Hi, I’m Maranda…and this is the story of how I learned to come home to myself…and now guides others back to their own hearts.
If you met me today, you’d see a life + mindset coach who talks about alignment, emotional resilience, self-trust, and returning to yourself. You’d see a woman raising two teenage girls, drinking coffee in her kitchen, creating a life that feels honest and aligned. You’d see calm. Steadiness. Depth. A woman who holds space like she was born knowing how to do it.
What you wouldn’t see is the winding path that shaped her.
Before I ever became a coach, before I learned how to guide women through their own messy middle, I had to walk through mine.
Not gracefully.
Not with perfect choices.
Not with a five-step plan.
Just a girl trying to find her way back to herself.
I grew up learning to adapt long before I knew that’s what I was doing. When my family moved to York when I was twelve, I became the girl who could blend in anywhere. For the longest time, I carried the story and identity that meant I didn’t know who I was. Now I understand it gave me a gift: the ability to read people, feel them deeply, and sit with them exactly where they are.
In my teens and early twenties, anxiety lived in my body like an uninvited guest I didn’t know how to name and depression would visit often. I made decisions I wasn’t proud of. I hurt people I loved. And more than once, I ran from the version of myself I didn’t want to face. Some chapters left me drowning in shame; others left me clinging to the smallest thread of hope.
Even then — even in the darkest seasons — I was still here.
I didn’t know then how significant that would one day feel.
Motherhood cracked me open in ways I didn’t expect. I loved my daughters fiercely, but I didn’t love the version of myself who kept showing up. Anxiety wrapped itself around me in ways I couldn’t outrun. There was a moment — one I still don’t tell lightly — when I almost lost control, and the fear of what could have happened shook something awake inside me.
It was the moment I realized I couldn’t keep surviving myself.
I needed help.
I needed healing.
I needed to learn a new way of being.
So I began therapy.
I started unraveling old beliefs, old patterns, old wounds.
I learned how to feel again, even when the feelings were heavy.
I learned how to trust myself more than the thoughts that scared me.
I started putting language to things I had carried silently for years.
Something in me softened.
And something else — something stronger — began to rise.
A few years later, I traveled to Hawaii for a photography workshop. It was my first trip alone — no husband, no kids, just me stepping into something that scared and thrilled me all at once. I thought I was going to learn about light. Instead, I was handed a moment that shifted the entire direction of my life.
That was the morning of the false missile threat.
For a short window of time, I believed I might never see my family again.
When it was over — when the fear finally left my body — a sentence dropped into me so clearly it felt like truth being delivered straight to my bones:
“I’m not invincible…and yet I’m still here.”
Those words have followed me ever since.
Through the rollover car accident I survived in high school.
Through the suicide attempt I lived through at sixteen.
Through the anxiety that tried to convince me I wasn’t safe in my own mind.
Through the hard motherhood moments.
Through the identity changes.
Through the seasons of doubt and disappointment.
Through the quiet months of building a business that didn’t grow as quickly as I hoped.
Through every moment I thought, I can’t do this.
I was still here.
And that meant something.
It still does.
Somewhere in all of that unraveling and rebuilding, I found my way into coaching — not because I had mastered my life, but because I had learned how to walk through it with more compassion, awareness, and truth than I ever thought possible.
I became a coach because I know what it feels like to be lost in your own story.
I know what it feels like to want more but feel guilty for wanting it.
I know what it feels like to doubt yourself, question your worth, and wonder if you’ll ever feel like you again.
And I know — deeply — what it feels like to find your way back.
My work now is a blend of everything I’ve lived and everything I’ve learned. Emotional healing. Subconscious work. Identity rebuilding. Desire. Permission. Alignment. Self-trust. Resilience. The deep belief that you don’t need to become someone new…you need to return to who you were meant to be.
I work with women who feel overwhelmed, under-seen, and disconnected from themselves. Women who are strong but tired. Women who are successful but unfulfilled. Women who are growing but still carrying old stories that don’t belong to them anymore. Women who want to feel proud of their life, their choices, their voice, their identity.
Women who are standing in their own messy middle wondering if they’ll ever make it through.
To them — to you — I say what I wish someone would have said to me:
You’re still here.
This chapter is temporary.
Your story isn’t ending — it’s unfolding.
And someday, you will look back and be proud of the woman you chose to become.
That’s why I do this work.
That’s why I’m here.
And that’s why you’re here too.