As a child, I was told I was too quiet.
It took me many years to understand that stillness was not a flaw — it was my way of listening.
I grew up in post-war Germany, where diligence and discipline were valued above dreams. Yet something in me longed for something else: the scent of pine forests, the shimmer of the Mediterranean, the quiet wisdom carried by landscapes.
Both sides of my family carry the history of war and displacement. As part of the generation of Kriegsenkel, I grew up surrounded by silences — stories that lived in bodies but were rarely spoken.
Perhaps this is why remembrance, belonging, and tending the unseen have become part of my path.
Over time my work began to weave itself from many threads:
writing and reflection,
somatic awareness and embodiment,
ritual and remembrance
, travel and landscape.
I have walked pilgrim routes, sat in ceremony, studied consciousness and collective trauma, and explored the ways in which body, land, and story are deeply connected.
Yet the deepest teacher has always been lived experience — joy and grief, wild journeys and quiet thresholds.
a space where writing, ritual and landscape meet.
Here I hold space for women moving through transitions — moments when something old is ending and something new is quietly emerging.
My role is not to lead the way.
It is to listen, witness, and curate spaces where women can reconnect with their own inner orientation.
