Then, a month before my twentieth birthday, I received the call that shattered everything: Michael is dead.
His death ripped my heart out. It took a piece of my soul I thought I’d never get back. What followed were the darkest years of my life – grief so heavy I could barely breathe, and a body that began breaking down in ways I couldn’t understand.
Cysts on my ovaries. Internal bleeding. Kidney disease. Debilitating pain that left me convinced I was dying.
Pain and suffering was a theme in my life. Growing up in Iran during the war, I’d witnessed so much—bombs exploding, people suffering, devastating loss. I wanted to heal it all. Since childhood, I’d thought I’d be a doctor. But now, as I sat in yet another waiting room, staring at clipboards that asked about my symptoms but never about me, I realized something devastating:
I’m twenty-two, sitting across from my fourth doctor in a year. He’s already looking at his computer screen while I’m mid-sentence. I stop talking. He doesn’t notice. That’s when I know: I’m a body to him, not a person. No one is asking about Michael, about the war, about the grief living in my cells. Pills didn’t work. Surgeries didn’t work.
So at twenty-three, I drop my dream of becoming a medical doctor. And I am left with no purpose. No answers. Just pain and a broken heart asking: What now?
I’m at my aunt’s house, retrieving a box of Michael’s love letters from the attic. I step onto the sheetrock thinking it is solid, and suddenly—I’m falling! I crash onto the concrete garage floor, covered in white dust, unable to breathe, my arm paralyzed.
When I finally open my eyes, I can’t help but laugh—I’ve fallen like a cartoon character, and ironically, missed the dog’s mattress by a foot. But then, through the shock and pain, I feel it—a warmth spreading through my chest, a yes humming in my bones.
I’d dislocated my shoulder, ruptured tendons, shifted every bone in my spine. The pain was excruciating. But I’d also retrieved Michael’s love letters—including the one where he wrote five words that would change my life forever:
I begin seeking healers who approach the body differently—who listen, who are present, who encourage me to trust my intuition for how to heal myself. And miraculously, I do!
The cysts disappear. The pain lifts. I’m coming back to life.
And my healing cracks me open to a truth I’d been seeking since I was a child…
Love is the ultimate healer. Not love as sentiment,
but Love as Source—the force that animates everything.
but more than that, I became a student of the invisible forces that shape our lives. I studied emotional patterns, archetypal wisdom, spiritual law, the ancient teachings that reveal why we suffer and how we transcend –
I come from a long line of flame keepers — Persian magi, mystics who understood that fire reveals truth and burns away what no longer serves.
I even get ordained as a reverend, to honor what I’d always known: this work is sacred.
And the love you’re seeking?
It’s already here, humming in your bones, waiting for you to remember.
Baby, you’re the shit.
That’s what I tell every soul who walks through my door. Because you are. You’re divine intelligence in human form, and my job is simply to help you remember that.
I am Love for You,
