Dakota’s story began in South Africa.
She was born into a world full of warmth, wild beauty, and a kind of untamed energy that always felt like it lived inside her too. From the very beginning, there was something strong and vibrant about her presence. She wasn’t quiet or reserved—she was expressive, alive, and full of personality.
Even as a little girl, Dakota had a spark you couldn’t ignore.
She moved through life with energy and curiosity, always wanting to experience things fully. She didn’t stand on the sidelines—she jumped in. Whether she was playing, exploring, or trying something new, she brought a sense of aliveness with her that filled the space around her.
As she grew, that energy found a home in movement.
Gymnastics became a big part of her world. She loved the strength of it, the challenge, the way she could push herself and feel what her body was capable of. There was something beautiful about watching her—focused and determined, but still playful, still Dakota.
She had a strong will, a fierce independence, and a way of doing things on her own terms.
But beneath that strength was a deep sensitivity.
Dakota felt life in a way that wasn’t always visible on the surface. She experienced things deeply—love, joy, pain, connection. There was a richness to her, a depth that made her both strong and vulnerable at the same time.
About Dakota
As a teenager, Dakota experienced an injury during gymnastics that would quietly shift the course of her life.
What began as a broken arm led to a prescription—something that, at the time, felt like a normal part of healing. But over time, things changed in ways we didn’t fully understand then.
Like so many families, we found ourselves navigating something much bigger than we ever expected.
It wasn’t simple.
It wasn’t linear.
And it wasn’t something you can ever fully prepare for.
But even in that, Dakota was still Dakota.
She was still strong-willed.
Still deeply feeling.
Still full of life in her own way.
Her journey held both light and struggle—just like so many human lives do. And none of it ever changed who she was at her core.
She was my daughter.
My baby.
My firecracker.
There are so many moments that live in my heart now—memories of her laughter, her energy, the way she moved through the world, the presence she carried into everyday life. The kinds of moments you don’t realize are everything… until they are.
Dakota didn’t live a small life.
She lived fully. Honestly. In her own way.
And even though her time here was far too short, the impact she had—the love she gave, the depth she carried, the imprint she left—is lasting.
She is still here.
In the way I breathe.
In the way I move.
In the way I hold space for other women walking through grief.
Everything I do now is because of her.
Her life, her journey, and her spirit are woven into this work—into every class, every retreat, every moment of connection.
She didn’t just change my life.
She continues to guide it.
In 2018, my life changed forever.
My youngest daughter, Dakota, left this world at just 23 years old. The loss shattered everything I thought I knew about life, about motherhood, and about how much pain a heart can hold.
Dakota was my firecracker—my wild, adventurous girl. She was bold, creative, and full of life. She loved gymnastics and music, and she had a way of lighting up every space she walked into.
She wasn’t just my daughter—she was a beautiful, kind, deeply soulful human being. And I am forever grateful that I got to be her mom.
Before she passed, Dakota and I had started our yoga teacher training together. After she died, I made the decision to finish it—for both of us. That journey became one of the first steps in learning how to survive the unbearable.
My Story
Because the truth is… grief is not something you “get over.”
It lives in your body.
In your breath.
In the quiet moments when everything feels too heavy to carry.
There were days I didn’t know how I would keep going. Days where the grief felt too deep for words, too heavy for anything to touch.
But slowly—through movement, through breath, through showing up one day at a time—I began to find a way to live alongside it.
Not without it.
But with it.
Yoga became my anchor.
A way to move the grief through my body when I couldn’t think my way out of it.
A way to come back to myself, even in the darkest moments.
I still miss her every single day. That never goes away.
I have learned something I didn’t think was possible in the beginning:
That grief and love can exist together.
That sorrow and beauty can live side by side.
That life, even after loss, can slowly begin to hold color again.
Everything I offer now—every class, every retreat, every space I hold—is because of Dakota.
She opened me to a deeper understanding of healing, of energy, and of what it means to truly be present with pain.
This work is not something I studied in a book.
It’s something I lived.
And if you are walking through grief too,
please know this:
You are not alone.
