I collect words the way some people collect souvenirs.

Some end up in notebooks. Some become stories. Some find their way into conversations with strangers who eventually stop feeling like strangers. The best ones become the bridge between who someone was and who they're brave enough to become.

I'm a writer by instinct and a coach by calling. One profession taught me that stories shape people; the other taught me that people can rewrite their stories.

Coffee is less of a habit and more of a personality trait. My playlists have no loyalty whatsoever—they'll cradle me with quiet instrumentals one minute and throw me headfirst into rock the next. Both somehow make perfect sense.

Blue, grey, and green have always felt like home. Stormy oceans. Rain-soaked forests. Foggy mornings. The sky just before it decides whether to break into sunlight or thunder. If emotions had a colour palette, I'd probably live somewhere inside it.

I have a complicated relationship with stillness. My body likes movement; my mind likes wandering. I think best while walking, staring at the sea, or pretending I'm not overthinking when I absolutely am. One day I'll disappear into a tiny coastal town where winter overstays its welcome, the sea is always within walking distance, and nobody asks why I own more sweaters than common sense.

Summer and I remain on professional speaking terms.

I coach people through grief, change, identity, and the beautifully inconvenient business of being human. Not because I have all the answers—I don't trust anyone who claims they do—but because I've learned that the right question can be more life-changing than the perfect answer.

Healing, as far as I'm concerned, isn't becoming someone new. It's remembering who you were before fear, loss, expectations, and survival convinced you otherwise.

Writing and coaching are really the same craft wearing different clothes. One happens on paper. The other happens in conversation. Both begin with listening.

I'm endlessly curious. Psychology, philosophy, communication, stories, symbolism—if it explains why humans do the wonderfully irrational things we do, I'm probably reading about it. I have a habit of asking one more question than necessary, which is both my greatest strength and the reason simple conversations with me rarely stay simple.

Tattoos fascinate me because they're stories that refuse to stay hidden. Mine are reminders that growth usually arrives looking nothing like the version we ordered.

I paint my nails black, forest green, or electric blue depending on whether the day requires elegance, rebellion, or both. I firmly believe caffeine should be considered a coping mechanism, carbs qualify as emotional support, and clowns should stay exactly as far away from me as possible.

People often assume depth means seriousness.

They're usually surprised by how much I laugh.

I love absurd humour, terrible puns, beautifully written sentences, people who ask difficult questions, and conversations that accidentally last four hours. I have little patience for small talk but endless patience for honesty.

At the end of the day, I'm just someone trying to leave people a little lighter than I found them.

Sometimes I do that with a sentence.

Sometimes with a question.

Sometimes with silence.

And occasionally—with an aggressively good playlist and a very strong cup of coffee.