I grew up with an alcoholic father, and as a teenager I started carrying what was happening at home in my body. It didn’t stay in my head anymore — it lived in my stomach, in a body that never quite relaxed, in aches I didn’t have words for yet. I felt very alone, and I was hungry to belong — to have a place somewhere, to be seen and heard. I think that’s what pulled me toward film so early.

For about fifteen years, between France and California, I was an actress, then a screenwriter, then a producer. Underneath it all, the intention never changed: telling stories so the people watching would feel a little less alone. Over time, my writing kept coming back to the same things — identity, trauma, grief.

Then I reached what I thought was the top: a new life in Venice Beach, a marriage, a dream come true. And that’s exactly when I felt the most lost. I had to grieve the woman I’d been — the straight French woman, shaped by a framework I’d never questioned — to make room for the one I was becoming. Because someone had turned my world upside down: after loving men, I fell in love with a woman, and I realized just how little love cares about gender.

When my father passed away, something opened up. I was able to step away from that career and ask myself who I was without it. And I understood something simple: instead of hoping someone would one day watch one of my films and see themselves in it, I could be right there, in the room, with people who feel alone and need to be heard. Same intention — just more direct. I went back to school and spent four years studying psychology, all the way through my degree, and I’ve never felt so sure I was in the right place.

I trained in the approaches that, to me, change everything: somatic work and nervous system regulation — rooted in my own yoga and meditation practice, which I also teach — trauma-informed mindfulness, and above all parts work, inspired by IFS (Internal Family Systems). It all comes from one idea that rings deeply true: we don’t heal by forcing our pain into silence, or by cutting ourselves off from the wounded parts of us, those other versions of ourselves, or trying to make them disappear. We heal by finally giving them room to exist — to be understood, welcomed, and loved where love was missing.

That’s also what shaped my research project on healing in groups. It confirmed what I’d felt all along: we badly need safe spaces where we can go through hard things together; grief is woven into who we are; and moving through it in community helps us welcome and accept who we’re becoming, who we’ve been, and who we are right now.

What I bring

I’m bicultural and bilingual — French and American — and I work in both languages. I know from the inside what it means to live between two cultures, two languages, two places you call home, and what it takes to rebuild yourself far from everything familiar.

My work is especially for people going through an identity transition — around gender, sexuality, culture, or life itself. I offer affirming support for women and LGBTQIA+ people: a space where you never have to explain or justify who you are. You’re simply welcomed.

I meet each person in the full complexity of what they carry, because our identities intersect and overlap. That intersectional lens is at the heart of my work.

How I work

I don’t believe we heal alone, or with words alone. We find our way back by listening differently: by coming back into the body, by putting down what we’ve been carrying, by being met without judgment.

Grief, a transition, a shift in identity — these aren’t things you “fix.” They’re things you move through. And it’s so much easier when you’re not doing it alone. That’s all I offer: safe, welcoming spaces, one-to-one or in a group, for people in the middle of these transitions.

Today

I’m back in Provence after about ten years in California. I work in French and English, in person and online. And I keep training, because this kind of care is something you never stop learning.

Trained in integrative psychology (B.A., National University — recognized in France as equivalent to a licence by ENIC-NARIC), trauma-informed mindfulness, yoga (200-hour teacher training), and as a psychopractitioner (CRESP).

If something here resonates with you, let’s talk.