Before anything traumatic ever happened to me, I was living the life I had worked so hard to build.

I was in my dream home with my partner of many years, working on blending our families. My child was thriving and felt connected to his step-siblings. We’d renovated the house ourselves — handpicking the kitchen, the bathroom, every fitting and finish — and I’d worked alongside my partner to make it all happen, laying tiles and painting walls. I felt unstoppable.

My private practice was thriving too. I had a three-week waiting list and the kind of passion for my work I’d always dreamed of.
I thought I was building a life that would just keep growing.

Then everything changed.

First came COVID, forcing our practices home. Not long after, my partner’s mum needed serious and life-saving surgery. Just as she recovered, my own mum — my best friend and greatest ally — started cancer treatment.

The year that followed was a blur of emergency hospital visits, multiple medical crises, and the kind of anticipatory grief you can’t prepare for. Then she was gone.

I barely had time to catch my breath before another close family member went through a significant personal crisis. The series of losses and stressors felt relentless.

I continued to hold space for my clients and honour my commitments, but privately I could feel the toll. I was burning out and slipping into collapse.

The work I had always loved started to feel uncharacteristically heavy. At times I felt numb — out of my body, disconnected from joy, unable to problem-solve with the sharpness I once valued. At other times my body couldn’t find rest — some days wired and hyper-alert, scanning for the next thing to go wrong; other days flat and disconnected, going through the motions. Evenings left me completely spent. My gut was in knots. Sleep was broken. My moods shifted without warning.

And yet… I had something most people in that position don’t: years of training in trauma and the nervous system.

This was the first time I had to use that knowledge with full commitment on myself.
I began tracking my own states — what dissociation felt like in my body, the signs of collapse, the surge of mobilised energy in hypervigilance. I then started to use the same tools I now teach in Regulate to move myself back toward stabilisation.

I worked directly with my body’s signals, supported by all the tools in my toolbox and the support of safe, trusted people.  Step by step, I found my way back to feeling present and steady.

In my own dark night of the soul I could see how insufficient just “knowing what happened” really is. Even with all my training in ‘talk therapy’ I knew first hand, I couldn’t “think” my way out of this. Healing took time. I committed to a deep, body-centred process — using somatic tools, leaning into what I knew about stabilising the nervous system.
Slowly, I began to feel safe in my own body again.

Through that process, I realised:
It’s not enough to understand why you’re traumatised. You need a clear, practical way to re-stabilise your system — one you can use yourself, without waiting for a therapy session or relying on someone else to “fix” you.

That experience deepened everything I teach and my passion for teaching it.
I’ve lived this formula. I know what it’s like to be stuck in dysregulation — and I know what it takes to get back to stability.

I created The Groundwork Project™ to make this possible for others. Because you’re not broken — your nervous system is simply doing its best to protect you.

When we understand its mechanics, we can ride life’s inevitable waves feeling equipped, not powerless.

This is the work I do now: giving people the knowledge, tools, and confidence to regulate their own nervous system — so that no matter what life throws at you, you have the right map to guide yourself home again.