A long, slow walk
toward the table.

I grew up in a small church in Brazil where my grandmother prayed over a pot of beans every morning, and where the women of the congregation seemed to carry the whole world on their shoulders without ever once complaining about the weight. I learned what quiet strength looked like before I had any words for it.

I came to the United States in my twenties, married young, learned a second language inside the four walls of a kitchen where my husband and I were figuring out how to be people together. I had babies. I lost a baby. I started over more times than I can tell you.

For nearly a decade I worked in social work and pastoral care, first beside other Brazilian women navigating the immigration system in New England, then with women of every background who found their way to me because someone had said, there’s a woman in Middleboro who will sit with you.

That is what I bring to coaching. Not a formula. Not a proprietary framework with a clever name. Just the conviction that you are not a problem to be solved, that the Word is alive, and that the conversation we have together can be a place where you stop performing your own healing long enough for the Lord to do what only He does.

I work with women in transition — through marriages and motherhood, through callings half-claimed, through faith that has gone quiet, through ordinary middle-life weariness. I am especially at home with women from immigrant and bicultural families, women in ministry, and women who have spent a long time being the strong one in every room they walk into.