I always had an idea that I might do interior design one day.
But I took the fashion route instead—chasing beauty through fabrics, forms, silhouettes.
Because I’ve always loved beauty.
Not the loud kind, but the quiet kind.
The way a room can make you exhale. The way a certain light can soften the hardest days.
The way home—when done right—can hold you.
But I didn’t come to design through beauty.
I came to it through loss.
There was a house. A moment. A rupture.
Everything I thought I knew about myself cracked open.
The house took something from me—yes.
But it gave me something too.
A remembering.
Of how space makes us feel.
Of how light changes everything.
Of what it means to make something beautiful out of what’s breaking you.
That’s where interior design truly found me.
Not in inspiration—but in the rubble.
And from that place, I began to rebuild.
First myself.
Then the space around me.
One lamp, one layout, one softened corner at a time.
Because grief does something strange.
It strips everything back to the bones.
And when you're down to the structure, you see clearly:
What matters.
What soothes.
What you need.
What you never want to compromise on again.
Design became my way back to myself.
And now, it's what I offer to others—not just rooms that look beautiful, but spaces that feel like they hold you.
Spaces that say:
You're safe here.
You're seen here.
You belong here.
Because great design isn’t just visual.
It’s emotional.
It’s cellular.
It’s soul-deep.
That’s the heart of my work.
Not decoration.
But transformation.
If you're ready to create a home that holds you—one that reflects not just your taste, but your truth—I’d be honoured to help you design it.
