This space was born from both unimaginable loss and quiet, radical healing. I’m not here to preach about pain or loss, or say how you should heal. But I am here to hold space — for your grief, your growth, and everything in between.

A woman with dark hair, wearing a gray T-shirt, sits beside a young child lying in a hospital bed with medical tubes and oxygen mask. The woman gently touches the child's face, showing a caring moment.
A newborn baby with a feeding tube in their nose, lying on a bed with white sheets, wearing a diaper and a white sock on one hand.
Smiling young woman in a hospital bed with a young child dressed in a graduation cap and gown, holding a diploma.
A happy child standing in a high chair, wearing red oven mitts and a white shirt with red polka dots, indoors with chairs and a table in the background.
A woman in a white medical uniform taking a selfie in a mirror in a bathroom while a young boy, shirtless and with a towel around his neck, leans over the bathroom sink.
Two women practicing yoga on mats inside a room with a large window, sitting with legs raised and holding their feet.
Three young women in a yoga class practicing meditation and yoga poses, seated on mats in a room with a turquoise brick wall and colorful yoga blocks in the background.

Hi, I’m Micheleen (Mick-a-lean).

And here’s a little of how I ended up here.

I’ve always been a deeply emotional person—born into a world that didn’t quite know what to do with emotions. I grew up with anxiety, experienced depression as a teen, and found myself navigating life alone from a young age. My home life was unstable, so I moved between different relatives, dropped out of high school, and did my best to find my footing wherever I could.

At 18, I completed a dental assistant program and fell in love with understanding the body and holistic wellness. But despite building a life that looked stable on the outside, I was still struggling internally. Panic attacks and anxiety crept in, and that’s when I turned to holistic healing—hypnotherapy, yoga, and mindfulness. For the first time, I started to feel safe in myself. But even then, I still felt a little lost.

Then came my greatest teacher: my son, Tad.

Tad was born with complex medical needs, and as a brand new mom, I was suddenly trained to be his full-time caregiver. I learned how to manage a trach, ventilator, G-tube, countless medications, and daily therapy routines. It was a lot—and for a while, he was really sick.

But over time, I discovered how to use food and lifestyle changes to support his healing. Slowly, I watched him come alive. He was thriving—because home and love truly are the best medicine.

Still, we constantly struggled to find safe, qualified nursing care. I was exhausted, burnt out, and doing everything alone. Even though I had always said I’d never become a nurse, I enrolled in LPN school—because I would do anything for Tad.

Halfway through the program, the unthinkable happened. An unqualified nurse missed a critical moment, and Tad passed away in her care.

Losing my son shattered me. And destroyed who I used to be.

Finishing nursing school while grieving him was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. But after losing my son, I began to see how much pain and disconnection so many people quietly live with — not just those in grief, but anyone who has forgotten what it feels like to feel safe, grounded, and alive in their own body.

Over the years, my own healing led me deeper into studying grief, trauma, and the nervous system. I worked with patients recovering from brain injuries and near drownings—witnessing firsthand how deeply the mind and body are intertwined. I completed my associate degree in exercise science and later chose to step away from pursuing a higher nursing degree, realizing my path forward wasn’t within the medical system, but in reimagining how we heal beyond it.

That realization brought me back to India, where I completed my 500-hour yoga teacher training and immersed myself in the ancient teachings of yoga, meditation, and the beautiful traditional practices. Being there reminded me how far we’ve drifted from what our bodies truly crave—slowness, breath, mindful movement, and connection to ourselves. The wisdom of these traditions isn’t about fixing what’s broken; it’s about remembering how to come home to your body, your breath, and your innate sense of wholeness.

Today, I use everything I’ve learned to help others reconnect with themselves—through nervous system regulation, somatic healing, creative expression, and simple, soul-centered routines that bring us back to life.

This space is for anyone seeking a gentler, more natural way to heal.
For those ready to breathe deeper, move slower, and remember that peace is possible—right here, within you.

Thank you for being here. And may this space reminds you that healing is possible—even after everything.

With love,
Micheleen (Forever, Tad’s Mom)

Smiling woman with curly hair in white traditional dress standing on grass in a lush green outdoor setting.
People standing in a line with their hands folded in a prayer position, wearing traditional Indian attire with marigold garlands, in a room with white brick walls, wooden floor, framed artwork, and religious images in the background.
A young child sitting in a stroller, wearing a camouflage shirt and a straw hat, sticking out his tongue and making a silly face, with greenery in the background.

To fully experience grief is a painful privilege that can completely change you and the way you live your life.