Hi, my name is Ambra

As a little girl, I lived for the freedom of music and dance. Those moments of pure expression were everything to me. But life, as it often does, had other plans.

At seven, I’d already started withdrawing after hearing cruel comments about my body. Those words chipped away at my confidence, little by little, until I stopped dancing. I stopped showing up as the carefree, vibrant girl I once was. Instead, I grew quiet, unsure of myself, and slowly began to shrink into the background.

By the time I turned ten, I had already experienced two devastating losses. I had no idea of how to process the grief, so I did what many of us do—I buried it. I numbed the pain and carried on, not realizing I was laying the foundation for a pattern that would follow me into adulthood.

As a teenager, I entered a relationship that left me questioning everything about myself. I wasn’t enough. I wasn’t right. Somehow, I was always too much and yet not nearly enough. When I found the strength to walk away at 21, I was battling eating disorders, depression, and a loss of identity so profound it felt like I’d disappeared entirely. I didn’t know who I was or what I wanted anymore—all I knew was that I felt hollow.

Even singing—the thing that once gave me so much joy—became a source of fear. I went from singing freely as a child to feeling blocked and terrified to let my voice out as a teenager. By 20, the fear had taken over entirely, and I quit singing, silencing a part of myself that I deeply loved.

In a bid to reclaim myself, I moved abroad, hoping that a change of scenery could spark the fresh start I so desperately needed. But, as it turns out, you can’t outrun yourself. By 24, I hit rock bottom. That’s when it finally hit me: the healing I was searching for wouldn’t come from a new place or a new beginning. It had to come from within.

That was the year everything began to shift. I returned home and experienced my first spiritual awakening. It wasn’t a lightning bolt or a sudden transformation—it was a slow, steady unfolding. For the first time in years, I felt hope. A spark. A sense that I could rebuild myself, piece by piece, and maybe even step into something greater than I’d ever imagined.

But all those years of bottling up my emotions? My body hadn’t forgotten. Chronic pelvic pain, blocked hips, gut issues and weight gain—it was all screaming for me to feel, to finally face what I’d ignored for so long.

That’s when the path of the feminine found me. It was through embodiment—reconnecting with my body and learning to really listen to it—that I began to heal.

I let myself feel the emotions I’d buried for years, and slowly, my body began to release the pain it had carried for so long. The symptoms eased. My voice came back—not just physically but emotionally. I started singing again, releasing the fear that had held me hostage for so long. I felt alive again—no longer stuck in survival mode.

And in the process of healing, something unexpected happened: I rediscovered my creativity. Music, dance, poetry—the things that once felt like home to me—they returned, bringing pieces of myself with them.

Healing didn’t just restore me; it reintroduced me to who I was always meant to be.