About Liz
Hi, I’m Liz.
And perhaps the most important thing I can tell you about me is this:
I am in relationship with myself.
It took me a long time to understand what that meant.
More than a decade ago, I began sitting in meditation every morning. I started with one minute.
One minute became five. Five became twenty. And eventually meditation became less something I did and more a way I learned to be in my life.
I learned to sit still.
To listen.
To notice when my mind was telling me one thing while something deeper within me was whispering another.
And slowly, I began to trust the whisper.
I haven’t always lived this way.
I was a runner—eventually an ultrarunner—and there was a time when running was both something I deeply loved and, if I’m being truthful, sometimes a way of running from myself.
I’ve been a CPA and worked in the corporate world. I’ve been an entrepreneur. I’ve lived in Ireland. I’ve traveled and walked 500 miles across Spain on the Camino.
I’ve been a wife, and after nearly thirty years of marriage, I’ve experienced the ending of a marriage and the beginning of an entirely new chapter of my life.
And through all of it, I have been a mother to two extraordinary daughters—a role that has taught me more about love, letting go, and becoming than I could ever fit on this page.
I share my life with animals I adore, including my Golden Retrievers, Thor and GG, and my cat, Bailey.
And these days, some of my favorite moments happen in a rocking chair on my front porch with a cup of coffee, my dogs nearby, and nowhere else I need to be.
My life didn’t teach me how to have all the answers.
It taught me something far more valuable:
How to listen to myself.
I used to believe there was a right way.
A right decision.
Someone who knew more.
Someone who could tell me what I should do next.
Now I understand that no one else can fully know what is true for me.
And I can’t know what is true for you.
That’s important.
Because I don’t believe my role is to tell you how to live your life.
I don’t have your map.
You do.
What I can offer is presence.
I can sit beside you while you untangle the voices of everyone else from the quieter voice within you.
I can ask the question that helps you hear what you already know.
I can hold space when you don’t know yet.
And I can remind you that you don’t have to rush to find the answer.
I’m still living this, too.
I’m still listening.
Still learning.
Still changing.
Still noticing the places where I am tempted to abandon what I know in order to make someone else comfortable.
Still practicing choosing myself without needing someone else to understand.
Still discovering what becomes possible when I stop asking, What am I supposed to do? and begin asking:
What is true for me?
Maybe that’s why I don’t want to stand in front of you and teach you how to get somewhere.
I’d rather pull up another rocking chair.
We can sit together for a while.
And in the quiet, perhaps you’ll hear the person who has been there all along.
You.
I’m glad you’re here.
Liz 💛
