When I was seven years old, I had a dream.

In it, my grandfather was crossing the threshold between life and death. He spoke to me about what happens when the soul moves through that space — not in the language I use now, but in symbols, feeling, and knowing. I didn’t yet have words for it. I only understood that there was a place in-between — not an ending, not a beginning, but a passage.

Two days later, my grandfather died.

At the time, I couldn’t explain what I had experienced. I only knew that something real had touched me — something quiet, intimate, and true. Years later, I would come to recognize this as my first conscious encounter with the work of the threshold.

Death and rebirth are part of it, yes — but they are not the only thresholds we move through. Life itself is full of these spaces:

the pause between who we were and who we are becoming,

the moment before a choice,

the stillness after an ending,

The season where nothing is clear yet everything is changing.

As a child, I carried this awareness naturally.

As I grew, the outer world didn’t know how to meet it — and slowly, I learned to turn that connection down. The in-between became something I hid, even from myself.

It wasn’t until my twenties, through meditation, that the threshold found me again.

Meditation itself is a liminal space — between waking and sleeping, between thought and stillness. In that quiet,

something reopened.

A new journey began.

I started offering channelled reflections for friends and family. I moved deeply into shadow work within myself — standing at the threshold of identity, healing, and self-trust. Over time, this inner work reshaped my outer life.

What many would call a spiritual awakening felt more like a remembering.

For a long portion of my life, I lived inside what the outside world would call depression.

From within, it felt like something else — a deep compression. A narrowing. A long descent into not knowing what I was being called toward, or why.

I did not bypass this place.

I lived inside it.

I worked within it.

The inner work I devoted myself to during those years slowly began to shift my outer world, opening doors to work centred around closure, completion, and transition.

Only later did I notice the pattern:

nearly every place I worked eventually closed,

Nearly every reading I offered centred around an ending,

again and again — right time, right place.

There was a theme, quietly repeating.

My readings are deep. They naturally uncover what is completing — and guide people through what comes next. What was missing wasn’t the insight, but the container. The space needed to be slower, safer, and more honouring of the nervous system.

That is why this work has evolved.

That is why Decoding Messages has gently closed.

And why Holding the Threshold has begun.

This re-focusing arrives at the start of a new year in my life path — another quiet confirmation. Serendipity has always spoken to me this way.

Here, the work is held differently.

I do not push.

I do not prescribe.

I do not rush clarity.

I walk with you as you feel your way through your thresholds — endings, beginnings, and the sacred in-between.

This is not about answers pulled from above.

It is about truths remembered from within.

Uncovering is not a sudden revelation.

It is a slow remembering.

It happens in layers — as what is no longer true loosens, and what has always been present begins to breathe again. Often, it doesn’t feel like clarity at first. It feels like uncertainty, tenderness, or standing in the quiet after something has ended.

My work is devoted to this process.

Not fixing.

Not forcing.

But allowing what is ready to surface to do so in its own timing.

Uncovering is the moment when meaning reveals itself gently — when the soul recognizes itself without being pushed. This is the space I hold, and the pace I trust

I hold this work because I know the in-between from the inside.

I have lived inside endings before they had language. I have stood in the pause where nothing is clear, yet everything is changing. I understand what it means to move through loss, uncertainty, and deep inner compression — and to do so without being rushed toward answers.

This work is not something I learned only through study. It was revealed through experience, through cycles of closing and becoming, through years of listening to what was unfolding quietly within me.

I hold this work gently because thresholds ask for care.

They ask for presence, patience, and respect for the nervous system.

They ask to be honoured, not hurried.

I do not believe people need to be fixed.

They need space to remember.

So I hold these containers — readings, reflections, and cycles — as places where truth can surface slowly, safely, and in its own time, where you are never pushed forward, only accompanied as you feel your way through what is ending and what is beginning.

I hold this work because the threshold is sacred.

And because no one should have to cross it alone.

I show up with presence, not authority.

I listen before I speak, and I move at the pace your nervous system allows. This work is held with consent, care, and respect for where you are — not where you think you should be.

I do not rush clarity.

I do not push insight.

I do not override your inner knowing.

I offer reflection, language, and gentle guidance — always leaving choice, agency, and integration in your hands. My role is not to tell you who you are or what to do, but to help illuminate what is already moving within you.

I show up grounded, attuned, and myself

I honour the emotional and energetic layers that arise in threshold spaces, and I hold them without urgency or expectation.

This is a collaborative space.

You bring your lived experience.

I bring the container.

Together, we allow what is ready to emerge to do so in its own time.

Nothing is broken.

I have lived my whole life on the spectrum — knowing part of the story, but rarely all of it at once. The world often feels loud, layered, and overwhelming. Words can be confusing, inconsistent, and shaped to suit whoever is speaking them. Social rules are often unspoken, shifting, and difficult to grasp.

I have struggled there.

And I have learned to thrive elsewhere.

There is a threshold between language and energy — and that is where I live most naturally.

Energy does not lie.

It does not edit itself to be more acceptable.

It does not change the meaning to fit a narrative.

I feel, sense, and know truth before it is spoken. And sometimes that knowing makes others uncomfortable. Over time, I learned to quiet myself — to soften my edges, to dim what I perceived — until the truth would press so hard from within that it demanded to be acknowledged.

This work was born from that place.

I may struggle with social norms, with the unsaid rules of “should” and “should not.” But in energetic space, everything is clear. When something feels off, there is information there. When a threshold is present, it can be felt — even if it cannot yet be named.

This is where I am most at home.

Between words.

Between meanings.

Between what is shown and what is true.

This work exists for those spaces — for people who sense more than they can explain, who feel deeply without always having language, who know when something is ending even if the world insists it is not.

Nothing is wrong with your sensitivity.

Nothing is wrong with your knowing.

The truth is often quiet —

and it asks to be listened to differently.

If you feel yourself standing in an in-between place —

You are not late, and you are not lost.

You are simply at a threshold.

✨ Begin Where You Are