For a long time I gave according to whatever was in front of me. If someone needed a lot, I gave a lot. If someone was struggling, I stayed. If someone asked, I answered. The measure was never mine, it was always theirs. And it looked like generosity. What happened next What happened is that I ended up empty. Not all at once. In pieces, over days and weeks, without quite noticing. Until I reached a point where I had nothing left to give anyone, including myself. And then came

When someone asks me for help, there are four questions I ask before answering. They take seconds and they changed how I am with people. Do I want to help? This is the first one and the hardest, because it means admitting that sometimes I don't. It doesn't mean I don't care about the person. It means that with this particular request, at this particular moment, there's no willingness on my side. And knowing that straight away saves a great deal. Because helping without wantin

Note the word: decided. It wasn't something that happened to me, or proof that anyone gave me. It was my decision, taken at a certain point and renewed every day since. How this works in practice Someone cuts in front of me in traffic. Maybe they spared me an accident. Maybe I was driving too fast and needed to slow down. Someone is unpleasant with me. Maybe it was to make me stop. To redirect me. To open my eyes to something. Someone is late. I gained time to do something el

My life changed completely when I started to like myself. And it didn't happen in a day. There was no click, no single moment, no revelation. It took years. What was there, every day Years in which therapy was the main thing in my life. Top priority, above everything else. Years in which exercise gradually became a priority. And food. And choosing the right people around me. Years of finding other perspectives on the same things, the same people, the same behaviours. And abov

If it could have been different, it already would have been. It took me years to understand this and it changed my entire relationship with the past. We're all doing our best Sometimes our best is terrible. Sometimes it's excellent. But it's always our best. Whether we're trying to survive, trying to protect the ego at all costs, or trying whatever else. In each moment, we're doing the best we can in that moment. That includes the decisions I now regret. The version who decid

My head is brilliant. It knows what the best decisions are. It knows I shouldn't eat sugar. It knows I should exercise. It knows that one choice is better for me than another. And still I don't always do it. Neither do I nor anyone else. Knowing isn't the same as being able Knowing something doesn't give me, immediately afterwards, the power to put it into practice. This frustrated me for a long time. If I've already understood, why don't I change? If the information is all t

I learned, in actions and in words, that people who love, worry. That caring about someone means being anxious about them. It means anticipating what might go wrong. It means showing the anxiety, so that everyone can see it's there. And I learned the reverse too, which is the dangerous part: if I don't show worry, then I'm not worried. And if I'm not worried, I'm not loving. It's a tangle. It took me years to start unpicking it. Care and worry aren't the same thing Care is pa

There's a difference between feeling something and having that something inside me. For a long time those were the same thing. If I felt it, it had already come in. Where I am now I can't do this yet. It's recent and I'm learning. I've taken the first step: recognising that not everything I feel is mine. That changed a lot, because I stopped searching inside myself for the origin of things that didn't start there. The second step is being able to clear afterwards. I notice I'

For a long time I worked with an idea that seemed solid: what the other person does is theirs, what I feel is mine. It's a good idea. It takes me out of the victim position and hands responsibility back to me. But it has a flip side I only saw recently. If everything I feel is mine, then everything I feel has to be analysed, understood and resolved by me. And there are things I spent years trying to resolve that quite simply weren't mine. I'm permeable This is a characteristi

I'm running my first Aura Reading Course. Five weekends, from November to April, in the Greater Lisbon area, in a small group. This text is for anyone considering it who wants to know, concretely, what gets taught. First, your own energy You don't start with other people. You start with yourself. What your energy is like when it's clear, and what changes when it isn't. Where your tiredness is yours and where it belongs to someone else. What happens to your field after a diffi

It can be learned. I know that isn't the answer people expect. When I say what I do, the question that almost always follows is whether I was born this way. I wasn't. I didn't even know any of this existed until a few years ago. This has happened to you You're sitting somewhere. Someone you've never seen before walks in. And before that person says a single word, you're already feeling things about them: whether you want to move closer or move away, whether they're alright or

When someone thinks about learning to read auras, they imagine they're going to learn to see things about other people. That's what gets sold and that's what people go looking for. And it's the smallest part of what actually happens. The work starts with you You can't read someone else's field clearly while your own is full of your things. This isn't a nice phrase. It's mechanics. Whatever hasn't been worked through in you will show up in what you read in others, dressed as i

You've tried it the way you were taught. The vision board, the morning affirmations, picturing the thing in full detail until you could almost feel it. You did everything properly and nothing moved. It's not that you don't know how to manifest. You've been using someone else's method. There are hundreds of techniques out there and nearly all of them rest on the same assumption: that everyone creates reality the same way. We don't. Some people need to pin everything down: the

I always get a parking space. It's a running joke with my friends. When they arrive somewhere after me, they don't even need to look for me: they see my car outside and they know I'm already in there. When we go out together, they know we'll say goodbye right at the door, because the car will be right there. And even when I don't drive, because I got a lift or came on foot, they arrive and say: "look, there was a space right outside — that one was yours." It isn't luck. Over

Vision board. Mirror affirmations every morning. Visualising the thing in full detail until you can feel it. Writing down what you want as if it were already true. You've tried. And for all the effort it took, not much came of it. That doesn't mean these methods are wrong. They do work, and they work well, for a lot of people. What nobody tends to say is that they don't work for everyone — and that this has nothing to do with you. The detail that helps, or gets in the way Som

I've shared many times how I started painting. But I've never shared how intuitive painting was born. At first, I painted purely out of curiosity. I wanted to explore my creativity. I followed a few tutorials, experimented with different techniques and, little by little, let go of having any specific goal. I painted simply because I felt like it. Then, one day, I finished a painting, looked at it and thought: "This painting is about a friend of mine." I had no idea what it me

I love everything that's live. I think that's why I go to the theatre much more often than I go to the cinema. The energy is completely different. To me, it's even more immersive. I get goosebumps just thinking about it. Part of what moves me so deeply about these experiences is that they're unrepeatable. What is happening exists only in that moment. There will never again be that exact combination of people, emotions, energy, and little unexpected moments that make everythin

There was something I used to think about a lot when I was a child. You know when you're driving and you pass a sign saying you've left one town? And then, a few metres later, there's another sign welcoming you to the next one? I was completely fascinated by the space between the two. I used to think: "So... this isn't that town anymore, but it isn't the next one yet." What is that little stretch of road? Who does it belong to? What's it called? In my mind, it was no man's la

I've always struggled with setting an intention before doing any kind of therapeutic work. At retreats, workshops or sessions, we were often invited to set an intention at the beginning. Sometimes I did. Sometimes I didn't. And when I did, it was almost out of obligation. Because, to me, setting an intention felt limiting. I used to think, "My mind may want one thing, but the universe might have something far more extraordinary in store for me. If I set an intention, I'm limi

I went to therapy like someone lost in the desert, searching not only for water but also for salvation. For a long time, my mind had stopped being a safe place. Living inside it wasn't easy anymore. And admitting that wasn't easy either. But when that "solution" appeared in front of me, I simply went. And I can't say it wasn't miraculous, because it was. The people I met opened so many new spaces within me. They held my hand as I revisited old places, they gave me comfort, lo