My path to healing hasn't been a straight line. It's been more like tracing the henna patterns my grandmother drew, circling back on themselves, finding beauty in the curves. As a Sudanese woman carrying my grandfather's Sufi prayers in my bones, moving through clouds of bakhoor, I've spent years untangling who I am from who I was told to be. There were nights I couldn't name what hurt, mornings where everything felt too big, and sudden moments—like magic—where my soul recognized itself in the mirror. I've made every mistake you can imagine, doubted everything, started over more times than I can count. But that mess and that confusion...it taught me everything.
Now my hands create food that heals bodies, experiences that crack people open in the best way. I'm self-taught, led by intuition and necessity. The work feeds something ancient in me while growing something new. Everyone I serve teaches me something I needed to learn.
