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About
“Healing is an art. It takes time, it takes practice. It takes love.”
– Maza Dohta
I know how it feels to carry pain that lives in the unseen.
I know how it feels
to wake up tired
and not know why
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To move through the day
with a fog no one else can see.
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To call it normal,
to keep going,
because stopping feels impossible.
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I know how it feels
to shape a life
around a quiet ache
you were never taught to name.
To listen for answers
in the silence
between all the doing.
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I know how it feels
to reach for joy
while bracing for loss.
To miss someone
so much
your body forgets how to rest.
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I know how it feels
to hold it together
because there’s no space to fall apart.
To try and fix
what was never yours to fix.
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I know how it feels
to be in-between—
no longer who you were,
not yet who you’re becoming.
And still,
to keep reaching
for something steady
in the dark.
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When life is messy and the future uncertain
how do you care for yourself and those you love most?
Are you a caregiver, grieving a loved one, or actively navigating life's sacred transitions?
I know the terrain—I’ve walked it.
From drifting through a career that had grown unfulfilling, to arriving at the edge of burnout—just as my husband was diagnosed with terminal cancer. From the intensity of caregiving, to the disorienting stillness that followed his passing, I’ve felt the weight of uncertainty, the ache of longing, and the tender task of holding a heart in pieces.
I'm Ayla.
Even in the depths of loss, I’ve discovered a kind of quiet purpose—creating spaces where care becomes a way of being. My work is rooted in supporting the human spirit through life’s most tender transitions: grief, caregiving, change, and becoming. I’m here offering support to honor depth, find steadiness in the unknown, and remember healing as a sacred act of returning to yourself.
“The privilege of a lifetime is to become who you truly are.”
– Carl Jung
Step Into A Soulful Path to Transformation
Storytelling became my anchor—a way to process, reflect, and find meaning in the messiness. It’s how I began to make sense of the chaos and slowly rebuild.
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Through words, I discovered the strength to stay soft.
To gather what was shattered, and begin again.
I believe stories hold the power to heal.
They help us rewrite the narratives we’ve outgrown,
and shape something beautiful from the brokenness.
Are you ready to nurture your heart and reclaim your spark?
This isn’t about fixing what’s “broken” or following a one-size-fits-all path.
It’s about reconnecting with your natural rhythm—
through steady practices that reflect who you truly are.
When you tend to your nervous system, your inner world, your story,
you build the capacity to meet life's waves with grace—
to respond with intention instead of urgency,
and to move forward anchored in self-trust.
"Uncovering your story isn’t about rewriting the past—it’s about reclaiming your voice, your truth, and your power to shape what comes next."
Here's my story.
I didn’t always know I was in pain.
I just felt the pull to search—for something to ease, to relieve, to quell.
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Like everyone, my formative years shaped me—
a tiny body absorbing more than I could understood.
I carried the weight of undigested experiences,
emotions I didn’t yet have words for,
and the silence between what was felt and what was spoken.
Without tools to process what I held, I did what I could to get by—
numbing, masking, performing… disappearing.
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Eventually, I traded one form of disconnection for another.
I landed a dream job in New York City—on paper, everything was in place.
But beneath the surface, I was quietly unraveling.
Workaholism became my new coping mechanism.
I poured myself into proving I was enough—
until my body whispered truth: I couldn’t keep going this way.
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The turning point didn’t arrive all at once.
It came through small, steady acts of care.
Learning to listen to my body.
Creating space to breathe.
Allowing myself to try on something gentler.
Those simple shifts rewired something deeper.
And in that space, I began to uncover love—
for myself, for this life, and for the mystery of becoming.
the quiet magic of care
The man I married: James. He carried a presence that was both grounded and intentional. With him, I didn’t have to strive or perform. His steadiness quieted my nervous system and softened old self-doubt. He saw me—not for what I produced, but for who I was.
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In that safety, I began to dream again. Our connection offered the rare gift of attunement—a space where I felt mirrored, accepted, and deeply known. Our bond became the soil where my creativity could grow.
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Storytelling became my way through—a practice to metabolize grief, reconnect with myself, and make meaning. As a gift to that part of me, I returned to school for a master’s in Media Studies and Storytelling.
Five years into our relationship, James was diagnosed with stage III colorectal cancer. In a flicker, everything changed. I stepped into the role of caregiver, moving through treatments, uncertainty, choices and space holding that demanded clarity and presence.
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But the greatest lesson wasn’t about logistics—it was about love. To show up for James, I had to show up for myself.
When his diagnosis became terminal, we chose presence over fear. Our bond deepened through tenderness, truth, and staying open. In that sacred space, we forged a new kind of intimacy—one that transcended fear and anchored us in what truly mattered: presence.
pain as purpose
As James and I faced the uncertainty of his diagnosis, we chose to turn pain into purpose. We partnered with advocacy organizations to raise awareness about a preventable but deadly disease. For the first time in his career, James released music under his own name—a milestone that brought him deep fulfillment and creative freedom.
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The torch we lit together—through love, through truth, through care—still burns brightly. This flame didn’t end with his physical life. It lives on in how we show up for ourselves and one another.
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After James passed, I released his second album posthumously and organized a benefit concert in his honor. Dozens of musicians, friends, and loved ones gathered to celebrate the man and his music that moved us all.
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In 2025, I launched a Benefit in honor of his birthday—a creative campaign that celebrates James’ life while expanding access to colon cancer screening and support for communities who need it most.
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It’s more than a tribute—it’s love in action. A reminder that self-advocacy is self-love, and that how we care for ourselves shapes how we care for others. Because the way we tend to our own bodies—how we listen, nourish, and protect—determines the steadiness with which we can show up for those we love.
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This path forward continues to be shaped by the legacy we built—rooted in care, trust, and a deep belief in the healing power of connection.
This was, by far, the hardest chapter of my life—and also the most meaningful.
Caring for James was a profound privilege. It taught me the power of presence and revealed the beauty that can exist even in life’s most difficult moments. It deepened my reverence for the sacredness of transition and left me with a quiet, enduring gratitude for the love we shared. That exchange changed me. It opened something in me that can’t be closed—and it’s what calls me now to walk with others through the complexities of life, loss, and change.
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Through this journey—allowing grief to be my teacher and pain to shape-shift into service—I was called to train as an end-of-life doula and deepen my studies in self-care, particularly intuitive practices that support the nervous system. At the heart of my work is the belief that healing is not about fixing—it’s about remembering.
Remembering wholeness.
Remembering inner wisdom.
Remembering how to listen to your body and reclaim creativity.
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Whether someone is navigating purpose, caregiving, grief, or the sacred process of dying—I hold space for them to feel seen, supported, and empowered.
This space is here to support that remembrance.
Through a blend of somatic tools, compassionate care, and storytelling, I help individuals and families find meaning, connection, and peace—especially in the moments when it feels hardest to. A core tenet of my work is health equity: advocating for a more just, accessible, and human-centered experience of care. I speak, write, and raise awareness to bridge the gaps in how we tend to our bodies, our hearts, and each other.
beyond the work: who I am
I grew up on the coast of Virginia, where some of my earliest and most vivid memories are of the water—sailing, swimming, or simply soaking in the rhythm of the waves. The ocean has always been a source of calm, reflection, and clarity.
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Kaua’i is my soul home. I lived there with James during the pandemic, and its lush stillness became a sanctuary for us. The island’s energy continues to ground and inspire me, a place I return to in spirit whenever I need to reconnect with myself.
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I’m a lover of stories, poetry, and the kind of fiction that opens emotional doors. Writers like Rumi, Rupi Kaur, Mary Oliver, and Margaret Atwood have shaped how I see the world. My Substack is where I share my own poems, musings, and reflections—part creative playground, part sacred offering.
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Music has always moved me. I believe in its power to carry grief, joy, memory, and transformation. Art matters—because expression matters. It’s how we metabolize experience and make sense of what we feel.
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In the kitchen, I love reinventing old recipes and playing with ingredients from the earth—especially when it comes to nourishing, reimagined desserts. It’s another form of creativity and connection to the body.
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I’m a certified yoga instructor, Reiki practitioner, and tarot reader. I’m drawn to practices that foster inner listening, presence, and intuitive alignment. Whether through movement, ritual, or reflection, I love holding space for others to reconnect with their own bodies and truths.
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And the owl—my spirit animal—walks with me. A guide of quiet wisdom, deep seeing, and trust in the unseen. He reminds me that even in stillness, transformation is underway.
Professional Biography
Ayla Casey is a writer, end-of-life doula, and mentor whose work centers on healing, presence, and the quiet power of transformation. She supports individuals navigating grief, caregiving, and sacred transitions, offering spaces of care where people can soften, reconnect with themselves, and remember the strength that’s always been within.
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With a background in business and media studies, Ayla brings together more than a decade of leadership experience, a Master’s degree in Storytelling and Media, and a lifelong devotion to self-inquiry. Her early career focused on global brand-building and sustainable business strategy. Over time, her personal journey—including her experience as a caregiver to her late husband James—led her toward a more embodied path, blending creative expression, nervous system work, and end-of-life care.
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Through writing, public speaking, and one-on-one mentorship, Ayla helps others create space in their lives to metabolize experience, access intuitive wisdom, and walk through change with steadiness. She is especially passionate about advocating for health equity and building more human-centered systems of care—ones that honor both the personal and collective dimensions of healing.
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Her work is guided by the belief that when we tend to ourselves with intention, we become better equipped to show up for what—and who—matters most.
Ayla lives on the East Coast and travels often. Find me by the water, writing, or dreaming up recipes for soulful nourishment.
You don’t have to walk this journey alone.
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