MY STORY

Somewhere along the way, I stopped hearing my voice.

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But let’s rewind — to the day I discovered I could sing.

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I was a young girl, and I still remember how the vibration of each note moved through me, starting deep in my chest and rippling outward, as if every cell was waking up to something it had forgotten. Each sound carried a weight I couldn’t yet name — sadness, hope, longing, joy — and as I sang, those emotions flowed outward, transformed into something tangible, something I could hold and release.

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Music didn’t just express me; it healed me. It gave me a language for what I couldn’t yet put into words, a space to feel fully, without judgment. Singing made me feel alive — deeply connected to my own body, my heart, and, somehow, to everyone around me. It reminded me that even when life felt chaotic, there was a vibration within me that could bring me back to myself — whole, present, unshakably real.

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As a girl, I was fearless — strutting around the house in my best “work outfit,” lunchbox in hand, pretending it was my briefcase. I was going to be a boss. A creator. Someone who led with her voice.

But somewhere between that fearless girl and adulthood, the confidence cracked. Dreams had to make sense. Creativity had to pay the bills.

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So, I did what many of us do: I chose the responsible path.

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In college, I wrestled with my identity, switching from business to visual arts, searching for a bridge between success and soul. When I landed a design career, I finally had success on paper — the title, the projects, the steady paycheck. But inside, I was fading.

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At first, it was subtle — a low hum of restlessness I could ignore. Then it grew louder. Long hours behind a glowing screen. Deadlines and long commutes to work. My body stiff, my spirit quiet. I told myself I was lucky — that others would kill for this job. But at night, when the world fell silent, I could feel the ache beneath the surface.

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It was like being homesick for a place that no longer existed. I missed the feeling of being lit up from within. I missed the girl who sang without fear. And then came the other voice — not the one that sang freely, but the one that whispered cruelly:
You’re not enough. You’re falling behind. You should be further along by now.

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It was relentless — a quiet soundtrack looping beneath every success. I thought if I worked harder, changed jobs, maybe it would stop. But the more I accomplished, the more I moved, the louder it became.

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So, in 2018, I hit pause. I left my corporate job and booked a one-way ticket to Uganda to work with my brother’s social enterprise startup — one of the bravest, scariest decisions of my life.

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There, on the back of a motorcycle, weaving through red-dust roads and open skies, something inside me began to breathe again. I traveled to remote villages, interviewed teachers and heard their stories — stories of resilience, hope, and purpose in the face of unimaginable challenges. Each voice held truth and courage. And in listening, something awakened in me — a vibration I hadn’t felt in years. My own voice — faint, but familiar — was returning.

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When I came home, I couldn’t go back to “normal.”I began working with an Ayurvedic doctor who taught me that healing is a full-body experience — physical, emotional, energetic. That journey led me to train under Deepak Chopra and his team, and I became an instructor at the Chopra Center. There, I heard hundreds of stories — from professionals, parents, dreamers — all searching for balance in the noise of modern life.

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After that, I became an RTT hypnotherapist under the guidance of Marisa Peer, and listened to even more voices. The voices of my clients who felt disconnected, unseen, anxious — high achievers who looked whole on the outside but hollow inside. Through them, I heard echoes of my own story: the striving, the self-doubt, the quiet longing to come home to oneself.

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And then I realized something powerful: my healing wasn’t just in expressing my voice — it was in listening to others. Every story, every tone, every breath is a mirror reminding us that we all carry music within us. Sometimes, we just need someone to help us hear it again.

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And now, I sing again.

Sometimes it’s for myself — a hum while I make tea, a melody that fills my living room.
Other times, it’s for an audience — a moment of shared energy and truth that reminds me how deeply sound can connect us.

Each note is both a prayer and a promise — a reminder of the journey back to myself, and of what’s possible when we finally learn to listen within.

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Today, that’s the space I hold for others.

Through RTT hypnotherapy, sound healing, and guided voice work, I help mid-career professionals who feel out of tune with themselves reconnect to their inner rhythm — to find clarity, confidence, and calm again.

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Because your voice — your truth, your aliveness, your inner compass — is never truly lost.
It’s simply waiting for the right moment, the right silence, to rise again.