About Me
I don't do performative. I do real, which is harder to sell but much better to sit in company with.
People who know stories from my life tell me more times than I can count that I have a gift for this kind of work. It softly humours me.
Maybe it's because I tend to know what someone's carrying before they've said it out loud. That's not any trick or special gift. It's what happens when you've carried enough loss, disconnection, and self-doubt to feel it in someone else before they ever say a word. I'd rather help you catch the pattern before it causes harm than clean up after it does. I've watched people spend years waiting for someone else to change what only they could change. Still checking the phone for the text that finally explains everything. Still hoping the next conversation will be the one that lands. Somewhere in that wait, they hand over pieces of their own identity just to keep conforming to an old wound. The wound ends up holding the authority. Not them.
It's natural, at first, to let a wound take the lead. But staying stuck there keeps us suffering, and we either withdraw or adapt, leaving ourselves unhealed. Is that really living then?
Pain connects us. That connection offers comfort because we are not meant to do this alone, not because we appreciate that others are suffering too. It can even offer hope and inspire faith in a life that can be more meaningful than fear and survival, two states most of humanity lives in. That's not judgment; it's fact. We live in a world with many reasons to fear and generations of systems and narratives to survive.
Sounds bleak. It doesn't have to be.
This work helps shift our reality into something better than we thought possible. We shift from behaviours that act out an old story to living a life more aligned with personal values. That changes how you show up in every relationship. Imagine living by these principles: how you want to be treated, how you want your kids to be treated, and how you and your children treat others. That's how legacy stops being an idea and becomes something present. Life flows differently then.
Why would you trust me? I'm living proof, and I'm still in the making, of course.
I don't offer a program because life can't adhere to a script or specific plan (that's illusion #1). This work is a process, one that asks you to check in with yourself every day.
Meet Sabrina
Mom, wife, dog-lover, teacher, author, coach, and Clinical Counsellor. I know firsthand that life isn't about controlling every outcome. It's about learning to trust yourself and move through it with presence, connection, and plenty of self-compassion. I don't teach my work from the outside. It's how I live.
I've spent years unlearning the patterns that disconnect people from their own body, mind, and spirit, and just as long learning to embrace what cultivates peace, trust, and fulfillment instead. I help people shift from managing or reacting in their relationships as a parent, a spouse, a son or daughter, a friend, or a colleague, to experiencing life with presence and clarity.
My three specialties- Conscious Parenting, grief and end-of-life support, and somatic and trauma work- each have their own home on this site now, because each deserves more room than a single page can give them.
See where to start →
Through individual sessions, group work, and workshops, I help people stop just getting through life and start living it.
Why work with me
More than a certificate. My credentials sit on top of over 2,300 sessions with real clients. See my credentials →
No performance required. I'm interested in what's underneath your feelings, not the version you perform for me.
I remember you. You're not a caseload to me. I remember what you told me three sessions ago, because it mattered then and it matters now.
A non-judgmental space that holds. Not the kind that's promised and then withdrawn the moment you say something uncomfortable.
An unconventional lens. My work sits at the intersection of psychology, spirituality, and the body, because you are not just your thoughts.
Why Work With Sabrina
Certified Experience
Authenticity
Passionate About Her Clients
Non-judgemental Space
Unconventional Perspective
A personal note…
Have you ever experienced something so painful it left you feeling like you were navigating life alone? I know that feeling. I learned it young.
At eight years old, I faced my first hard thing without anyone to hold it with me. My mother wasn't the comforting type, and I didn't feel safe sharing what had happened. The age gap between my siblings and me made connecting with them feel out of reach in those years. I carried something I could only later name as shame, from something that happened to me, not because of me. I turned to something bigger than myself, in silent prayers for the strength to keep going. I didn't know why I did it. I only knew I had to be strong, because adulthood felt so far away.
Even as a teenager, that loneliness didn't lift. I felt different, disconnected, and insecurity led me to some choices I still hold with tenderness, made only to belong somewhere. People told me those were supposed to be the best years of my life. For me, they were the hardest.
Then came a decade I was sure was healing. Therapy, love, travel, career success, a life full of people, and two losses, two miscarriages, that cracked me open in ways I hadn't expected and sent me reaching for something bigger than myself before I ever expected to need it. I told myself I'd done the work. That I was fixed.
I wasn't.
After my second child, I had my first adult breakdown, compounded by clinical sleep deprivation stacked on years of pain I'd never fully felt. My therapist held up a mirror I wasn't ready for: I didn't know how to ask for help. I'd been taught that being unbreakable was a virtue, when it was actually what kept me stuck.
So I learned the harder, truer thing: vulnerability isn't weakness. It's the only honest way through. I unlearned the old programming. I let people see me differently. I lost relationships I'd cherished along the way. Healing, it turns out, is like peeling an onion. It stings before it softens, and you cry a lot getting close enough to the core to actually feel it. My past stopped controlling my present. I wasn't just surviving. I was finding my way home.
Then life got loud again. I got distracted by everyone else's needs. My journal collected dust. And then a series of TIAs, each one more urgent than the last, forced me to actually stop.
What I found underneath was a program I hadn't known I was running: a relentless commitment to positivity and gratitude that looked like wellness from the outside and quietly masked everything hurting underneath. I'd spiritually bypassed my own pain with a smile and a grateful heart. I was too busy proving my worth to notice I'd lost contact with the part of me that was exhausted, grieving, and in need of my own compassion.
So I walked away. From the noise. From the pace that wouldn't let up. I turned inward. This time by choice, not by survival. School, retreats, therapy, yoga, Reiki, sound healing, prayer, in whatever way felt true to me. And for the first time, I wasn't just talking about healing. I was feeling it.
The realization that changed everything came quietly: I needed to love me, for me. How could I love anyone else enough if I didn't know how to love myself?
Compassion, empathy, forgiveness, love: they stopped being concepts I understood and became the way I actually move through the world. My wounds still exist, they just don't own me anymore.
Now, I'm fully present. I listen deeply, and I'm good at it. I've built a home that's safe and honest, not just for the people in it, but for me too.
And now, I want this for you.
I see the exhaustion, the fear of not being enough, and the weight of being told to be strong at all costs, even while you fight for the people you love to feel safe in ways you never fully did yourself.
You don't have to do this alone. I'm here to help you get unstuck, turn off the autopilot, and remember what it feels like to set some of it down.