MY OWN SAUCE
200 hour Certified Yoga Teacher, Pilates Instructor, Self-Love and Sexual Wellness Coach, specialized Massage Therapist, Mompreneur, Soulfluencer and DJ.
I’m a woman of many layers, and I bring and blend all of my qualifications, skills and life-experiences into my work.
I believe in manifestation and grit.
Magic and discipline.
Softness and strength.
Building a life you’re obsessed with doesn’t happen by accident — it happens through intention, devotion, and showing up for yourself consistently.
i cooked my sauce ...
February 2026, my life cracked open.
The kind that splits you down the middle and asks,
“Who the fuck are you now?”
In the span of what felt like minutes — but was really a slow, unraveling spiral ...
I released a man I had been in an on-again, off-again toxic situationship with for ten years. Ten. Fucking. Years. A decade of almosts. Of hoping he would choose me the way I kept choosing him. A decade of shrinking, stretching, performing, looping, self-sabotaging, unloving, and trying again. Literally going against my self-worth.
And almost simultaneously, I was forced to walk away from my dream job. The job that was perfect on paper. The job I had worked toward for 2.5 years. The job that validated me. But the starting date coincided with the day I prepared for what was about to change the course of my life forever.
My mother passed away. That was the fucking cherry on top. Losing my mom stripped me to my core. Grief has a way of removing all performance. It asks you who you are when the world stops. When the relationship ends, and you feel like an orphan. When the title disappears. When the person who knew you before the world touched you is no longer here. And now you're on top of the food chain, at the still-baby-girl age of 37?
Heartbreak from love. Heartbreak from career. Heartbreak from death.
All within weeks.
my WTF became my WHY
From the ashes of 2026 — something sacred emerged:
I realized I could either collapse (again) and I already KNOW that leads to meaningless sex, binge-eating, isolation, depression and dark consuming, overpowering thoughts that lead to even more self-sabotage (again)
OR
I fucking rise. I come home to myself.
That is how the SELFLOVESAUCE container was reborn in me.
The survival guide. The devotion practice. The self-love ritual.
My certifications are 5+ years old. This framework is not AI psychology. This is real-real embodiment. This is my calling.
I asked myself:
What would have saved me ten years ago?
What would have helped me leave sooner?
What would have supported me through grief without abandoning myself?
What practices would anchor a woman in my position, when everything falls apart?
let her cook
THE ANSWER BECAME MY METHOD
The workins and the workouts.
The embodiment and the inquiry.
The truth-telling and the tenderness.
I learned something brutally honest:
You cannot think your way into self-love.
You have to practice it.
Daily. Devotionally. Especially when you don’t feel like it.
I created HOMECUM'ING: Self-love workbook for baddies. During my months and months of trying to survive. I poured all my feminine range, sexual energy, heart-led intention and badass aura into my rituals. AND MY LIFE STARTED CHANGING INSTANTELY >>>
They are simple on purpose, with purpose.
Breath. Body. Boundaries. Pleasure. Intention.
When my world collapsed, mornings were the hardest.
I would wake up and for a split second forget — then remember everything. And the grief would hit like a wave.
The rituals became my lifeline.
Before I checked my phone.
Before I checked on anyone else.
Before I spiraled.
I CHECKED IN WITH ME!
my mourning routine became my morning routine.
That is what I embody & teach now:
PRACTICE > PERFECTION
DEVOTION > DISCIPLINE
AUTHENTICITY > APPROVAL
For years, I diluted myself to be digestible. I softened my truths so I wouldn’t intimidate. I silenced my sensuality so I wouldn’t be misunderstood. I made myself convenient in love. I made myself impressive in work. I made myself strong in loss.
NONE👏OF👏THAT👏SHIT👏ANYMORE👏
I will speak the things women whisper to each other in club bathrooms and pencil on journal pages. The raw. The erotic. The grieving. The angry. The rebuilding. The choosing-yourself-even-when-it’s-lonely parts.
Because the truth is: my heartbreak liberated me.
I am no longer interested in coaching women how to be more palatable.
I am here to guide women back to their bodies, their standards, their pleasure, their truth.
get to know me through my favorite things . . .
1
My milfy morning routine. I make such a big deal about it because it is my non-negotiable daily devotion to remember who tf I am. Sipping on a good cup of coffee and spending time in silence brings me back to my body, gratitude and joy.
2
Being with and around my family & best friends. Laughing 'til our stomachs hurt, and crying until we really feel better. The sharing. The caring. The unhinged conversations. This is therapy.
3
The kind of bubblebaths you see on Pinterest. Hottt water, bubbles, oils, salts, flowers, candles, music ... *chefs kiss*
4
Juicy, messy sex - when emotional safety meets raw desire — when two bodies move in sync with breath and intention, where eye contact lingers, hands explore with curiosity, laughter blends with moans, time dissolves, and pleasure feels less like performance and more like a sacred, uninhibited surrender to connection and aliveness. Passion, without performance.
5
F.R.I.E.N.D.S. It's been over 22 years of binge-worthy laughs. I mean, could I be more obsessed?
6
A few-days music festival with like-minded people. There is something special, and always life-changing about going on a wholesome trip. Keeping my inner-child alive + happy is a top priority.
7
I'm a slut for a sunrise & sunset.
I know what it feels like to abandon yourself slowly.
I know what it feels like to lose everything at once.
And I really, really know what it feels like to rise because you finally choose yourself again and again and again.
if my pain can become someone else’s permission
if my devotion can become someone else’s blueprint
if my grief can become someone else’s courage
Then every tear was alchemy!
This is my homecoming.
And if you are here, reading this, perhaps it’s time for yours too.
My favourite part of the game is the opportunity to play.
LET'S WORK TOGETHER.