Dolphins, walking, and other practical magic

I’ve walked the same route along the St. Johns River long enough to learn some of its rhythms, and to know there is always more to notice.

My walks take me over a few bridges that offer a bit of a challenge, sprawling views of the river, the city it flows through, and, if I’m paying attention, dolphins.

I used to think spotting the dolphins was luck. Over time, I learned to soften my gaze and scan the expanse of the river for hints about where to look next. A subtle shift in the light reflecting off the water would catch my eye. I’d narrow my gaze and, a moment later, a fin would appear. Widening out again, I’d spot another, until suddenly there were dolphins where moments earlier, I’d seen only water.

What initially felt like luck became something I could practice.

For most of my life, when something was difficult, I assumed the solution was more effort, control, and perfection. From the outside, I appeared capable. On the inside, I was working overtime to hold everything together, terrified one mistake would reveal the cracks.

Eventually, years of holding everything together took their toll, mentally and physically. The strategies I'd relied on were no longer working, and I found myself struggling to do things that were once automatic. The effort of getting through each day left little attention for anything else.

Somewhere in the midst of that, I began walking in earnest. There was a route to follow, a bridge to climb. And then there were the dolphins. To see them, I had to slow down.

Slowing down allowed me to notice.

The light shifting on the water. A bird drying its wings on the riverbank. A fin breaking the surface. Somewhere along the way, I began measuring my walks in dolphins rather than steps.

And as my attention widened, more of what mattered to me found its way back in. Books, stories, art, creativity, nature, movement, and my yoga practice. Following those threads reawakened my curiosity, allowing me to see connections and possibilities I'd lost sight of.

How does attention work?

As an educator, I prioritized student engagement. A classroom is a microcosm of the world outside it: students bringing different strengths, challenges, interests, and circumstances into the same space. The expectation that students engage, learn, and demonstrate what they knew in the same way felt incongruous to me.

When standard approaches didn't work, I looked for another way in. I recognized the student I had been in those whose attention wandered and interests ran deep. I knew how easily struggling to meet expectations could shape a student's sense of themselves. So I looked for what worked: building on what engaged them, changing the environment, or introducing movement, creativity, collaboration, or play. Often, what began as a way to reach one student made the experience richer for the whole class.

A children’s yoga teacher training offered an unexpected perspective, introducing me to a system built, in part, around the practice of attention. As I brought elements of the practice into my classroom, I saw the impact that movement, breath and mindfulness had on my students.

Eager to understand more, I completed yoga teacher training and continued studying, learning more about the role of the nervous system in how we think, learn, and pay attention. What I learned gave me a deeper understanding of what shapes attention and learning.

BACKGROUND & CREDENTIALS

25+ years across education, learning & development, coaching and client-centered work

ADD Coach Academy (ADDCA) — ADHD & Life Coach training program recognized by ICF & PAAC
YogaDen - RYT - 200-Hour Yoga
YogaDen - 300-Hour Yoga Teacher Training, in progress
Yoga4Change - Trauma-Informed Yoga Training
Yoga4Change - Youth Instructor
London School of Business & Economics - Yoga for ADHD Certification
BA, Theatre - Florida State University
Educator - Duval County Public Schools

When my work took me outside the classroom and into corporate environments, I recognized echoes of my students in the adults around me. I saw how often people's strengths went unrecognized while so much was expected of them in return. And despite everything I'd learned, I was still trying so hard to meet expectations and conceal my struggles that I'd lost sight of myself along the way. I needed to understand why, and how to find another way.

My yoga training had shown me how closely attention and the body are connected. Studying neurodivergence, the science of attention, and eventually ADHD coaching helped me understand what shapes our attention, and how that understanding can help us strengthen executive functioning by working with ourselves rather than against ourselves.

I came to believe that our greatest potential lies not in becoming who we think we should be, but in discovering what allows us to be more fully ourselves.

The Practice

I work with thoughtful, capable women whose outward lives often conceal how much effort it takes to hold everything together. Many are late-diagnosed or beginning to recognize themselves as ADHD, autistic, gifted, or some beautifully complex combination.

Part of our work is making sense of what you're already noticing. I bring what I know about attention, neurodivergence, executive function, nervous system regulation, and the ways our environments shape what becomes available to us. Together, we use that information to ask better questions.

We look for patterns in what holds your attention and what fragments it, what steadies you, where effort is useful and where it’s wasted. We experiment with movement, environment, interest, structure, support, expectations, or something more creative and particular to you. Over time, you gain a better sense of where your effort belongs.

Everything that informs my work comes together in the idea of practice: noticing what is here, what is already working, and what you need to be the fullest version of yourself. Then choosing where to place your attention and moving forward from there.