Why Santa Fe is the Next Home for Veluna Wellness
“Some places don’t meet you where you are. They wait until you’re ready.”
Not Just a Move—A Becoming
I’ve lived a few lives in one. The Vermont chapter was green and quiet and full of longing—longing for healing, for home, for something more solid than survival. Phoenix was its own trial by fire. Necessary in ways I didn’t expect, but never quite home. I’ve moved through cold winters, emotional hurricanes, love lost, trauma lived, identities shed.
Now I’m standing at the threshold of something new. Not running, not escaping—but choosing. Claiming. Rebuilding with intention.
Santa Fe isn’t an exit—it’s an arrival.
What’s calling me here isn’t just the landscape (though the wide skies and high desert magic don’t hurt). It’s the energy. Something spacious. Quiet, but not empty. Spiritual, but not performative. There’s a frequency to this place that feels like the body after a deep, intuitive massage—settled, softened, returned to itself.
That’s what I want—for me, and for the people I work with.
Massage isn’t a luxury; it’s a doorway. It’s not just about soft tissue—it’s about softening as a human being. When you slow the body down, you start to hear what’s been buried underneath all the noise. Stress, anxiety, pain—they don’t just dissolve with touch. They shift, because someone is witnessing them with care. Because the body is finally allowed to speak.
Santa Fe, with its deep roots in art, ritual, and land-based wisdom, mirrors that intention perfectly.
So no, I’m not going back to Vermont. I’m not going back to any version of myself that shrunk to fit, that ignored the quiet “no,” or that confused pain with purpose.
This isn’t just a move—it’s a becoming. One that’s been a long time coming.
What I’m Leaving Behind (Without Looking Back)
Why I’m Not Going Back to Vermont
There’s a part of me that will always love Vermont. The hush of snowfall in the woods, the old-growth forests, the way you can drive for miles without seeing another soul—it taught me stillness. It gave me space to break down and begin again.
But it also held a version of me that was fighting to stay afloat.
When I lived there, I was in survival mode. Burnt out. Untethered. Grieving things I hadn’t even had time to name. The quiet I once craved became a kind of isolation. And as beautiful as the mountains were, they couldn’t hold me the way I needed.
Going back—no matter how picturesque—would be like slipping into a coat that no longer fits. I’d outgrown the silence. I needed something warmer. Wilder. Something that felt like a “yes” in my bones.
Why Phoenix Was Only a Layover
Phoenix was never the endgame. It was the emergency landing.
I came back not because I wanted to, but because I had nowhere else to go. My ex offered me a place to stay while I pieced myself back together. That season gave me a roof, time, some financial breathing room—and a chance to re-enter my field slowly, without pressure to perform.
But it was complicated.
Phoenix is fast. Loud. Scorching. The city moves in a way that never let me rest. My ex and I coexisted, but the emotional residue of our past never cleared. I stayed on edge—not just because of the external chaos, but because I was still tethered to an old version of myself.
That chapter gave me what I needed to stabilize. But I’m not here to survive anymore. I’m here to build something sacred. And Phoenix isn’t where that begins.
“Some roads don’t take you back—they take you deeper into who you’re becoming.”
What I’m Moving Toward
Santa Fe: Where Spiritual and Sensory Healing Coexist
They call it the Land of Enchantment for a reason. And it’s not just clever branding—it’s a feeling.
The first time I stepped foot in Santa Fe, something in my body exhaled. Like my nervous system whispered, “You’re okay here.”
Stillness here doesn’t feel like stagnation—it feels like presence. The mountains hold you without crowding. The air moves slower. There’s space to breathe. To feel.
Wellness in Santa Fe isn’t a trend. It’s lived. Healing isn’t aesthetic—it’s cultural. Energy medicine and science coexist. Creativity is daily life. It’s a place that invites you to slow down—not just for self-care, but for self-connection.
And when clients arrive already softened by the land, their bodies respond differently. They don’t need to fight. They begin to trust.
A Blank Page, Not a Band-Aid
There’s a difference between leaving because something hurts and moving because something calls.
I’ve done the escape route. This isn’t that.
Santa Fe feels like a blank page—not because I’m forgetting the past, but because I’m no longer writing from survival. I’m creating from steadiness. From joy. From who I’ve become.
I’m not disappearing into the desert. I’m building something intentional. Healing. Whole.
Why Santa Fe is the Right Energy for This Work
The People: Conscious, Curious, and Ready
Santa Fe attracts a certain kind of person. They’re not chasing quick fixes—they’re seeking depth. Maybe it’s healing. Maybe it’s meaning. Maybe it’s just a slower rhythm that lets the body breathe again.
They’ve often done the surface-level stuff. They’ve tried traditional massage or therapy. Now they’re looking for something more integrative—something that meets them where they are.
They’re not just looking for good technique. They’re looking for lived experience. For someone who’s walked through fire and knows how to hold space, not just apply pressure.
That’s who I’m here for.
The Environment: Slowness, Stillness, and Soul
The land here is medicine.
High desert. Sagebrush. Dusk skies that turn lavender before they darken. There’s a sacred kind of quiet that teaches you to move differently.
My practice is slow. Presence-based. Deep. And Santa Fe doesn’t rush either.
I don’t picture a fancy studio with spa music on loop. I picture open windows, the smell of juniper and earth, clients arriving softened by the landscape.
This place doesn’t just support the work. It amplifies it.
“Light doesn’t heal by force—it softens what’s been hidden and lets it be seen.”
The Magic of Massage: Why It Belongs Here
Massage as Emotional Alchemy
Massage is often framed as a way to “relax.” And it is. But what I offer goes deeper. It’s about nervous system regulation. About helping the body remember what safety feels like.
Trauma-informed touch lowers cortisol, helps downshift from fight-or-flight, and creates space for what’s been buried to rise—grief, old emotions, clarity.
A 2020 study in Frontiers in Psychology found that regular massage therapy significantly reduces symptoms of anxiety and depression—especially when it’s grounded in relationship and trust.
That’s the part I care about most: the trust. The presence. The safe space.
This work isn’t just about easing a sore neck. It’s about grounding trauma, softening emotional armor, and helping people feel safe enough to land in their own skin. For many of us, that’s not an easy thing to do. But with time, consistency, and the right container, it’s absolutely possible.
If you’re curious about the kinds of bodywork I offer—whether it’s intuitive massage, energy work, or lymphatic support—check out my list of services.
How I Work
No scripts. No protocols. Every session is designed to meet you, as you are.
I listen to your body. I respond to what it asks for—whether that’s slow fascia work, cranial sacral holds, lymphatic drainage, or subtle energetic tuning. Sessions may include:
Custom aromatherapy blends
Optional energy clearing or chakra tuning
Gentle breath guidance and grounding if emotions rise
Space for silence, because not everything needs words
My work is about presence, not performance. It’s about creating a space where you’re not just treated—but seen.
You can find answers to common questions about how I work and what to expect on my FAQs page—and if you’re ready to step into this kind of care, you can book a session with me.
“I built Veluna because I had to become the kind of healer I never had.”
Building in Alignment: How I Know This is Right
I Know What Doesn’t Fit Anymore
I stayed in jobs, relationships, and cities that didn’t fit because they were familiar. But peace isn’t something you earn by tolerating discomfort—it’s something you choose. Over and over.
Now, I listen. To my gut. My breath. My body’s cues.
What doesn’t feel right isn’t for me. This move? It’s not about chasing a new life. It’s about not betraying myself anymore.
Santa Fe Is a Yes
Santa Fe kept showing up. In stories. In signs. In the exhale I didn’t realize I was holding.
This isn’t magical thinking—it’s resonance. Every instinct has said yes.
The warmth here isn’t just in the sun. It’s in the rhythm. The people. The way this place asks you to show up fully.
I’m not waiting for a perfect moment. I’m following alignment.
This Isn’t a Retreat—It’s a Return to Self
I used to think healing meant starting over. But it’s not about erasing—it’s about returning.
To the truth. To the rhythm. To the self that’s always been there beneath survival.
Santa Fe isn’t a retreat. It’s a claiming.
A conscious step toward a life that feels aligned. Spacious. Sacred. A life where I can offer healing that’s intuitive, embodied, and slow—not just for others, but for me, too.
Veluna isn’t just a wellness practice. It’s the mirror of my own evolution—and it can hold space for yours, too.
✧ If you’re craving a pause, a softening, or a return to yourself—emotionally, energetically, spiritually—you can begin by scheduling a session here. Let’s begin this next chapter in the desert, together.
