I started Mindful Earth in 2019. Not because I had it all figured out. Because I needed something to hold onto while I figured it out.
That is the honest version. Not a clear vision executed with precision. More like — here is something I believe in deeply, let me build toward it while everything else reorganises around me.
And it has reorganised. More than once. Mindful Earth has reflected every version of that process — unravelling when I did, coming back together when I did, always a step ahead of where I was and always pointing toward something I could not yet fully see.
Where it started
I grew up carrying things. Anxiety from a young age. Experiences that took years to properly name. A body that hurt in ways I did not understand. I found yoga when I was eighteen and held onto it the way you hold onto something when everything else feels uncertain.
I did my yoga teacher training in 2020. Something cracked open in the way that always happens after that kind of intensive learning — where you see your life from the outside for a moment and it looks different than it did before. I had been longing for something. Mountains, openness, space to breathe. That longing was answered, and I followed it. I was scared. I was also so grateful.
I packed my car and drove across the country to Canmore, Alberta. I had never been to the Rockies. I did not know what I was going to find there.
What I found was myself — or the beginning of myself. The mountains are enormous in a way that is not just visual. You feel small inside them, and that smallness turned out to be exactly what I needed. The anxious, effortful version of me that was always trying to be bigger than the fear just... stopped trying. There was nothing to perform for out there. Just the mountains and the silence and whatever was actually true.
I bought my van in Canmore. Converted it. And started moving.
Learning to move — and then learning what I was running from
The van years were genuinely some of the best of my life. The east coast of Canada, Vancouver Island, Tofino, Bowen Island where I co-facilitated my first retreat away from home. Something crystallised on Bowen — a knowing that holding space for people, creating containers, gathering people with intention, was mine to do. Not just at home in familiar rooms but properly, in the world.
I was also studying constantly. Women's health, fertility, breathwork, bodywork, somatic work, neuroscience, business, marketing. Not because I had a curriculum but because I kept reaching the edges of what I understood and needing to go further. Every course, every book, every training fed into the work. I was building a foundation without fully knowing what it would hold.
But there was something else happening underneath all of that movement. I did not see it clearly until much later. The travel had become, in some part, a way of running from myself. Not consciously. But every time something painful surfaced, I had somewhere new to go. And so I went.
All the times I thought I had found myself, I was led down another path of loss, of deeper reflection, of grief. I felt like I had it all figured out, just for it to become shattered again. I learned to stop resisting this. Every contraction leads to a greater expansion. The pain, the depression, the anxiety surfacing again — I learned not to judge myself for it, not to compare, and to take space when I needed it.
The years between 2020 and 2024 held more loss than I had expected. My cousin. My grandma had her second battle with cancer in 2023 — we nearly lost her then, and every day after that felt like a gift. Nicaragua for the first retreat. Costa Rica. Three months in Portugal where something finally got clear. I came home from Portugal knowing what I was building. I went straight to my grandma.
The losses
My grandma fought cancer three times. The first was when I was in university. The second was 2023. The third was 2024, and she fought it the same way she had fought everything — with a quiet, stubborn refusal to be defeated before it was time. She taught me a lot about fighting. And eventually, when fighting was no longer what was needed, she taught me about surrender. About what it actually means to trust something bigger than yourself.
She wanted to help people. That was what she said. That is what I am carrying forward — the intention to help as many people as I possibly can, in her honour.
My grandpa died in 2025, a few months after I had moved to London. That loss arrived in a quieter way and shattered me differently. They are both with me now — in the lessons they taught me, in the love we shared, in the particular way the people who love you most do not fully leave when they go.
Grief, I have learned, is love with nowhere to go. We love and then we grieve, and if we stay with it long enough we eventually come back to love. Grief does not leave you. It becomes part of you. And there is something in that which I have stopped trying to fix.
The business I walked away from
In 2024 I started building something that felt like a coming together of everything I had been working toward for years. It felt aligned in the way that things sometimes do when you have been patient long enough — like a gift, like confirmation that you had been on the right track all along.
I put everything I had into it. My time, my energy, my belief. And slowly, then all at once, I realised it was not right for me. The vision did not match. The values did not fully align. And I had learned enough by then to know what it costs to stay in something that is not truly yours.
Losing it tested me in ways I had not anticipated. It shook my confidence. It made me question my own judgment, my own ability to trust myself to make the right choices. That was the hardest part — not the loss itself but the doubt it left behind.
And then something strange happened. It was in that loss and that pain that I finally, properly anchored myself in the belief that I could do this. That all I needed was to work hard and trust myself. I am still getting there. Still learning. But I am putting one foot in front of the other and I know now with a certainty I did not have before that this is where I am supposed to be.
I knew my worth. I knew my vision. I walked away.
Landing in London
I moved to London because of my partner. After six years of moving when I wanted and leaving when I needed, choosing to stay — choosing a city, choosing a person — was one of the stranger things I have done.
And it surfaced everything. When you have been moving for long enough, you stop noticing what you are carrying. London did not let me do that. I had nowhere to run to anymore. All I could do was be here. Three months off social media. A lot of sitting with things I had been moving past for years.
I am still landing, honestly. But I am here. And something about being here — really here, not just passing through — is making everything clearer.
What I am building, and why
The inner work we do is what brings us to the outer work. I believe this completely, because I have lived it. You cannot build something grounded from an ungrounded place. The clarity about what you are supposed to offer comes from the same place as the healing — from going all the way in, not staying at the surface.
And yet the practical side of building a wellness business — the systems, the structure, the administrative weight of it — stops so many practitioners before they have barely started. Not because they are not capable. Because they are carrying all of it alone, and nobody built anything to hold it for them.
That is what Mindful Earth is. The infrastructure. The community. The tools and the education and the support that allows practitioners to focus on the work they are here to do, rather than spending their energy on everything around it.
The foundation that allows people to grow from a grounded place. That is what I am building. It took the long way home to understand why.
I am not finished becoming who I am supposed to be. That process does not really finish. But I am more myself now than I have ever been, and that feels like enough to build from.
Mindful Earth was founded in 2019 and is still becoming what it is meant to be.
If you are a practitioner building something real — you are in the right place.
If this resonated — whether you are a practitioner building a wellness business, someone doing the inner work, or someone who simply found their way here — we would love to have you.
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