I am an artist. I dance, sing, and draw. I love typography, architecture, and interior design. At the age 3, I was in a dance class called Creative Movement, in a ballet school affiliated with the National Ballet of Canada. When I was 5, my father taught me subliminal advertising, and mass marketing—how to understand the manipulative consumerism of it all. At the age of 8, I was working with my father as a host and announcer on community radio. When I was 9, I won a poetry prize from Le Salon du Livre in Ottawa, Canada. Fast forward to high school graduation, I was awarded highest academic achievement in visual arts, and an honourary prize for entrepreneurship—I had created the first-ever advertising committee. 

In 2010, despite many creative outlets, and initiatives, I almost died from extreme stress. I was working as a communications strategist for the Government of Canada. My files were international security and Sub-Saharan Africa. I loved my job, but a toxic workplace made it unbearable. My doctor wanted to hospitalize me to rest. Imagine a prescription that removes you from society to bring your body back into balance. Homeostatis. My symptoms filled up an entire page. Allostatic load. It was vital. 

As a single mother of one, I stayed at home.

Home has always been a haven. Culturally, international news on short-wave radio, lavender sachets, herbes de Provence, Charles Aznavour, soukous, Manu Dibango, and Central African batik were a vivid contrast from my Canadian routine. My childhood sounds idyllic... No—this is what the artist in me chose to focus on.

Growing up was chaos. A prison of fear. "Children exposed to severe family conflict or abuse display heightened activity in the amygdala and anterior insula—the brain's threat-detection centers. This exact pattern of neural hyper-reactivity mirrors the brain activity found in soldiers exposed to violent combat." —Dr. Eamon McCrory, Current Biology, 2011.

Back to my symptoms: pumping gas in my Volvo 240 made me feel nauseous. I would black out. One day, I had forgotten the word for "tree." Always losing my balance, breaking dishes by accident, misplacing my keys, or getting injured, I had lost my mind-body coordination. I was insomniac. Depressed. Anxious. I had heart palpitations, blurred vision, and shortness of breath. Other symptoms were vertigo, migraines, skin conditions, hearing problems, and digestive issues. I was unable to speak, or read. My nervous system was ruling my entire body; my brain, my heart, my lungs—everything.

Compounded stress over decades + corporate burnout = a recipe for metabolic disaster.

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At that time, there was no widespread awareness toward optimal health like there is today.

No solutions.

I am stubborn, and wanted healing. We all do. We seek that quick fix, whatever will soothe us, and ease the pain. However, I knew there was something deeper, more profound. I didn't want a fast-track program, I wanted to feel free—once and for all.

The human body needs time. There is a natural and undeniable sequence deep within. On a self-healing mission, I turned to the traditional, herbal, and spiritual teachings of my French-Congolese origins, and upbringing. I searched for the purest, most powerful ingredients. I discovered superfoods, those nutrient-dense marvels that boost the brain and body. I pursued extensive studies in holistic nutrition, biochemistry, and anatomy, and over 500 hours of Yoga Teacher Training with Masters from India and Tibet. I am now driven by the roots and universal principles of the healing arts, from African spirituality and herbalism to East Indian yogic sciences.

Nutrition is more than food.

Nourishment includes everything that has an impact on the body, on both conscious and subconscious levels. What surrounds us, and what lies within us—physically, and emotionally—it all counts.

Everything we think and do becomes us. This is biology: the science of life and living organisms.

We often don't realize the physiological impact of our environment, emotions, and behaviour, until radical change needs to happen. We go up against a wall. We crash. The realization, the simple awareness that change must happen is key. It is the lighthouse in the storm. The pressure to change can steer us to safety.
 

Transformation is why we are here.