My Story:

Learning to Live in a Body Again

For much of my life, I didn’t feel at home in my body.
I didn’t feel safe in it. I didn’t trust it.
I carried trauma that wasn’t just emotional—it was cellular.

Growing up, I learned to survive by disconnecting—from my body, from my needs, from my truth. I was raised in a home shaped by violence, silence, and performance. I became skilled at enduring what hurt. That skill nearly cost me everything.

In my twenties and thirties, a series of medical experiences further fractured my sense of self. Surgeries were performed without true consent. My body was touched, altered, and handled without reverence. No one asked what I felt. No one looked me in the eyes.

What was lost during those years wasn’t just physical. It was spiritual. It was the quiet knowing that I belonged to myself.

My early sexual experiences mirrored that disconnection. My boundaries weren’t respected. My voice disappeared. I confused performance with intimacy and silence with safety.

By the time I reached my forties, I was still breathing—but I wasn’t living.

What changed wasn’t sudden. It was slow. It was messy.
It began with journaling. Then came embodiment. Consent. Boundaries.
Years of working with coaches and mentors to slowly unravel the survival strategies I had mistaken for love.

Little by little, I returned to myself—not to the version others expected, but to the truth that had always been buried beneath compliance.

That’s where Embodied Phoenix was born—from the ashes of all I lost, and the still-burning ember of what could never be taken.

This work is not theoretical. It’s lived.
I’m not here because I’ve mastered anything.
I’m here because I remember what it’s like to feel lost, numb, and unseen—and I know how to sit beside someone in that place with honesty, patience, and care.

What I Bring to This Work

This offering is deeply personal—but it’s also supported by years of experience holding space for others.

I’ve spent more than 15 years working in fields that demand emotional presence, creative trust, and deep listening.
As a professional photographer, I specialized in transformation work—styling, art direction, and intimate portrait sessions that helped women reconnect with how they wanted to be seen.
In those spaces, I learned how to read energy before words.
How to build safety without needing to speak.
How to hold space for someone’s truth to emerge—not by directing it, but by waiting until it was ready.

Over time, that work expanded into something deeper. I began studying embodiment, trauma, communication, and tantra-based healing. I trained as a yoga teacher. I worked with coaches who helped me unravel years of disconnection—not just in my body, but in how I related to others.

Today, my work blends all of those paths.
I hold space through presence, not performance. Through consent, not control.
And I carry with me not only technical knowledge, but a long personal journey of reclamation—through trauma, through cultural dissonance, and through years of learning how to come home to my body again.

I’ve lived in Japan for over 25 years.
This matters—not just as a biographical detail, but because it means I understand the cultural nuances, unspoken rules, and invisible pressures many women here carry.
It’s not something I studied—it’s something I’ve lived alongside.

I’m not here to lead from above.
I’m here to walk beside you—with humility, care, and a deep respect for your timing, your story, and your truth.

What I Believe

This work isn’t built on techniques.
It’s built on presence. On truth. On a deep respect for the quiet, often unseen parts of you that have been waiting to be met.

Here are a few things I hold close when I sit with someone:

I believe that nothing is too much when held with presence.

I believe healing happens when we are witnessed, not fixed.

I believe your “no” is sacred—and often, it’s the most important part of the work.

I believe transformation is not a breakthrough. It’s a return.

I believe there’s no right way to heal. There’s only your way.

I believe the nervous system tells the truth before the mind does.

I believe silence, resistance, and numbness are not blocks. They’re signals.

I believe your story deserves to be honored at the pace it chooses—not the pace the world demands.

What Working With Me Feels Like

This isn’t coaching in the traditional sense.
There are no performance metrics here. No “wins.”
This space is quiet. Spacious. Rooted in trust.

Clients often tell me they feel:

• Seen without being analyzed
• Held without being handled
• Free to cry, pause, or stay silent—without having to explain why
• Able to share things they’ve never said out loud
• Safe enough to slow down for the first time in years

My presence is grounded, attuned, and neutral.
I don’t rush emotional processes or override boundaries.
I listen carefully—not just to your words, but to your pacing, your body language, your breath.

This isn’t about changing who you are.
It’s about coming home to who you’ve always been.

All that’s required is that quiet yes—the one that lives under the noise.

If you’ve heard it, even faintly, you’re already on the path.