Why The Healers Ranch

The word ranch has always held something fun for me.

Not just the fantasy. Or how it's so good with pizza. I fully love a good pair of cowboy boots, a bandana, and anything vintage Western. But it’s deeper than that.

It’s the feel of dust clinging to your skin and drying out your throat when you’re driving up the 5 or the 118. It’s the smell of an autumn brush fire somewhere in the hills. How the Valley, in the fall, just smells like cinnamon and dry leaves. That first morning dew feels like a deep sigh. Like we all just survived the hottest summer ever, together.

Growing up all over the San Fernando Valley, “ranch” meant a mix of things. A little old Hollywood and Malibu. A little cowboy country Sun Valley, Chatsworth. And in my case, a lot of gangster, and old-school Hispanic and Indigenous roots that taught me grit, Van Nuys, Panorama. It also taught me how to survive on the edges of softness.

Ranch also meant horses. I used to think it was wild how in the middle of Canoga Park or West Hills, you’d see a random house with a pony or two in the backyard. It was like this little subculture hiding in plain sight, tying together all these surface-level disparate dots. Western nostalgia, survival, family tradition, the deep desire to live with a little more space and a little more connection. Ranch was all of it. Somehow, it made sense.

So when I say The Healers Ranch, it’s not just a brand or a dream. It’s a place I’ve been reaching toward my whole life. A space to breathe. To remember. To take up space. I don’t have the land yet, but I know what it feels like. And I wanted to create that feeling even before it physically exists.

The Healers Ranch started as a whisper. An idea I kept coming back to while navigating my own path through recovery, spirituality, burnout, and coming back home to myself.

It wasn’t always obvious that I’d end up here. I was raised to believe that healing practices like Reiki, energy work, and mindfulness were either too “out there” or too expensive or too trauma-bondy. Things reserved for people who didn’t look like me or live like me. I thought I just needed to work hard, keep going, and some day my karma would be good enough for things to align.

But something cracked open in me when I realized: healing is what adds color and depth to our greater vision. It opens us up to actually feel our lives, not just survive them. It softens the grip of fear and makes space for joy, for presence, for real connection. That’s what I want more of. And that’s the world I’d like my kids to be able to live in. One where they can be endlessly curious because they’ve learned how to manage their fears, and where they can walk alongside someone who is unlearning their own.

The Healers Ranch is for anyone learning how to hold space for themselves. Anyone unlearning shame, reparenting themselves, grieving an old version of who they had to be. It’s a space for all of us who’ve been told we had to hold it all together. We don’t. Not here.

It’s for healers, because everyone is one. If you’ve ever learned anything, you’ve healed an ignorant part of your mind. We all have the capacity to tend, to feel, to transform. Some of us just forgot. This is the space where we remember.

At The Healers Ranch, we explore what it really means to heal:

• to regulate our nervous systems

• to reclaim softness as power

• to sit with grief, joy, rage, and pleasure, all in the same breath

• to honor where we come from, even as we grow into someone new
  

My mission is to make healing approachable, embodied, and deeply human. Whether I’m leading a sound bath, holding space in a recovery group, or teaching Reiki, I want every person to feel like they belong here, especially if they’ve never felt that way before.

I’m building this for people like me. Feelers, skeptics, cycle-breakers, caretakers. People who maybe weren’t always given the language for what they’re moving through. People who are just trying to find their way back to themselves, one gentle breath at a time.

One day, I hope The Healers Ranch becomes a safe place for people to reintegrate and discover themselves. Whether that manifests as a treatment center, or a space where veterans can transition back into civilian life, or a retreat where people can get back on their feet and navigate a career change with support, I’m not entirely sure yet. But I know there will be horses.

You don’t need to have it all figured out to begin.

You just need to start.

And if you’re here, you already have. WELCOME!!