You don’t need a guru.

You need a guide who’s burned through her own bullshit.

If you’re here, you’ve probably already tried the hard way.

You’ve read the books.
Said the affirmations.
Taken the courses.
Tried to regulate, reframe, and rewire your way into wholeness.

You’ve convinced yourself that independence means strength—
that silence means maturity—
that if you just got your mind right, your life would follow.

You’ve explained your needs so many times that you’ve started to feel ridiculous for having any.

You’ve been the grounded one. The “emotionally intelligent” one.

But inside?
You’re drowning in overthinking.
You’re clenching your jaw through conversations that feel like landmines.
You’re holding your rage like it’s radioactive.

You’re strong on the outside and starving on the inside.

Still shrinking for people who never learned how to hold you.
Still pretending your softness is intact when really, it’s been weaponized against you.

And you're exhausted.
Not because you're weak, but because you've been carrying yourself alone for too damn long.

I see you.
Because I was you.
And because I refused to stay there.

I wasn’t healing. I was escaping.

I was drowning in self-help, and I couldn’t see it.

Chasing my highest self while choking on bullshit affirmations.

Desperate to escape who I was, I chased every healing ritual I could find. Journaling. Meditation. Nervous system resets. Clean eating. Inner child work.

I tried to become the woman I thought would finally be worthy—the one who could hold a perfect morning routine and call it freedom.

But I couldn’t keep up.
I couldn’t perform that kind of healing.

Not when I was spinning from the cacophony of voices in my head—
all of them trying to speak over the one that was truly mine.

Still shrinking in relationships that mirrored my unworthiness.
Still calling it emotional maturity when it was really emotional shutdown.

I thought healing meant regulating the parts of me that screamed to be heard.
What I really did was shame them. Silence them. Bury them.

If I had rage? I was the problem.
If I felt resentment? I was ugly.
If I was still grieving? I was broken.

I wasn’t healing.
I was managing.
Performing wellness while carrying grief in my bones.

I didn’t want to grow. I wanted to disappear.

I called it emotional intelligence. I called it self-healing.

But it was just another form of survival, another way of stifling myself.

True healing began when I stopped trying to run from myself—and started listening.
When I held space for my pain without asking it to disappear.
When I looked at my shame and didn’t flinch.

That’s when the real work began.
Not performative. Not soft. Definitely not linear.
But honest. Raw. Mine.

THIS ISN’T HEALING.

IT’S A RETURN.

I’m not here to help you
“rise above.”
I’m not here to help you bypass your rage, gratitude-list your grief away, or high-vibe your way into feeling better.

I’m here to help you remember.
To unlearn the survival patterns you dressed up as self-control.
To finally stop calling silence “maturity” and codependence “love.”

I’ve walked through the kind of pain that doesn’t look poetic on Instagram.
The kind that leaves you resentful, raging, ashamed—and still smiling for the people who’d never notice.

I am the woman who burned the rulebook.
Who healed in silence and rose with no applause.

I built emotional scaffolding with bloody hands—and still showed up vulnerable, loving, open.

And now?

I’m here to teach women that their survival wasn’t failure.
It was fucking brilliance.

You don’t need to learn how to be soft.
That already lives within you.

You need to remember how to be whole.

Unfragmented. Unpolished.

Unapologetic. Undeniable.

You’ve done enough shrinking.
You’ve made yourself digestible enough.
Now it’s time to take up space in the exact shape of your truth.

This isn’t about becoming someone better.
It’s about becoming someone real.

Not for them.
Not for performance.
For you.

You can call me V.

I’m not a therapist.
I’m not a coach with a perfect morning routine or a spiritual mask to hide behind.

I don’t have a one-size-fits-all healing package to sell you.
I’m not here to tell you what to do.
I’m here to walk beside you while you burn everything that isn’t you.

I’ve been the woman who kept the peace at the cost of her power.
I’ve been the one who cried in secret, journaled in rage,
and still went back to people who fed on my silence.

I’ve walked myself home through nervous system hell, emotional whiplash, and relationship patterns that looked like love but felt like self-abandonment.

I don’t do this work because it’s trendy.
I hold space because I know what it feels like to have none.

I don’t offer performance healing.
I offer reclamation.

If you need someone to tell you it’s okay to stay small—
I’m not her.

But if you’re ready to come home to the parts of you
you’ve buried, silenced, or sold off in pieces?

Then I’ve got room for you. All of you.

For your fire,