ABOUT

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For as long as I can remember, two threads have quietly woven themselves through my life: a love of movement and a spiritual curiosity that has continually invited me to ask deeper questions about life, purpose and what it means to be human.

 

As a child, martial arts became a huge part of my world. I loved the discipline, precision and dedication that the practice required. Yet what stayed with me most were the quieter moments that framed the training: kneeling in meditation at the beginning and end of class, breathing together in stillness before stepping onto the mats and, without fully realising it at the time, learning that strength and stillness could exist side by side.

 

Alongside the physical practice, my spiritual curiosity was already quietly emerging. At ten years old, I was reading Karate-Do: My Way of Life by Gichin Funakoshi and somehow sensing that there was something deeper underneath it all. Even then, I felt that the physical practice was only scratching the surface of something much bigger.

 

In my twenties, that curiosity led me towards Buddhism and meditation, although life would eventually carry me in many different directions. What I couldn't see at the time was that these two threads – movement and spiritual curiosity – would continue to weave themselves through every chapter that followed, sometimes at the forefront and sometimes quietly in the background.

 

Whilst movement and spiritual curiosity remained quietly present, my professional life unfolded in a direction that would shape me in ways I could never have anticipated.

 

Professionally, my path led me into nursing and eventually military nursing, serving in the Royal Air Force during the Iraq and Afghanistan conflicts until 2011.

 

After leaving the military, my career continued to take me around the world, working in environments ranging from embassies in Iraq and training facilities in Saudi Arabia to remote areas of West Africa affected by terrorism and drug trafficking.

 

Those experiences shaped me profoundly. They took me far from home, exposed me to extraordinary people and allowed me to witness both immense suffering and incredible resilience. At times, they also placed me in environments where mortar and rocket attacks were part of everyday reality.

 

More than anything, those years repeatedly brought me face to face with a simple truth: life is fragile.

 

Sitting with the sick and dying, caring for people in moments of crisis and experiencing uncertainty firsthand has a way of stripping life back to its essentials. Love, connection, compassion and community stop becoming abstract ideas and instead reveal themselves to be the only things that truly matter.

 

 

In Autumn 2024, whilst working in Iraq, I was made redundant. Around the same time, I had been listening to Ram Dass and Mirabai Bush's Walking Each Other Home, although I had no idea at the time how profoundly those teachings would soon resonate with my own life.

 

Like many people faced with uncertainty, I panicked. I needed another contract and, fortunately, an opportunity in Saudi Arabia presented itself. I came home from Iraq for two weeks before heading back overseas once again.

 

It was during this time that my dad was diagnosed with stage four lung cancer.

 

Suddenly, everything that had once felt certain no longer did.

 

For years, I had built a life around meaningful work, resilience and service, but for the first time I found myself asking a different question: what truly matters?

 

The teachings from Ram Dass and Mirabai began to land in an entirely new way. Mortality was no longer something I had only witnessed professionally. It had become deeply personal.

 

After just two weeks in Saudi Arabia, I made a decision that many people probably wouldn't have made. With no clear plan, I resigned from a well-paid contract and returned home to Northern Ireland.

 

I chose time over certainty.

 

I chose to be closer to my dad.

 

At the same time, I found myself being quietly drawn back towards spiritual practice. Perhaps it was grief. Perhaps it was uncertainty. Perhaps it was simply a returning to something that had always been there.

 

With life feeling somewhat chaotic and no clear roadmap ahead, an unexpected opportunity appeared. My partner stumbled across an advert for a small studio space in Bangor and casually suggested that it might be something worth exploring.

 

For reasons I still can't fully explain, I said yes.

 

That decision eventually became Wild Soul Studio.

 

Wild Soul became far more than a yoga studio. It became an experiment in community, connection and creating spaces where people could simply arrive as themselves.

 

It also became a companion through one of the most difficult seasons of my life.

 

Whilst building the studio, I was also navigating anticipatory grief and, eventually, the loss of my dad. As painful as that period was, it reinforced many of the lessons life had already been quietly teaching me for years.

 

Community matters.

 

Presence matters.

 

Love matters.

 

And perhaps most importantly, there is no point waiting until someday to build a life that feels true.

 

After opening Wild Soul, life remained full and, at times, overwhelming. Alongside running the studio, I found myself navigating grief, caring responsibilities and the realities of trying to build something meaningful whilst also tending to the people I love.

 

In many ways, I threw myself into the studio. It became both a source of purpose and, perhaps at times, a way of managing my grief. Looking back now, I can see how easy it is for purpose to quietly become overwork, and eventually I found myself teetering on the edge of burnout.

 

Yet throughout all of this, another quiet thread was becoming stronger.

 

What had begun years earlier as a spiritual curiosity was gradually evolving into a much deeper practice.

 

Through the teachings of Ram Dass, the lineage of Neem Karoli Baba, kirtan, bhakti yoga and precious pockets of time spent with teachers such as Krishna Das and Govind Das, I found myself being drawn towards a simpler understanding of spirituality.

 

One centred less around certainty and more around love, service and remembrance.

 

Eventually, that path led me to India.

 

I arrived in Rishikesh feeling deeply drawn to Ma Ganga and, after bathing in the river, found myself unexpectedly changing all of my plans and making my way to Kainchi Dham.

 

Looking back, it somehow felt both entirely new and deeply familiar at the same time.

 

Today, spiritual practice has become a quiet part of my everyday life. Not as an identity to adopt or something to preach, but as a way of remembering what matters.

 

The teachings that resonate most deeply with me are perhaps also the simplest: love everyone, serve everyone and remember what is sacred.

 

Today, I see life a little differently than I once did.

 

I'm no longer interested in chasing titles, accumulating achievements or endlessly striving for some future version of myself.

 

Instead, I'm learning to appreciate the ordinary moments that make up a life: moving my body, sharing practice with others, writing, travelling, spending time with people I love and continuing to nurture both movement and spiritual practice in everyday life.

 

This website is simply a home for those things.

 

A place where strength, yoga, philosophy, community and writing can live side by side.

 

A place that will continue to evolve as life evolves.

 

I don't claim to have any answers and I'm certainly not interested in becoming a guru. If anything, all of these experiences have simply taught me that we're all trying to navigate this beautifully messy human experience together.

 

I'm still following those same two threads that have quietly guided me since childhood.

 

The sacred and the strong.