Me and my mother before leaving Peru: 1974
I remember.
I remember my grandparents' home—the place where I could roam free and the dogs towered over me.
I remember mangos being so sweet that the juice would run past my elbow when I took a bite.
I remember the vast Pacific Ocean, tumbling in the waves and stopping for watermelon on the way home from the beach.
I also remember the angst of my parents not being able to make ends meet, the fights, my father leaving for a job in the U.S., the conversation I had with my uncle as we said goodbye, and my grandmother's tears.
I felt the need to keep my mother safe from my father's eruptions of anger. My sister was so small, and I felt responsible for her. We laughed, hugged, and explored together. I remember longing to return to my grandmother's arms as we tried to make a home in the D.C. area.
During those first few years, I did not know how to communicate in English. I tried to put on a brave face with the kids in 3rd grade.
My younger self constantly needed to navigate belonging. I felt no belonging, not at home and certainly not at school.
I had so much on my shoulders trying to keep things together at home. I wanted to do my best, but I always felt like I needed to be better.
Anxiety and fear ruled my world, a constant reminder of my need to create little boxes so that I could fit in and make myself more interesting. Funnier. More charismatic.
People I met could not see what was happening inside—the broken, sad, scared little girl.
Me, my sister and mom in front of our first house in the U.S.: 1983
I had no idea what self-love was.
I wanted to be a good daughter to my parents and fulfill their dreams for me. After all, had they not sacrificed so much by coming to the U.S.?
Eventually, I was off to college. Things at home were hard, but I had my own path now. I had a role to fulfill. I graduated from college and decided to apply to law school.
I desperately wanted to make my dad proud by following in his footsteps and becoming a human rights lawyer. He taught me that fighting evil, oppressive governments was righteous.
So I tried.
I got through it.
I had a fire inside that would never go out—the fire that some would call grit or will. I understand now that it was Self.
It was my soul and spirit, allowing space for me to continue to live and grow.
I was introduced to meditation during my time in New York City. My sister introduced me to Lama Surya Das, and I read Awakening the Buddha Within. My mind and heart opened to a new way of relating to myself and others. I began to understand the importance of a soul connection.
Then, in 1998, I took my first yoga asana class.
I started to come home to myself.
I graduated with my law degree, landed a job with the City, and met my ex-husband.
Things were good. Externally, it looked like I was living the dream, but internally, not so much.
My heart broke open when I became a mother to my son. I understood true, profound love. I wanted to be there for him and be a perfect version of what I thought was expected of me.
Mothering without being able to mother my inner child created deep misalignment.
After my daughter was born, I was incapable of connecting to myself because I continued to try to fit into the boxes people around me and society had created. Love poured out of me continuously as I attempted to be a good mother. I was barely surviving in Chicago, where I did not have any support at home or in my community.
Coming back to D.C. was a huge relief, but I learned my father was leaving my mother after 40 years. My world crumbled as my expectations of what families were shattered. I had not been able to protect my mother after all. I had not been able to keep my family together.
Did I fail to save my parent’s marriage, even when they should not have stayed together as long as they did? Logically, I understand the answer is no.
But why did I feel abandoned? Even though I had this perfect marriage, a great group of friends, a supportive community, and a good career as a respected advocate in the policy space, I felt alone.
Me with my kids: 2009
Then it came—the diagnosis.
In the fall of 2014, with two small children and a new job at a civil rights organization, I was diagnosed with cervical cancer. My busyness made my yearly appointment drag on, and when I went in, the doctor said I had cancer.
My world flipped on its head. I had no ground. What had I done? The shame and blame circled me. Was there something I could have done to avoid this? Who will raise my children if I die? What about my new job?
After a radical hysterectomy and five weeks of radiation, I did what I could to go back to my normal life. To keep up with a demanding job. To tape the box back together with scotch tape. My marriage started falling apart.
In May 2017, my now ex-husband and I made the hard decision to separate. I lost my footing again. What was happening? My kids, home, and identity were wrapped up in this story I created.
The tape I used for that little box had come off years ago, and I had noticed only enough to point out the lack of date nights—not the deeper lack of communication, real connection, and mutuality.
Me with my sister in the Sacred Valley, Peru: 2019
And so began the journey of piecing myself back together.
In early 2019, my wonderful sister sent me an email announcing a yoga and meditation retreat in the sacred valley of Peru. At first, I hesitated. So much time away from the kids! How was I going to pay for it?
Deep inside, I knew I had to attend.
Perhaps my ancestors called me back home.
We were on our way, visiting my grandfather in Lima and then heading to one of my life's most profound experiences. Meditation, yoga, and a medicine ceremony after the retreat created the container I longed for. I healed in unexpected ways. I cleared much of my anger and truly began my journey to a deep self-awareness. All of the little boxes in which I had kept my life on the neat little shelves fell apart even more than I had imagined would be possible. It was up to me to begin to rebuild my shelves—no more boxes. And no more tape.
I knew I wanted to be more than what was in the box. I connected with sacred plant medicine, which I had been introduced to in Peru. I would be a yoga teacher and a coach. I would break open old patterns.
I would create circles instead of boxes.
During the pandemic, when the world turned inwards, I did as well.
I studied the path of the Q’eros and the powers of Andean Cosmovision, the Nustas, meditation, online yoga, and pathways to the inner self. I understood the ways non-profit organizations and their leaders needed to adapt and care for themselves and their teams.
On the outside, 2022 was a time of extreme political turmoil.
The word of the times was resiliency.
Healing was needed more than ever.
When I left my job and decided to go out on my own in 2023, it was one of the scariest times of my life. I described it as fast-moving ground under my feet.
I learned there are many paths I can walk to fulfill my current purpose.
I learned that creating and holding spaces for non-profit leaders is critical.
I learned that leaders of color, particularly women, hold many roles impossible for one person to fill.
I learned I am on the right path. The circles I am creating are connected and aligned.
I am learning that sacred medicine is circular. It is all around us if we can love ourselves deeply enough to feel and make room for everyday miracles.
I am creating a healing path in unexpected ways, not just for myself but also for the people I work with.
I am stepping into my true power.
I envision a world where
all communities live with freedom and dignity
all people are empowered and have sovereignty
all individuals connect to their natural surroundings, honoring the sacredness of the land, water, air, and all beings.
Organizational and Leadership Facilitation
I create spaces that guide leaders and their teams to align with their values and move toward their outcomes. In designing retreats, trainings, and convenings, I work closely with leaders to co-create spaces that focus on process.
I assist my coaching partners in tapping into their power and discernment by combining somatics and a compassionate approach to coaching sessions.
With decades of experience in the non-profit sector, I bring transformative insights to team and staff dynamics, strengthening relationships, building clarity of process, and creating resiliency amid change.
I acknowledge the history and legacy of colonialism. I reside in Maryland in Montgomery County, the unceded land of the Piscataway People. My home is close to the Chesapeake Bay region—once shared as common hunting and gathering grounds of dozens of American Indian nations.