Sacred Sync was birthed because I got tired of the narrative that a woman’s worth is in how desirable she looks,
not how connected and alive she feels in her body.

I got tired of seeing women, and mothers disappear inside their roles, treated like they must trade their eroticism for service. I got tired of watching women’s bodies and sex be sold back to them through shame.

I know our bodies are sacred ground, not for consumption, but communion.

Our cycles, our wombs, our eros are not something to be hidden or managed, but awakened and honoured.

Sacred Sync is a space where women don’t have to shrink to be safe. Where we can speak about sex, sensuality, rage, death, grief, love, and desire without being labelled, shamed, or silenced.

I didn’t find this path in a textbook.
This path found me, through every wild, messy, beautiful, brutal chapter of becoming.

Unbeknown to my family, and friends, as a young teen I experienced some things no one ever should.

At 18 I became a mother. I believe this saved me.
But I became a mother before I ever really knew who I was.
Before I had a chance to grow, and heal.
Before I felt truly held in my own womanhood.

Motherhood is the most sacred part of my life.
But somewhere along the way,
My body became a vessel for service, not sensation.
And like so many women, I learned to survive by holding it all together.

Be needed, but never needy.
Give endlessly, but ask for nothing.
Smile, soothe, serve, stay small.

In my twenties, I danced as a stripper.
It was one of the most liberating and complex portals of my life.
I learned how to channel power through my energy, how to hold the gaze of a room without flinching. How to play with seduction and stand firm in my boundaries.

But underneath, something was still missing.
Because I wasn’t longing to be watched. I was aching to be seen in all my mess.

My life has been raw, beautiful, colourful, and real.
It’s cracked me open and stitched me back together a hundred times over.

So when I say I know what it feels like to be disconnected from your body,
To perform for others and fake intimacy, to silence your pain, your sensuality, and feel shame for your desire.
I mean it.

I know what it’s like to feel half-numb, half-awake.
To wonder if you can be both mother and muse.
Soft and strong. Sensual and sacred.

To ask: Can I be magnetic and maternal? Wild and wise?
Can I be fully me… and still be loved?

You can. Even more so.

Eventually, I left the club and walked into the holy chalice of the feminine.
Because I couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine while I was unraveling inside.

That’s when the slow, sacred return began. The return…
To my body. My cycles. My womb. My grief. My rage. My pleasure. My power.

And now I live in devotion to truth. To depth. To the shakti that pulses beneath the surface of everything.

I guide women, especially mothers, who are ready to come home.
To reclaim their sensuality, their voice, their softness, their fire.
To feel deeply, dance wildly, and remember they are the altar, the temple, the living prayer.

This isn’t fluffy self-love.
It’s deep soul retrieval.

You don’t need to be more ready, more healed, more anything. You only need to be willing to return.