I don’t stop caring when the session ends.

Why I do this

My mother’s cancer changed the course of my life.

When my mother was going through cancer, I saw how much happens outside the treatment itself. There are appointments and decisions, but there is also fear, exhaustion, uncertainty, and the strange feeling that your body is no longer entirely your own.

I saw how much it matters to be cared for as a person. To be touched gently. To have someone slow down and really pay attention. To feel that you are not simply the next diagnosis on somebody’s schedule.

That is what brought me to this work.

I wanted to do something that could truly help people, especially during the moments when they feel most vulnerable. I chose to dedicate my working life to it, and I have never stopped feeling that this kind of care is sacred.

When someone comes to me during cancer treatment, after surgery, or while trying to feel at home in their body again, I remember where this began for me. I listen. I pay attention. I do not rush.

Nearly thirty years later, the work still holds me because every person arrives with a different story. Someone comes in with swelling after surgery, and an old scar from 1994 turns out to be part of the problem. Someone else arrives completely worn out, and what they need most is an hour when their body can finally stop bracing.

I work gently. I tell you what I am noticing. Then I adjust, because your body’s response tells me more than any fixed plan ever could.

Your body already knows how to heal. My job is to guide it there.