I didn’t set out to write a book.

What I was trying to do was survive: quietly, responsibly, and without falling apart in ways that would make things harder for myself or my child.

I had insight.

I had training.

I had years of experience helping others through crisis and trauma.

And still, my own nervous system stayed stuck in high alert, looping through exhaustion, vigilance, and self-doubt.

I began writing because I needed somewhere to put what I was living through.

At first, it was notes.

Observations.

Metaphors that made more sense than clinical language ever had.

I noticed that healing felt like learning how to walk again on uneven ground.

Some days required stopping. Some days required circling back. Some days were just about staying upright.

Nature became the language that helped me understand what was happening in my body and mind.

Trails.

Storms.

Narrow passes.

Basecamps.

Places where you pause, orient, and regain your footing before continuing on.

The book took shape slowly, alongside my own healing. It wasn’t written from a place of being “finished.” It was written from inside the process, while learning how to regulate, how to trust myself, and how to live without reactivity running the show.

Over time, the book stopped being just a story and became a map.

What I noticed was this: insight alone wasn’t enough. Motivation wasn’t enough. Even therapy, while deeply valuable, didn’t always translate into daily steadiness.

What made the difference was having a structure, a way to return to safety, without pressure or performance.

That structure became The Healing Trail.

The book is the heart of this work.

The Trail is how it’s lived.

Everything you’ll find here, whether written, guided, or experiential, grew out of that original process: learning how to move from survival into steadiness, one grounded step at a time.

I share this not as someone who has it all figured out, but as someone who has walked this terrain and knows how disorienting it can feel.

My hope is that what grew from my own healing can offer you something simple, supportive, and real: a place to begin, and a map you can return to whenever you need suggestions.