Meet

Eve

The story behind the spaces.

As a Core Energetics practitioner and process group facilitator, a great deal of my focus is on container building — co-creating spaces that are supportive, expansive, and welcoming. Spaces that seamlessly encourage exploration, experimentation, growth, and rebalancing. My role as a facilitator within each container is active, not directive — drawing on a broad range of tools to guide and support what emerges. Group work is not always smooth; depth of connection and trust require moving through conflict and tension.

My approach to container building and the explorations within sits at the meeting point of psychoanalytic and depth psychology traditions, somatic and energetic practices that weave ancient wisdom with modern life, and ceremonial elements that invoke the sacred in the here and now.

I don't diagnose or create treatment plans, and I'm neither a medical doctor nor a licensed counselor. What I offer instead is a space for healing and unfolding — supporting and guiding youth and adults by honoring their inner wisdom, deep longings, and the gifts already within them.

For many, revealing oneself within any container — individual or group — takes courage, trust, and resolve. Trust is co-created, and sharing the story behind the spaces I hold, with those I have yet to meet, has been a genuine growth edge for me. Fears of seeming self-centered, of being misunderstood, or judged, have been a quiet chorus throughout this process — one I'm grateful to have heard and explored.

Trust has to start somewhere, and starting with myself feels right. What follows is offered in that spirit — meant to be received as an offering, not a demand. If you'd like to know more about me beyond our direct conversations, you're welcome to read as much of what follows as calls to you. It's lengthy, and intimate. There's no expectation here.

My Path

Professional Background

The first decade of my professional life was devoted to the practice of law — first at large firms among hundreds of attorneys, and then founding and building my own small practice, growing it into a tight-knit team of five. My interest in psychology had been quietly budding since college, though it took years of my own inner work before I was ready to truly listen to that pull.

I found myself naturally leaning into psychologically rich aspects of my legal practice: strategy, writing, and creative problem-solving. Long before I called it anything, a kind of coaching had already begun. With established clients — where the relationship could hold a deeper conversation, and where I quietly set time aside without charging for it — I'd hold space to explore what was needed beneath what was being asked for. A request for legal action often stood in for something more foundational: to be heard, to matter, to feel secure — a real need wearing the mask of a superficial one. Most clients who dove deeper with me found that the legal action they'd originally sought would have served their hurt and fear more than their actual goals, and often chose a more aligned path instead.

It took time, courage, and a nudge from some health challenges of my own, but for the last ten years I've lived what feels like my dharma. Many threads led me here: lifestyle changes demanded by health struggles, remarkable mentors, motherhood, and an unquenchable thirst to understand the inner workings of being human.

The psychoanalytic, characterological, somatic, and spiritual concepts underlying my training draw on the work of Carl Jung, Wilhelm Reich, Irvin Yalom, and other Western thinkers. My personal journey has been greatly supported and enlivened by these methodologies, as well as by the ancient wisdom of traditions like Medical Qigong, Ayurveda, and ceremonial practices, some inherited with precision, others gathered and lightly held. I carry these practices into my work in subtle but meaningful ways that support and reflect the rhythm of what is already flowing.

I hold a B.S. from New York University (sociology and economics) and a J.D. from Boston University School of Law. I am a Certified Core Energetics Practitioner (CCEP) — a four-year certification in Core Energetics, a body-centered approach that draws on body psychotherapy, depth psychology, and spiritual practice, training practitioners in trauma work, character structure, and group process.

I also completed "Unraveling the Mysteries of Pain & Trauma," a 22.5-hour course at the Omega Institute (2017), and two years of a four-year Qigong Healing Program at The Center Place in Boulder, Colorado. I continue to deepen my practice through mentorships, supervision, and ongoing online coursework in IFS techniques, trauma release, and expressive arts therapy.

I always gravitated toward relying on multiple systems and toolkits. Even in law, I opted for niche practice areas that required proficiency in both litigation and transactional work. When working on contract formation, my choices were informed by my understanding of the courtroom process should there be a disagreement many years later. Similarly, amidst such a dispute, I had a map of the past, orienting me through conflicting accounts and documents exchanged during the litigation. As far back as I can remember, I had a knack for connecting many dots, seeing patterns, and wanting to meet complexity in its intricate fullness. I expect I'll be an avid student for the rest of this lifetime — exploring the breadth and depth of traditions that treat the physical, emotional, energetic, and spiritual as inseparable. I've come to believe there are many effective and delightful paths to health, balance, and joy. Each of us can lean into a single path, multiple paths, or just elements of a few — whatever aligns most — rather than shrinking ourselves to fit a single mold.

Who I Am

The Past, the Present, the Future

A collector of art mediums.

I adore exploring new mediums — to feel them, play with them, get to know them, and allow myself to be touched, changed, and deepened by them.

A wise mama asked me many years ago at a playdate: So what is your form of artistic self-expression? I still remember my bewilderment and confusion — my well-intentioned parents declared me unfit for the arts, beyond spectatorship, at an early age. So in response, I just blinked. She then showed me a plethora of art supplies and musical endeavors that she tinkered with for very personal delight and overall wellbeing. No grand successes. No sales. Just pure, decadent delight.

It slowly dawned on me that for decades, I'd snuck various forms of artistic self-expression through unnoticeable cracks in my parents' story about a child gifted with nothing more than patience and diligence in scholastic pursuits. A quirky shoe collection, whimsical business attire that subtly defied convention, dramatic accent walls in every apartment I passed through — all quiet rebellions against an old story that never really fit.

The last five years have been a joyful, boundless exploration of color, texture, and technique — from paint-filled water balloons to handmade watercolors. I've come to understand that the curiosity and delight in messing around with new materials and techniques, fearlessly and without judgment, IS my gift. It may not make me a popular artist, but I am lit up, changed, and healed through this relationship — and there are few joys as poignant as watching others light up the same way.

I am truly lucky to witness adults as they remember parts of themselves that were rejected because their early years could not support that value, or tucked away deep inside for safekeeping in a hostile environment.

To witness youth swept up by a curiosity, intuition, and talent that they are just starting to recognize in themselves. To be in the presence of the confidence that bubbles up when they create exactly as they wish — the focus, the sturdiness, and the flow that carry their explorations.

The opportunity to witness creators of all ages and walks of life as they rediscover that they are beauty itself is a treasured gift. I am grateful for all that has brought me to this work: the paths walked, some true and others twisted; the people who helped life change in dark times and added shimmer to all times; beautiful mistakes and serendipitous turns.

Eve enjoying street food at an outdoor market

A lover of food.

Its colors, flavors, textures, scents, history, and culture, and the depth and vibrancy of a relationship that develops working with living foods like wild-fermented dough. Food is a ceremony, a dance, a partnership when one has the time and space to breathe with it. It is comfort and nourishment. It is beauty, alchemy, and art... It is community that springs up effortlessly around each table.

Though it took time to move through the rigidity and confusion of some of the food stories that uncomfortably bound my twenties, finding my way to the richness of gastronomic expression has felt like a birthright quest. Slavic food lovingly prepared by my grandmothers ushered in cooking as an expression of care, the methods slow and mysterious. My mother always made excellent meals, even when ingredients were scarce, but I found myself intimidated and distant from her process. My graduate-school roommate, however, could swiftly transform leftovers into Asian dishes I'd never seen — and cracked open a window to a world of alchemy, culture, and simplicity. In my thirties, I spent countless weekends walking through the many ethnic neighborhoods of New York with my now-husband, dipping into unassuming local favorites, and loved traveling abroad together, eager to try as many new dishes and ingredients favored by locals as our stomachs permitted. Amidst motherhood, I was reminded how to play with my food by a wise little person wired to learn, integrate, and delight through play — and food art took on new meaning: mischievous, imaginative, and unconstrained by food rules or baseline assumptions. Though stringent dietary restrictions have become a well-worn health reality in my forties, we are relentless in our search for gastronomic delights that nourish a sensitive belly. No cuisine is beyond our interest and no ingredient outside our curiosity.

A being of sound and movement.

Yet another stifling early story was one around my musical ability. Born with an impressive lack of musical ear, and a posture threatening to unite my collar bone and chin, I learned that daily hours of floor work resembling Pilates were what I was "suited for." Shamed for singing in the shower. Scolded at ballroom dance classes in first grade. The only thread tying me to this magnificent world was my absolute stillness in the velvet seats of the Moscow Ballet — mesmerized and entirely consumed by the magic on stage. Naturally, I came to believe with all my being that, like all art, its passive admiration was all that was available to me.

The passion of others has been my glimmering lantern while I found my own way. In high school, a friend was relentless in her insistence that I drop in to see her ballroom class. Her persistence conquered my resolve. The sight of her class warm up — Rumba walks, velvety and slow, silk-lined shoes swooshing across the glossy wooden floor — instantly shifted my focus away from my story of inability. Every ounce of me yearned for that movement. That energy. Not for how it looked, but for how I KNEW, in the depth of my soul, it FELT. I begged and pleaded with my parents to resume classes. I couldn't decipher much of the count folded into the rhythm, which oriented everyone's movement in class, but I could feel where my dance partners led me just the same. Turns out, my way of orienting in music is by feel. So simple. So vast. My rhythm is excellent. When swept up in enough feeling, I can now even sing the right notes. I've come to enjoy the way I orient and absolutely adore so many forms of dance. The music. The energy. The movement. The attire!

I'm not shy about actually dancing it, either — alone or in groups. When a group of us wants to dance, we go all out: props, costumes, music, the works — not for some polished end product to display, but for the process itself. My husband and daughter both have excellent musical ears. It has been a remarkable delight to dance with them, and to even begin learning to play guitar alongside my daughter — tracking how differently and courageously I orient through this art form. Perhaps I was never lacking in talent — just the ability to recognize its unusual expressions.

Parts of me that are unfolding: storyteller.

I am new to storytelling, but I know that it touches a deep, magical place in me. If my time comes to be an elder, I would like to be carried through this majestic time of life by story, connecting the past, present, and future in the here and now.