I’ve lived both sides — the fatigue and tension of a desk-bound life, and the clarity and strength that come through movement.

At 41, I was diagnosed with AD(H)D. Like many, I turned to medication. But when it stopped working, I started looking deeper — and realized how much of this was in my own hands.
The intensity had grown over the years, and something didn’t add up.

Why is everyone being diagnosed?
Why are we told to “understand” our condition, while the answers are often right in front of us — in how we eat, sleep, move, and live?

I began to see it clearly: we have more control than we think.
And many of the symptoms we experience are not disorders — they’re responses.
Signals from a body that’s out of rhythm.

So I questioned everything:
How do I eat? How do I sleep?
How much time do I spend scrolling, overstimulating my brain?
And why does everything feel so personal — like rejection, even when it’s not?

That last one hit hard.
I came to understand the weight of rejection sensitivity — how quickly I could spiral from a comment, a silence, a shift in tone.
And I realized it wasn’t just emotional — it was physical. It lived in my nervous system, in my breath, in my posture.

That’s when I went all in on Movement training.

I trained with respected teachers, explored ancient training methods, and rebuilt my connection to the body.
I changed the way I move, eat, rest, and focus — and slowly, everything began to shift.
The symptoms didn’t disappear overnight, but I became more stable, more aware, and less reactive.

Now, at 42, I don’t train just to get stronger — I train to stay grounded.
To stay present.
To stay connected to what’s real, not what my mind wants to protect me from.

That’s what I help others do too.

Because movement, food, rest, and awareness aren’t extras — they’re the foundation.
The key to living with more clarity, focus, and resilience — in your body and in your mind.