“So, how did you become an acupuncturist?”
I invariably have this conversation with almost every new patient, and it’s related to my ever changing hair color.
Many of my current patients met me blonde — it’s how I’ve been most of my postpartum life — so now that I’m back to my natural color, I get the question, “Why did you choose to go so dark??” a LOT.
And the truth is, my hair has always been a reflection of the way I navigate life: a little chaotic, deeply intuitive, and rarely in a straight line. Every new shade or style has marked a transformation — of how I see myself, of what I’ve learned, and of the direction I’m moving toward. Becoming an acupuncturist was no different. It’s been a winding path, full of detours and reinventions, but looking back, I can see it all had to happen this way.
my hair is emblematic of my constant need for change
Here’s the timeline
2001–2005: The Writer
I started college as an English major (after arbitrarily applying to schools for either English or Psychology). My academic essays leaned so heavily on storytelling that I ended up unofficially shaping my degree into a creative writing program. It was a reflection of how I process the world: by finding the story within it.
I spent my junior year in Madrid, which planted the first seeds of exploration beyond my comfort zone. The year after, I was sidelined by a year-long bout of tonsillitis so bad that the surgeon literally called my tonsils “the worst” he’d ever seen. That year of being sick was hard and I was worried I wouldn’t finish school — but I did! After graduating, I moved to New York City to really start my life.
2006–2010: The Wanderer
I bounced between New York City and its quieter, grittier shadow, New Jersey — aka my home state. I wanted to write, but I couldn’t sustain it. My neurodivergent brain (though I didn’t know it then) couldn’t hold a 9-to-5, and life felt like a series of starts and stops.
I lost my job, my apartment, my grandmother — and almost accidentally killed my cat in the chaos. But through it all, I found acupuncture. Or maybe it found me. I enrolled in a post-bac Psychology program, thinking that was my next move. Then, at the last possible moment, I shifted gears and applied to acupuncture school.
2010–2014: The Student
Acupuncture school consumed me in a way nothing ever had. My hyper-focus clicked, though I didn’t yet have the language to understand why. All I knew was that this was it. Acupuncture helped my brain work. I could channel my energy, my curiosity, my problem-solving, and my deeply empathetic nature into something that felt meaningful.
2016–2020: The Partner
My best friend and I opened a practice in Tarrytown, and for a while, life settled into a rhythm. I got married, had a baby, and felt like I was doing it all. But in 2020, everything changed — my husband’s work dried up, and I became the sole breadwinner. That pressure reshaped me in ways I’m still unpacking.
2020–2024: The Feminist
Covid forced me to reevaluate everything. I was drawn to faces — not just for their diagnostic significance, but for what they symbolized. As a mother, I saw how much my son relied on my face for comfort. As a 40-year-old woman, I experienced a tidal wave of patriarchal messaging about how my face was “supposed” to look.
My interest in facial acupuncture deepened. I began to explore the intersections of beauty, patriarchy, and the human connection to our faces. This wasn’t just about aesthetics; it was about rewriting the story of how women see themselves and are seen by the world.
In 2021, I received an ADHD diagnosis and began to suspect I’m autistic. Suddenly, the shame I’d carried for years melted away. My path — as circuitous and chaotic as it had been — started to make sense.
2025 and Beyond: The Creator
Today, my focus is Feminist Facials and their companion course, Proof of Life™. This work ties together everything I’ve learned: my love of storytelling, my feminist perspective, my clinical training, and my neurodivergent brain’s ability to connect dots others might miss.
So, why did I go dark with my hair? Because this chapter of my life calls for roots. It calls for depth, and for fully embracing who I am. And that’s the same energy I bring to my work: helping women root into themselves, rewrite the narratives that have held them back, and reconnect with the stories their faces tell.
