About Sarah

I didn't find
this path.
It found me.

At 19, I hit a bottom I didn't think I'd come back from. What pulled me through — barely — was a combination of sheer resilience, the support of family, and an energy healing session I almost didn't book. That was the beginning of everything.

Read my story

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The Depths

I was nineteen when
the bottom fell out.

I don't say that lightly. I mean the kind of bottom where you can't see the walls, can't hear the surface, can't remember what it felt like to be okay. Anxiety. Depression. Addiction. An eating disorder that was as much about control as it was about anything else. It had all started germinating earlier, in high school. By 18 my body was communicating to me in the only language it was sure I would hear — chronic pain from a bulging disc that made living feel impossible. That part eased with time. The rest only got worse.

From the outside, I had it mostly together. I was functioning. I was showing up. But inside I was carrying something I didn't have words for — a weight that had nothing to do with what was happening in my life and everything to do with something I hadn't reached yet.

"I was surviving. But surviving and living are not the same thing, and somewhere underneath it all, I knew the difference."

What began to pull me through was a combination of things: a stubbornness I didn't know I had, a family who loved me through the worst of it without flinching, and a single energy healing session I almost talked myself out of. I didn't fully understand what happened in that room. I just knew something shifted. Not enough to fix everything. But enough to keep going.

That was the first time I understood, in my body and not just my mind, that healing could go somewhere therapy couldn't reach. My family had given me a foundation to land on. That session gave me a direction to walk.

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The Long Middle

I climbed out of the depths.
Then I lingered at the gates.

For years after that first crack of light, I lived in a kind of in-between. Not at rock bottom. Not free either. I had just enough to keep myself afloat, and addiction to keep me from going any further.

Addiction is a strange kind of holding pattern. It keeps you functional enough to convince yourself you're fine, and just numb enough to stop asking harder questions. I wasn't in the depths anymore. But I wasn't moving forward either. I was orbiting the darkness. Close enough to feel its gravity, not close enough to fall back in.

"For years I lived at the gates of darkness. Not lost, but not free. Addiction had me in a holding pattern I didn't yet have the tools to break."

I did the therapy. I read the books. I tried the things. And they helped, genuinely. But there was a ceiling I kept hitting. A layer that wouldn't budge no matter how hard I worked on it.

I didn't know yet that some of what I was carrying wasn't mine to fix with willpower or insight alone. I didn't know that healing could go deeper than my own story. I was about to find out.

✦

"There is a difference between outrunning your demons and finding true peace. I had spent years getting very good at the first one. I had no idea the second was even possible."

The First Crack

Then I lost my best friend.
And everything changed.

Grief has a way of burning through the things you've been hiding behind. When my best friend died, the holding pattern broke. Not gently. There was no choice but to go all the way in — into the pain, into the questions, into the parts of myself I'd been carefully avoiding.

It was the first time I stopped running. Not because I chose to — because I couldn't run anymore. And in that stillness, something I can only describe as a spiritual opening happened. The path that had been waiting for me my whole life finally had my full attention.

"Grief cracked me open in a way that nothing else could. For the first time I wasn't trying to outrun my demons. I was sitting with them, and discovering they weren't as powerful as I thought."

What arrived first was yoga. I threw myself into a practice that met me exactly where I was. A body carrying grief, a mind that couldn't stop moving. The mat became the first place I'd ever felt truly present. Within a year I was in my yoga teacher training. And almost impulsively, at the same time, I enrolled in my first Reiki training. Two paths, running in parallel, each one feeding the other. The body and the field. The physical and the energetic. I didn't plan it that way. Looking back, it couldn't have happened any other way.

I dove into the work with a seriousness I hadn't brought to anything before. I trained, I practiced, I received. And slowly, and then all at once, I began to understand what the ceiling had been made of.

It wasn't just my patterns I was carrying. It was older than that. Heavier than that. And it was clearing in ways I didn't have language for yet.

Sound familiar?

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✦

The Tests

Life kept asking
how deep the work had gone.

After six years of deep work, finding myself thriving and loving life, I lost my first pregnancy at 21 weeks. There is no way to prepare for that particular silence, the one where something you were already loving is suddenly gone. I grieved in a way that was new to me. Not from the pit, but from the ground. The tools held. The practice held. I held.

Grief like that doesn't resolve on a schedule. It moved through me slowly, over months, and the practice stayed with me the whole way. When I was ready, I tried again. And in the depths of that second pandemic winter, when the world had gone quiet and strange, my son was born.

It should have been only joy. But postpartum anxiety arrived quietly, and then all at once. It didn't announce itself as anxiety at first. It felt more like static, a persistent hum of unease that sat just beneath the joy, making everything slightly harder than it should have been. And the isolation of that winter made it louder. I knew the tools. I used them. And still, something wasn't quite fitting together the way it should.

That's the thing about healing: it doesn't move in a straight line. Each layer reveals the next. And every time I thought I'd found the floor, there was more ground beneath it.

"Each loss, each wave of darkness, each new level of burnout. None of them were setbacks. They were the work asking to go deeper. And every time, I found it could."

What I noticed, and what still moves me when I think about it, is that each time something hard arrived, I met it differently than before. Not without pain. Not without struggle. But with something underneath the struggle that hadn't been there in my twenties. A ground to stand on. A way through that I trusted, even when I couldn't see the other side.

That's what the work had given me. Not immunity from grief. The capacity to move through it without losing myself.

The Catalyst

The greatest loss
became the greatest opening.

Two and a half years ago, I lost my mother. The grief that followed was unlike anything I had encountered before — vast, layered, ancient in a way that surprised me. It reached back further than my own story. It asked questions I didn't know I'd been carrying.

I won't minimize what that year looked like. But I will tell you this: the clearing that came out of it, the ancestral threads that finally released, the inherited grief that was never mine to keep carrying, changed the entire architecture of my life. Not in spite of losing her. Because of it.

"I used to believe we thrive in spite of our struggles. I've come to feel that we can thrive because of them, if we're willing to go all the way through."

The work I do now was forged in every one of those fires. Not learned from a book. Not borrowed from a lineage I studied at a distance. Lived. Tested. Earned — in my own body, my own field, my own life.

The Arrival

This is what
thriving actually feels like.

I didn't heal because everything fell into place. I had real support, and I don't take it for granted. My family loved me through the worst of it. Therapy kept me upright when I needed it most. CBT and DBT gave me tools that genuinely kept me functioning, and I'm grateful for them. But there's only so far that analyzing and managing your own thoughts can take you. At some point the constant policing becomes its own kind of exhaustion, and the thing underneath never moves. I went to the depths, more than once, in more than one way, and what finally brought me through was something deeper than insight alone.

I built Rogue Wellness because I couldn't keep what I found to myself. Because I know what it is to try everything and still hit a ceiling. Because I've learned that some of what you're carrying may have been handed to you before you were born — and I've spent years learning how to help people put it down.

I found my way to happiness and to genuinely thriving — after everything. I believe, deeply, that you can find your way too.

"I'm not here to teach you how to manage what you're carrying. I'm here to help you put it down."

People who work with me say I have a way of meeting them exactly where they are. That I'm grounded enough to hold space for whatever arrives in the room. That the work surprises them — in the best possible way.

What I know is this: I've been where you are. And there's a way through that may go deeper than anything you've tried before.

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The philosophy

Some of it isn't yours.
And only you can put it down.

This is the part many healing approaches miss. They'll tell you one or the other — either that your patterns are your fault and you just need to work harder, or that everything is ancestral and energetic and therefore somehow outside of you. Both of those positions let you off the hook in ways that can actually keep you stuck.

What I've come to believe, through my own life and through years of sessions, is that it's both. Some of what you're carrying genuinely may not be yours. It was handed to you. You didn't choose it. And naming that matters, because it cuts you a break you probably desperately need and releases the exhausting story that something is fundamentally wrong with you.

"The relief of 'it's not yours' only becomes useful when it's paired with 'and you are the only one powerful enough to clear it.'"

But here's the part that asks something of you: the way to actually release it, yours or inherited, is through radical responsibility. Not blame. Not shame. Responsibility. The recognition that you are not a passive recipient of your own life. That you have agency. That the choices you make from this moment forward are yours, and they matter.

Radical responsibility isn't a burden. For me, it's been the most empowering thing I've ever stepped into. Because the moment you accept that you have a hand in creating your own reality, not just the pleasant parts but all of it, you realize you can create something different. You are not at the mercy of your patterns. You are not doomed to repeat what was handed down. You are not the sum of everything that happened to you.

But it's hard to create something new while you're still carrying the old. That's the work. Clear the field. Take ownership of what's left. Step into the life you're actually capable of building.

"Radical acceptance and radical responsibility aren't opposites. They're the two things to hold at the same time. And when you can, so much becomes possible."

This is what Rogue Wellness is built on. Not the comfortable version of healing that lets you stay small. The version that asks something real of you — and offers something real in return.

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On how I hold this work

Let me tell you what I'm not.
Because it matters.

I'm not a guru. I'm not enlightened. I don't call myself a healer. You're the one doing the healing. I'm just someone who can help you find your way to it. I'm a regular person with my own patterns, my own hard days, and plenty I'm still working through. Somewhere along the way I stumbled into a few practices that cracked something open for me and changed my life. That's really all this is. Me sharing what I found, in case it's useful to you too.

So I won't stand in front of you as someone who has it all figured out. I don't. What I have is a set of practices that worked for me and for the people I've guided, offered honestly, for you to try on.

Take what resonates. Leave what doesn't. Adapt it to your own gifts, your own knowing. I'm not here to tell you there's one right way to do this — there are many right ways, and yours might look nothing like mine. I'm offering pieces that might be missing for you, not a complete map of where you have to go.

The teachers who came before me shaped everything I share, and I hold their lineages with real respect. But energy is a living thing. The universe keeps expanding, and so does this work — there's always more unfolding, for you and for me both. I don't have all the answers, and I've made peace with that. What I can do is walk alongside you for a while, and share what I've learned so far.

One honest thing, because I care about how you land here: this work isn't a replacement for therapy, medical care, or crisis support, and the Program isn't a crisis intervention. If you're in a dark place right now — the kind I've known myself — please reach out to a licensed professional or a crisis line. In the U.S. you can call or text 988 anytime. This work can sit alongside that kind of support beautifully, once you've found steadier footing. It just isn't a substitute for it.

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What I believe

The principles
behind the work.

You are not broken.

You are burdened. There is a profound difference. Broken things need to be fixed. Burdened people need to put something down. That's a much more manageable problem.

Some of it isn't yours —
and only you can clear it.

The patterns that won't shift may be older than you. Ancestral energy, inherited grief, lineage programming. Naming that cuts you a break. But the clearing asks for radical responsibility — the recognition that you, and only you, have the power to put it down.

You create your own reality.

Not as a platitude. As something I've lived. The moment you accept real responsibility for your life — not blame, responsibility — you realize you can build something different. But it's hard to create something new while you're still carrying the old. Clear first. Then build.

Deep clearing is possible.

Not just management. Not endless coping. Real clearing — at the root, across the personal field, the ancestral lineage, and beyond. I've watched it happen, in my own life and in many others'.

You don't need to understand it.

You don't need to believe in energy work for it to do something. You don't need to be spiritual, initiated, or even particularly open. You just need to show up. The work tends to meet you there.

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Training & Credentials

The training is real.
But it isn't the point.

I hold extensive formal training across multiple healing modalities — but I'll be the first to tell you that the work I do comes from lived experience as much as certification. The credentials provide a container. The depth comes from somewhere else.

500E-RYT — Yoga Alliance

YACEP — 800+ Training Hours

6 Styles of Yoga

12+ Meditation Modalities

Reiki Master Teacher

Usui Reiki Certified

New Paradigm MDT — Practitioner & Facilitator

Akashic Records Training

Energy Work — 13 Years · Thousands of Sessions

Hundreds of Students Trained

✦ Beyond the credentials

Practices that have shaped my lens.

The work I do isn't a single modality — it's a synthesis. Some of these I've formally trained in. Others I've had the privilege of experiencing and learning from.

Energy & subtle body work · Yoga, movement & breath · Meditation & contemplative practice · Non-ordinary state work · Trauma-informed somatic practice · Psychology & philosophy · Ancestral & lineage work

See the full list →

Ready to begin

You've read the story.
Now let's write yours.

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What people say

"Sarah's presence and depth of knowledge made this what it was. Her answers came from somewhere so genuine that I left feeling more connected and confident in myself than when I arrived."

Student · Chicago

"It's easier to regulate myself now — I have access to a meditative space I didn't have before."

Student

I didn't findthis path.It found me.

I was nineteen whenthe bottom fell out.

I climbed out of the depths.Then I lingered at the gates.

Then I lost my best friend.And everything changed.

Life kept askinghow deep the work had gone.

The greatest lossbecame the greatest opening.

This is whatthriving actually feels like.

Some of it isn't yours.And only you can put it down.

Let me tell you what I'm not.Because it matters.

The principlesbehind the work.

The training is real.But it isn't the point.