Build a relationship with the grief that walks beside you.
We often think we are grieving a person…
And what we are really learning to live with… is grief itself.
The grief that was introduced to you through one loss,
but has quietly held all the others —
the lost identities, the imagined futures, the ruptured bonds,
the small heartbreaks no one ever witnessed.
This is the grief we will meet here.
Not as a problem to fix, but as a companion to get to know.
A companion that already knows you — with zero explanation.
One that has been patiently waiting for you to say, “hello.”
No rush. Only presence. And grace.
Ready to join your team, whenever you are ready to let it.
Grief Coaching
A Different Approach to Grief
In this space, we do not try to “move on.”
We learn to move with.
We start by getting specific.
What is the grief sitting beside you right now?
Was it introduced through the death of a person?
Through the unraveling of an identity?
Through the quiet ache of not becoming who you thought you’d be?
This work helps you name the grief that is already living in you —
and offers the tools to stay in relationship with it,
so it does not have to take over your life in silence.
This work is for you if:
You are grieving a death, a relationship, a role, or a version of yourself
You feel like grief has become your primary relationship — and you want to understand it
You want to be able to say: “I know when you are near. I know what you need.”
You are tired of bypassing and ready to actually be with what is
You are ready to explore grief as a teacher — not just a burden
In Practice
You’ll receive:
1:1 sessions (60-minutes, virtual or in person)
Between-session integration prompts, meditations, or rituals
Optional use of creative and imaginal practices (e.g., Memory Weaving)
Gentle invitations to bring grief into relationship, not resolution
How We Work Together
This is a somatic, relational, and imaginal process — grounded in the Jellyfish Method, my signature approach to healing that honors the body's intelligence and grief’s natural rhythm.
We move through three fluid phases:
1. Unveil – Meeting What Is
We begin by gently noticing what is present.
Not just the person you lost — but the grief itself.
We get curious about the shape of it, the weight of it, the other losses it may be holding (identity, safety, belonging).
We name what has not yet been spoken.
We slow down enough to meet your grief — not just manage it.
2. Flow – Being With
This is where we stop trying to fix.
Instead, we stay with what arises — sadness, anger, numbness, confusion.
We listen to the body, the breath, the silence.
We build trust with grief as a companion, not a threat.
This is where Memory Weaving may happen — allowing yourself to imagine moments that never happened, but could have.
Moments that re-animate connection, and let your body feel what love still lives here.
3. Alchemize – Walking With
Over time, something changes.
Not because you forced it — but because you stayed.
We explore how to live with grief in your daily life,
how to communicate with it, care for it, and let it move through you.
This is where grief becomes less of a shadow and more of an ally.
Something you can walk beside — without being overtaken by it.
A Note from Me
I thought I knew grief.
But I had not met her — not until I took my first sober trip back to Melbourne.
Back to the streets Dan and I walked together. Back to my step-daughters. Back to the places where his presence still lingered in muscle memory.
It happened suddenly — turning a corner, crossing Collins Street —
I swear my body expected to see him.
I even looked at my phone, confused.
He said he had beat me here.
Where was he?
And then the wave hit.
I could not breath. The city moved quicker, and suddenly went silent all at once.
Time collapsed.
And no amount of fixing, soothing, or pretending could change what was true:
He was not here.
He never would be.
So I carried myself back across the street, to the park — please, no one look at me, no one approach, I do not know how I would answer ‘is everything okay?’.
I sat behind a bush. In the dirt.
Trying to convince my body that I could still fix this.
That I could be the comfort.
And my body quietly said —
There is no fixing. Only meeting.
Only accepting.
Only welcoming home.
That night, I lay on the bed and placed the extra pillows on Dan’s side.
And instead of scrolling, or avoiding, or disassociating, I turned toward them.
I imagined grief lying beside me.
And I said,
You are not the enemy.
You are my true companion.
And if we can do this … we can do anything.