My Story

I was born in the Santa Cruz Mountains to an American mother and Brazilian father, and spent my early childhood in Brazil, wrapped in the arms of extended family. From the beginning, I was held by community. Those early years taught me how deeply we need one another, how care can be woven into everyday life, and how culture shapes the way we connect, heal, and grow.

I’ve always lived in the in-between — not quite Brazilian, not quite American, and fully both. This liminal space shaped me. It opened my heart to different ways of knowing and being. It taught me to listen for the stories underneath the surface and to hold space for complexity.

My path has never been linear. I moved often growing up—California, Brazil, Ohio, Minnesota—constantly adapting, learning, observing. I eventually made my way to Colorado College, where I studied Global Health and the Human Psyche. I was searching for the meeting point between the body, the mind, our histories, and the systems we live within. It was there that I found myself pulled toward birthwork—a field that felt deeply connected to all of it. I trained as a birth doula and wrote my thesis on Brazil’s high cesarean rate, curious about how culture and care intersect at the threshold of life.

After graduating, I began a premed program, thinking I wanted to become a doctor. But when I became ill, my body asked me to slow down and listen. For the first time, I turned my healing inward. I left the program, followed a quiet inner knowing, and traveled to India to study yoga and prenatal yoga. It was there that I began to rebuild — gently, patiently, from the inside out.

In 2019, I became pregnant with my son. His birth, in the early months of the pandemic, was both powerful and deeply challenging. After navigating preterm labor and bedrest alone, I gave birth under a full moon at 35 weeks—and shortly after, became a single mother. Those early months and years were raw and tender. I was held by the love of community from afar, and also faced the vast loneliness that so many parents carry in silence. I went 18 months without a full night of sleep. I poured every ounce of myself into mothering, and yet often felt like I was disappearing.

That time shaped me in ways I’m still uncovering. It taught me about resilience, yes—but also about the cost of doing it all alone. It deepened my commitment to creating spaces of care, especially for those navigating life’s most vulnerable thresholds. And perhaps most importantly, it taught me the power of letting go of perfection, of honoring what’s real, and of asking for help when I need it.

Today, I show up with an open heart, grounded in lived experience. I believe in care that is gentle, honest, and rooted in community. I believe healing happens when we feel seen. And I believe that even in the messiness of life, there is beauty, wisdom, and the possibility of deep transformation.