My Story

I didn’t come to yoga to master handstands or perfect postures.

I came to yoga because I wanted to feel safe and at home in my body. But that desire began long before I ever stepped onto the mat.

I was ten years old when my world shifted, losing my hair to alopecia in Anchorage, Alaska. At such a young age, with limited resources and information, it was disorienting, confusing, and deeply lonely. I didn’t have language for what I was going through, and I certainly didn’t see anyone around me who shared my experience.

So I learned to cover up and hide. I put on a wig.

I adapted. I learned to manage fear, to carry the secret quietly, to shape an identity that helped me feel safe. Over time, that protection became a mask.

Internally, I was quietly suffering, contracted under the fear of my secret, carrying more than anyone knew. Outwardly, I showed up as a light — a safe landing place for others — capable, independent, strong, playful.

Holding that contrast was heavy. And– so sacred.

In that hidden space, something profound was forming. My journey with alopecia carved depth into me, built resilience, and cultivated a compassion that now lives at the core of how I teach and serve.

A person practicing yoga or stretching on a large piece of driftwood on a beach, with the ocean and a cloudy sky in the background.

Ultimately, it led me to yoga.

For years, I practiced without fully understanding the depth of yoga’s teachings and traditions. I just knew that moving my body felt good. I would show up to the studio and go through the motions, but I was often lost in my own thoughts, feeling different from those around me. Sometimes I left class more exhausted than when I arrived, my fears amplified. Moving in a wig alongside others can be deeply vulnerable.

Then, in 2016, I brought my practice outside.

I stepped beyond the four walls — where my thoughts felt loudest — and into nature. Something softened. Something clicked. The inner voice of judgment quieted. The union yoga speaks of was no longer abstract; it was alive.

The earth beneath me. The open sky above me. The wind. The hum of the trees. The ocean. All of the elements.

I was not separate. I belonged.

Practicing outside awakened something profound and shifted the entire trajectory of my life. Over time, I realized the connection I felt was never dependent on the setting. Nature made it obvious — tangible, undeniable — but the union yoga points to is not limited to forests or oceans.

It is everywhere.

It is wherever we greet the breath, wherever we become aware, wherever we awaken to the Awe of it all. –in moments of chaos or serenity, challenge or ecstasy, dread, joy, hope... Outdoors or indoors.

Supported by community and teachers, I deepened my devotion. I found Bhakti yoga — the yoga of love — and for that last 10 years, have studied in the Bay Area with teachers like Stephanie Snyder, Janet Stone, Rusty Wells, and Peter Walters.

A woman with a shaved head smiling, wearing a silver necklace, a brown top, and a colorful patterned shawl with fur trim, standing in front of a dark, textured background.

Blue abstract painted shapes on black background.

Authenticity became my highest prayer.
My life’s work.

The old story — the one that required hiding and performing — grew too heavy. Through practice and courageous self-inquiry, I began to set it down. I let my truth take up space. What once felt like something to conceal became the doorway to liberation — and my greatest teacher. In 2024 I took my wig off for good.

So when I offer an invitation into practice, it comes from lived experience.

I understand what it feels like to hide, to fear being seen, to doubt that your truth will be accepted or loved. We all carry some version of a mask — parts we guard, stories we’re afraid to release, things we carry alone.

Yoga, to me, is not about transcending our humanity. It is about meeting it with love.

It is not about perfect postures. It is an invitation to love — to feel loved, to share love, to be present, to embrace authentic expression, to release quiet suffering, to celebrate truth, and to dance in the miracle of being alive and embodied.

A woman with a shaved head, multiple earrings, and tattoos on her arm, smiling with eyes closed, wearing a patterned shawl with a fur-lined collar, standing in front of a large tree trunk with green plants in the background.

When we step onto the mat, especially together, something beautiful happens. We practice contentment with what is. We honor imperfection. We show up messy and real, again and again.

My Classes

My classes are an alchemy of everything I cherish: stillness, breath, movement, music, singing, dancing, play, community, belonging, and deep inner journeying. My offerings are celebrations of being alive!

I teach from compassion, empathy, and resilience — from the deep knowing that your truth is not something to conceal. It is something sacred to be shared.

I believe we are all powered by something — the forces that beckon us back to breath and invite us home.

May we all be powered by practice. Imperfect and infinite.

May we trust that this practice ripples — through our thoughts, our words, and our actions; into our relationships and across our lives — softening edges, opening hearts, noticing, and remembering.

It is an honor to serve this work.

Thank you for being here.

PRACTICE WITH ME