, honestly ask for what you need, and sing and dance with more joy?