The Story of The Lotus Pond
From the Mud to the Practice — A Journey into Meditation Coaching
There was a time in my life—around 2016—when I didn’t know how I could keep going.
My children were both under the age of five, and my marriage was aching under the weight of everything we were holding—work, parenting, growing pains, and the pressure of building a life while still becoming ourselves. And I was utterly depleted—physically, emotionally, psychologically. I remember waking up one day completely exhausted by my own existence, wondering if being here even mattered. I felt invisible. Scattered. Foggy. Tired in a way that sleep couldn’t fix. It felt like there was no place left to turn, no safe ground beneath me.
I say this not to draw sympathy, but because that moment—that muddy, bottom-bottom moment—is what gave birth to everything that came after. The mud became the roots. The roots became the path. And the path eventually led me here—to what is now the lotus pond.
During that season of collapse and quiet searching, I stepped away from the life I had built and gave myself a kind of sabbatical. Not to reinvent myself—but to remember. I wasn’t “healing” in any structured way. I was just trying to stay afloat. But something beautiful began to happen. Life started offering me little openings.
I was invited to join an intimate community center writing group.
I was pulled into a movement class that turned out to be my own dance therapy.
A friend gently nudged me to attend a women’s circle.
Each moment arrived softly. No big declarations. Just quiet invitations. And I followed them, not because I knew what I was doing, but because they felt like breath in a room where the walls had been closing in. Writing, dancing, sitting in circle with other women—it all became part of my healing. Not expected. Not planned. Just real.
That’s when I began to understand something deeper about the path I had been on—not just in that moment, but throughout my life.
My “mud” wasn’t just this moment of collapse.
It was everything that came before.
Witnessing the cracks in my family at a young age.
Moving across cultures as a teenager, never quite fitting in.
Navigating emotionally and psychologically painful relationships.
Becoming a young mom before I ever knew who I was.
Facing postpartum depression.
Feeling lost in my marriage.
Carrying deep financial fear and social pressure.
Not knowing my purpose.
Not knowing if I was allowed to ask.
I lived with a quiet ache that something about me wasn’t enough. And for a long time, I carried it all with a smile—trying to stay in control, trying to be okay, trying to be grateful. But beneath the surface, I was unraveling.
And yet, through all of that, something inside me stayed soft. Stayed open. I still listened for light. And somehow, through that softness, the path kept revealing itself.
One morning, I registered the domain “thelotuspond.org.” I had no plan. It was before I trained as a coach, before any of this work existed. It was just a feeling. A name that felt true. A symbol that spoke to something sacred.
The lotus only blooms in muddy water.
It doesn’t rise despite the mud—it rises because of it.
Inspired by Thich Nhat Hanh’s book No Mud, No Lotus, I started to see my life differently. All of it—the ache, the confusion, the silence, the letting go—was not a detour. It was the soil. The beginning. The necessary dark before the light.
the lotus pond became my way of understanding not just myself, but the work I now do with others. It’s not a brand. It’s not a business plan. It’s a space. A living space. A quiet space. A space to sit in the middle of the mess and still choose presence.
Eventually, I would study psychology and spirituality. I’d train as a Certified Meditation Coach. But the truth is, this path didn’t start in a classroom. It started in the mud. In the questions. In the moments I wanted to give up but didn’t.
Today, the lotus pond is my private Meditation Coaching practice. It’s where I meet people—one-on-one—to walk with them through whatever season they’re in. This isn’t about merely teaching meditation, though I use it as a tool. It’s not about fixing anyone. It’s not therapy. It’s not advice. And there’s no end goal.
This work is about presence.
About permission.
About returning to yourself, one breath at a time.
Some people cry in our sessions.
Some share things they never thought they’d say aloud.
Some hear themselves clearly for the first time.
Some have soft, unexpected aha moments that reshape everything.
And all of it is sacred.
All of it belongs.
The people who find their way to the lotus pond are often in transition. Divorce. Grief. Burnout. Motherhood. Spiritual disconnection. Career shifts. Or that quiet sense of “something’s off, but I don’t know what.” They are often already self-aware. They’ve read the books. Tried the tools. But something deeper is still asking to be met.
If you’re reading this and something inside you feels stirred, I want you to know:
You don’t have to come with a perfect plan.
You don’t need to meditate every day.
You don’t need to explain yourself.
You just need to arrive—exactly as you are.
With your heart open just enough to begin.
You can book a free discovery call to feel it out. No pressure. No commitment. Just a quiet conversation to see if this work feels like a space you can trust.
the lotus pond may be a private practice, but it isn’t solitary.
It’s a gathering space—for those willing to meet themselves honestly, softly, slowly.
It’s for anyone who’s ever felt like they were drowning in mud.
Anyone longing for light.
Anyone ready to feel again.
To trust again.
To return.
You are not broken.
You are not behind.
You are not alone.
You’re just in the mud.
And maybe… that’s exactly where the lotus begins to bloom.