Whatever path you took to find me, I’m grateful you’re here.
The moment everything feels wrong is often the first moment in years that your instincts are working.
Nineteen years ago, my son Isaiah was persistently sick—every cold, no energy, and then warts spread slowly across his hands and knees. His pediatrician said, boys get warts. I knew something was wrong long before I had the words. I kept searching until a different doctor asked a different question: why can’t his immune system fight this? The answer was gluten and dairy. I cleared out my kitchen, and two months later, my son came running in, screaming, they’re gone!
The body knew. Mine knew he was sick when the system said he was fine. The experience of being a woman who knows something, gets dismissed, and turns out to be right—that’s a wound and a teacher I’ve carried every day since. It’s also where the question began. I know this woman. I am this woman.
I’ve spent decades following that thread and what I call the Biology of Liberation: what does it take for a woman, in this body, in this life, to feel free?
THE THRESHOLDAn entire generation of women was handed a particular story: push through, manage up, optimize, perform, keep going. We were the ones who were supposed to have it all, and many of us did.
Now we’re the ones finding out what that cost us—in our bodies, in the silence when the kids leave, the relationship ends, the career that mattered doesn’t anymore. In the grief we set down somewhere and never picked back up. The strategies that kept everything running have stopped working, and in that pause, there’s space to ask what do I actually want?
The threshold isn’t a crisis. It’s the first honest opening many of us have had in years. I work with women who are somewhere they didn’t expect to be: perimenopause rewriting the biological foundation of who you are, exhaustion nobody can name and grief you can’t quite place. Many of the women who find me already understand their patterns, their history, and what they’re carrying. Something is still not moving: the mind got the message, the body hasn’t.
NOURISH YOU
What I know to be true
I grew up Italian and Jewish, which means I learned what nourishment meant before I had a name for it—where the food on the table means I see you, I’m here. So when wellness culture tells us that eating is a discipline, a set of rules for managing the body toward some future, better version of ourselves, it trains us to move away from the body that already knows. We weren’t meant to be at war with the thing that keeps us alive.
I believe food is foundational nervous system information. What we eat shapes our capacity to feel regulated, present, and okay in our bodies. We were conditioned to orient toward long-term health goals and completely bypass the felt experience of right now. That bypass is where the cost lives. What doesn’t get noticed doesn’t get processed.
HUMAN NATURELiberation isn’t a mindset. It’s a biological state.
Your body is the foundation of freedom. Most wellness culture locates liberation in the mind—mindset, intention, attitude—or in behavior. The body comes first. Regulation, recovery, and adaptation happen at the cellular level, then peace follows. What stays is something closer to ease. Equanimity: the body at home in itself.
In the room
I work with women in individual sessions that draw on somatic work, narrative work, and functional nourishment.
The body is always in the room with us. We pay attention to what’s happening in your body as much as your mind—the tightening, the held breath, the place where a story lands in your chest or your throat or your gut—because the nervous system speaks before the mind has words for it, and slowing down to stay with those sensations is where the signal lives. Somatic work restores the nervous system’s flexibility, its capacity to shift and stop bracing for a threat it survived. Healing is the return of movement.
Sometimes the moment calls for a tarot card, one of the oldest symbolic tools for psychological self-inquiry with roots in northern Italy—an image that asks something of you that language has been dancing around.
AI can give you information about your nervous system and trauma responses instantly and for free—and I believe in that access. What it cannot give you is co-regulation—the felt experience of being in the presence of a human who is settled, present, asking nothing of you, and real-time body reading.
How I got here
I’ve never fit neatly into one world, and I’ve stopped apologizing for it.
I started in the editorial departments of food magazines before I had any idea what I was building toward—six cookbooks, a cult Italian bakery in Brooklyn, and founding editor-in-chief of Rachael Ray Every Day magazine. Now, in my 50s, I’m an MSW candidate completing clinical training in grief, loss, and end-of-life care at Northwell Phelps Hospital Caregivers Center—learning what it means to be present when there’s nothing left to manage. And yes, I’m the French maid in the Notorious B.I.G.’s “Juicy” video serving Biggie champagne—evidence of a life lived sideways. The movement between the kitchen and the clinic, the sacred and the empirical, the nourishing and the therapeutic, is the work. I pull the thread that runs through everything. Now I have a name: alchemy.
I’m direct. I’ll tell you what I’m noticing and ask the question that hasn’t been asked yet. Your story is safe with me, and so is your becoming—your body, your longings, your desires.
I have stood at my own crossroads. Almost a decade ago, I was living in the hills of Tuscany—one of the most beautiful places on earth—and living through relentless abuse. The kind that escalates so gradually until it’s all there is. The night I fled, I had been choked and pushed down two flights of stone stairs. I ran through cypress trees in the dark, a man behind me wielding an axe, the moon my only light. I made it out. Not everyone does.
The woman I’m trying to reach is the one who knows something is deeply wrong, who was conditioned not to trust herself, who has been running on capable and fine so long she’s forgotten what safe feels like.
I built this practice for her. I’m here because the body knows. Someone should be in the room when it finally speaks.
