My Story

I lived in a body I didn't trust.

This wasn't a passing feeling. It was my daily reality, for years.

Pain every month. Managed. Medicated. Quietly resented.

I grew up in a small town in Slovakia.

Close to nature. Far from any real conversation about a woman's body.

My first period came with a menstrual pad pressed into my hand.

Nothing else. No context. No celebration. Just here, deal with it.

Nobody around me knew how to nourish a female body. It wasn't unkindness. It was just a gap.

We forget, sometimes, the wisdom we already hold.

So I learned that the long way.

Disconnecting. Numbing. Dieting. Restricting.

Food as something to manage. Not something to trust.

What I trusted was a horse named Sandra.

So sensitive. So embodied. She felt me before I understood myself.

Sometimes she ran from me.

I didn't understand why then. I do now.

She was showing me how I was running from my own body.

Then one day we weren't running.

Five hours through the hills of Slovakia. A lake. We swam together.

That's the moment I surrendered. To her. To life.

My cycle was still in crisis. Painful. Numbed out.

And still, something in me let go that had never let go before.

Years later I rode her again, in the forest.

She was calm now. Sensitive, fierce, still, and in flow. Fully herself.

A mirror to my own feminine.

Not finished. Just no longer running.

I used to paint too.

"Good enough", once, that school hung my paintings in multiple exhibitions.

But I was raised to be the best. The most perfect. In class, in a small town where everyone was watching.

That kind of pressure doesn't leave room for a child to call herself an artist.

So I stopped. For years, I didn't dare.

Painting came back the way the horse came back. Slowly. Without me forcing it.

I picked up a brush again, on and off, in my own time, never on a schedule.

And this time, something had changed.

I don't control what happens on the canvas. I drop in. My womb leads. The colour, the shape, how long it takes, when it's finished, none of it is planned.

It's a kind of peaceful yet freeing and powerful state; I sometimes don't have words to describe. A letting go.

The brush moves. My body softens. Whatever I've been holding starts to move too.

I am, simply, expressing.

It's still arriving, honestly.

The shift wasn't from pain to no pain.

It was from completely numbed out, completely disassociated, to I feel my body. I work with my body. I listen to my body.

It's not perfect yet, and that is not the point. I'm here every time, back again.

Riding the waves of being a woman (human) through breath. Through movement. Through stillness.

Through the heat, through the cold, through the warmth.

Through the highs, through the lows, and anything in between.

Through anger, frustration, annoyance.

Through fun, pleasure, love, and so on.

Being present with it, instead of leaving.

A daily practice now. Checking in. Tracking my cycle. Riding the waves instead of contracting and running away from them.

Cyclicality awareness. Cyclicality acceptance. Real, ongoing, imperfect, mysterious.

My cycle is becoming wisdom. Creativity. Joy.

I am currently based in England, UK.

I paint with it. I read with it. I live with it.

Painting and Human Design became my two languages. Ways to express what I never had words for.

My favourite modalities to come back to, to remember, to express.

I have a small, beautiful community around me.

Womb led women. Conscious. Intentional. Artists, all of them.

In London. Outside London. Around the world.

And here's the funny part.

I live in a divine partnership with a man who, if you asked him what he knows about the menstrual cycle, would probably say, "what is it that I don't know?"

He lives with a woman who lives it. Who loves it. Who talks about it at dinner. Who paints wombs on canvas, in the mud, on the rocks haha.

This is the work so dear to my heart that I am honoured to guide with. The rituals and practices that support me are offered to you.

Cyclical living. Not a trend. The actual architecture of a woman.

Nutrition for women's health. Evidence based. Always tailored and weaved for you.

The emotional and spiritual layer underneath it all.

And the one question I keep asking, the same one I ask in every Human Design reading, mine included, because I'm a splenic manifestor, built to know things instantly, before I can explain why.

Who are you, beneath what you were taught to be?

Not who school made you. Not who pain made you. Not who the hustle made you.

Who you actually are.

I don't believe in quick fixes.

Nothing that matters in my own healing journey comes quickly.

I believe in devotion. To the process. To the body. To the slow return.

Your cycle was never the problem.

It's the most honest feedback, embodiment, and reflection you have.

This is where you start listening to it.