I have been this way since I was small. I spent almost three decades in corporate rooms reading what no one was saying out loud. I raised four children. I buried people I loved. I hid a lot of what I could perceive, because it made other people uncomfortable, and then I spent a long time walking back toward it without making it a performance.
The work I hold now did not begin when my mother died — though that cracked the door all the way open. It began in a child who already knew a language she was told was not real. Everything after that has been a long return.
Love of One — a transformational journey across the threshold of oneness.
The stance
The longer walk
My life has been shaped by all kinds of people, places, projects and skills. Underneath all of it I have always loved to love. I am a huge giver of my heart. I could feel other people’s emotions as if they were standing in the room — I still can. I can read a room. That sensitivity was not a spiritual brand. For almost thirty years it was how I survived corporate business.
Life has brought more deaths and rebirths than I can tidy into a timeline. Two marriages that ended. Four children, with more than a decade between the oldest and the youngest. One father who is an extraordinary co-parent. Another who eventually left no trail. Close family members passing, one after another, often without a clean explanation — only what I learned to sense for myself as I walked beside them.
Modalities kept finding me whether I asked or not. I became a yoga instructor in my early twenties. I got curious about astrology. I kept the private suspicion that we are not alone in this universe. None of that was a career plan. It was a thread I could not drop.
In late April 2011 my mom was diagnosed with terminal stage 4 colon cancer — on my birthday. In January 2012 she passed. Along that walk I started to believe, and then to see with my own eyes and with hers, that we are not alone. And that neither are the ones who have already gone.
Her death did not invent my path. It threw me onto a different timeline. Not back to Angie. Back to Angela. Back toward the truest expression of this soul’s journey.
My body became the most ill it had ever been. Hospitals, doctors, specialists, herbalists, and then a different kind of care entirely — holistic and energetic. Serious remembrance started to kick in. A few years later the dreams grew lucid. Every night. More life arrived: not all of it beautiful, much of it difficult. More deaths. More rebirths. More children. More versions of myself that had to be laid down.
2020 was, for me, as hard as the grief of my mother. A long, drawn-out divorce. The Pacific Northwest on fire. Covid closing every ordinary human thing. And the day my oldest son attempted his life.
I was there. I reached him. It was not only me who kept him here.
That day changed the trajectory of my awakening. Everything I had been carrying came down at once. Grief, self-destruction, anxiety, anger, rage, shame, guilt, the thickest victimhood I had ever sat in. I questioned everything. I sank.
One day I had to snap out of it — for my children, and for myself. I took meditation seriously this time. My version of it: sitting in silence, eyes closed, breathing. I did not like it. I stuck with it anyway.
I went back to talk therapy. I have been around talk therapy since I was about ten. It has always helped me get the top layer said out loud, without being judged for the words. It helped again. It did not reach the bottom of the wounding. So I took the next step myself, the way I think we all eventually have to. I started float tank therapy. Silence. Darkness. Water. My nervous system finally settled — and then something else began. Visions behind my eyelids. Voices that were not mine. Those tanks sent me on a different journey entirely.
Sound baths. Reiki. Light language. Channeling. Hypnosis, which is still my favorite doorway. Plant medicines. Akashic records. If it could meet a wound I was facing, I tried it. There is still plenty I have not tried. I am not finished.
From 2021 forward I devoted myself to the work of meeting what was mine. Each wound that surfaced brought an ability my soul had walked in with. I did not collect tools to become impressive. I followed what arrived.
I sat with practitioners and teachers so I could go further into the gifts I already carried — and so I could learn to hold an undistorted field in someone else’s presence. Some of those relationships were a handful of sessions. Some lasted years. A constant return to the next layer, and the next, and the next.
Most of the people I learned beside are in the first two seasons of The Love of One Podcast. I asked them on because I trust their work. I recommend every one of them. If you want to know who shaped the container I hold now, start there. You will hear them in their own voices. You will also hear how I sit with someone I respect.
Until one day I arrived into the I AM. We are never done arriving. That particular walk asked more courage, desire, strength, and true love of myself than anything else I have done.
I am someone who has walked the path beside you. Not above it. Not around it. Through a lot of the same rooms: marriage and its undoing, raising children while your own life is on fire, sitting in hospitals, sitting in silence, sitting with a mind that will not quiet, and learning that love is not the same thing as self-erasure.
I am here with many abilities turned on — not to be better than anyone, and not so I can hand you a menu. The container is packed. That is exactly why I will not market by the tools inside it. You do not need to decide whether you need light language or clearing or ancestral work before you arrive. You bring what is present. I meet it with what the moment asks for, inside the scope we have agreed.
These stories are mine. They are here so you can feel whether the woman on the other side of the screen has actually lived some of the weather you are in. If you recognize yourself, the invitation is simple: come as you are, and let the work return you to your own I AM.
What it is for
The version of this work that becomes another job. The morning after a retreat when the insight is already thinning. The dinner table where the thing that opened has no sentence. The night of typing why do I still feel stuck after all this healing and meaning it. Love of One is a container for the edge after the framework runs out — back toward your own I AM, which was never missing.
Not another repair. A crossing: out of perpetual seeking, into remembrance, self-trust, connection, integration, and an embodied relationship with yourself. Across a threshold. Toward oneness that is not sameness.
The boundary
This matters more than a credentials list. Nothing I offer treats, cures or relieves any condition, and nothing here replaces medical or psychological care. I do not diagnose. I do not predict. I do not tell you what to decide.
The dialect
If you already speak this dialect: I work as a Sophia conduit, with whichever frequencies come forward to be received — guides, star beings, ascended masters, angels. The work I understand myself to be doing is restoring the original blueprint into the human vessel without distortion: returning remembrance, bringing the body back toward coherence, and letting the crystalline body ground here rather than somewhere else.
If you do not speak it: none of that is required of you, and nothing in a session depends on you adopting it. I have put it here rather than on the front page because I would rather someone find me through the thing they are actually living with than through cosmology they have to translate first. But I am not going to hide it either. It is what I believe, it is where the work comes from, and the people who need those words tend to recognize them immediately.
The name I use for the truest expression of this soul is Katasuwa — a first-breath light being who lives in the feminine spiral of All That Is, the Sophia Light. The Golden Light is not a fourth offer and it is not a technique I apply to you. It is the field the work moves through. I have put these words here, further down the page, for the same reason as the rest of this dialect: the people who need them recognize them. No one has to adopt them to be in the room.
The lineage
I host The Love of One Podcast — conversations with practitioners and teachers on light language, sound, plant medicine, channeling, hypnotherapy, the Akashic records, astrology, cacao, community, and what happens after the healing phase ends.
Seasons one and two hold most of the teachers and practitioners I sat with on the way here. I did not interview them as a journalist. I sat down with people who had already been in the work with me — the ones who helped me go further into what I carry, and who helped me keep an undistorted field so I can sit with you without adding my static to yours. I recommend each of them. If you want the lineage behind this container, that is where it lives, in their own voices.
It is also the least filtered version of how I think, and the fastest way to work out whether you want to be in a room with me. Thirty conversations is a long time to listen to someone think out loud. If you are not sure about me, start there. You will know.
Elsewhere: Instagram, the YouTube channel, and Substack.
A note when a new podcast episode lands, the occasional free meditation, and word when something opens in the community.
