My path has been shaped by devotion – to the Divine Mother, to service, to my children, and to the quiet knowing that there is more to this life than what we can see.

In my twenties, that devotion led me into a decade of volunteer service, including eight years in Bangladesh among some of the poorest communities in the world. Two of my three sons were born there.

I arrived thinking I was there to serve. Instead, I discovered how much I had to learn.

Sitting with people who had so little materially, yet so much generosity, resilience, and presence, permanently changed the way I understood wealth, community, and what it means to live a meaningful life.

And then there was motherhood.

Raising three sons has been one of my deepest teachers. Not only in love, but in surrender. In learning when to hold close and when to let go. In discovering that loving someone deeply does not mean controlling their path. It means trusting them enough to become who they are.

Life has taught me that love and loss are not opposites. That sometimes the things that break our hearts are also the things that open them.

I have learned to hold heartbreak and healing in the same breath.

Over the years, my path has continued to unfold in ways I could never have planned. My spiritual practice has deepened through Reiki, ancestral healing, ritual, sound, and experiences that have opened my awareness to the liminal spaces between what we know and what we cannot yet explain.

I now understand myself as a psychopomp – a guide for souls moving through thresholds and transitions. I experience this both as an ancestral gift and as a calling.

Again and again, people have told me that they feel safe with me. That something about being in my presence allows them to soften and rest.

That is what I wanted to create with Marsh and Moon. A space where you can be met exactly where you are – with warmth, presence, curiosity, and an open heart – and be supported as you move through your own transformation.

I believe there is wisdom in every threshold.

Sometimes we simply need someone willing to sit beside us while we cross it.