When I was still a child, I experienced a moment of spontaneous healing – all of a sudden, I stopped a psychotic break that had lasted for weeks, marked by dissociation, paranoia, and depersonalization. I was terrified I would lose my mind forever, unable to reach out for help.
One night, in despair, I screamed to God, to my soul, to everything in between – and then, all at once, it stopped. Something shifted. For a brief moment, I felt reality reassemble inside me – as if a higher intelligence had rearranged the fragments. It was a brief vision of what is possible, though I had no idea how I had done it – and the power of it frightened me so deeply that I tried to forget it ever happened.

When I was thirteen, I fell ill with chronic fatigue syndrome. Confined to bed and isolated for almost four years, I began to research within myself – searching for meaning, for patterns, for a way back to life.
I spent days and nights thinking, reflecting, and talking to myself, as if I could decode the language of my own mind. It became my first form of self-guided therapy – intuitive, strange, but somehow working.

At some point, I began to paint and write what I saw on the inside – images, symbols, and metaphors that seemed to arise from a meta-level of perception, where thought, feeling, and image merged. That inner world became my dialogue partner. It helped me to externalize what I couldn’t yet understand in words – and to keep believing in my healing, even while trapped in a body that felt unbearably heavy, tired, and motionless, filled with diffuse pain in my bones, joints, and head.
Doctors saw little chance, but I knew: I would recover. To hold on to that knowing, I had to see it – to paint my faith into form and overpaint the opinions of others. And slowly, something began to change.

Eventually, by the age of eighteen, I recovered from this illness known as not able to heal.

I went on to study communication design, and it quickly became clear that I had an extraordinary gift – ideas and images came effortlessly, as if I could translate something invisible into form. At only twenty, remarkably young for the field, I became an art director, but soon I knew this wasn’t the purpose of my healing. Selling illusions, however beautifully designed, could not be my path. So, at twenty-two, I left and started my own studio.

When I opened my design studio, I initially worked with lifestyle clients. Yet without actively seeking it, more and more coaches, therapists, and artists found their way to me. I used Integraphy within their branding and vision processes. Until then, I believed Integraphy worked only for me — a private language I had developed to survive and heal. But this growing interest made me wonder whether what had emerged intuitively might be universal after all.

Out of curiosity, I began studying art therapy alongside my work. I encountered valuable perspectives, yet I also sensed its limits. Much of the process remained guided and mediated, often unfolding in group settings, with healing framed as something that happened through another person. From my own experience, I already knew that this structure was not well suited for deep trauma transformation. I wanted a method that strengthened autonomy, inner coherence, and self-trust.

Then I became pregnant.
And the question of whether Integraphy was “only for me” changed entirely.

When I started my design studio, I believed my role was to create clarity and beauty, and I did. Over time, however, I began to notice a quiet pattern. Clients arrived carrying stories most of the world could not hold: neglect, sexual abuse, domestic violence, emotional cruelty, moments of danger and near-death. They had never spoken to anyone, yet they spoke to me. I began to understand something essential. Trauma can ignite grand dreams and collapse them at the same time. Where suffering remains unseen, the value forged through survival stays inaccessible. Without this recognition, that worth cannot be reclaimed, and lasting success cannot follow. No design, strategy, or marketing can compensate for this gap.

This insight led me to develop my branding and purpose concept, Emergent Positioning. It is built on two threads of life: the golden thread, the talents that come naturally, and the scarlet thread, the wounds that repeat themselves with striking consistency. This way of seeing and weaving identity is something you now encounter throughout COR and MATRI.

Around the same time, I worked as a marketing manager for large coaching companies and witnessed something deeply troubling. Methods that claimed to empower were quietly retraumatizing people instead. High-pressure strategies built on bypassing, manifestation framed as another place to fail, identity confusion disguised as mindset work, and even trauma-healing approaches designed to create dependency and endless consumption did not create freedom. They trapped people, emotionally and financially.

Watching this left me uneasy. I knew I could do better. I had helped myself, my children, and many clients already. And yet I resisted turning trauma into my work. I wanted distance, not deeper immersion. I did not want to speak about my experiences anymore or turn lived pain into a product. Eventually, I understood that I could not separate my golden thread from my scarlet one without betraying the truth, my own and that of the people who trusted me.

Integraphy had not entered my life only to support my own healing. It had been forming quietly for years because others needed it too. Golden Linings began the moment I stopped trying to leave trauma behind and accepted that this work had already chosen me long ago.

It was time to share it.