MY JOURNEY
I'm Yuliya - a somatic coach and breathwork facilitator specializing in burnout recovery for high-achieving adults.
I work with former gifted children who are burnt out from years of perfectionism, people-pleasing, and performing for their worth. Using somatic coaching techniques — breathwork, nervous system regulation, and body-based practices — I help clients break the patterns that kept them caged and rebuild their capacity to trust themselves.
I'm certified in Conscious Connected Breathwork (400 hours) and trained as an ILCT stress resilience and burnout coach. I'm currently living in Nepal, where I'm building a retreat space called House of No Name.
For over ten years of my life, I didn’t really want to be alive. My nervous system stayed in a functional freeze state.
On the outside, I looked like the success story: Ukrainian overachiever, full scholarships, international moves, a fast-growing career in marketing. On the inside, I felt like a ghost in my own life.
I grew up in the aftermath of empires, in a post-Soviet Ukraine where everyone was doing their best with almost nothing. My mom was 18 when I was born. Love in our house came with conditions: straight A’s earned affection, achievements unlocked praise, and silence followed anything less than perfect.
So I became perfect.
At 16, I left Ukraine with a suitcase full of gold stars and a body that had learned to disappear its own feelings.
For years, I ran. New cities, new relationships, new versions of myself — always moving, always achieving, always one step ahead of whatever I was afraid to feel. When the running stopped working, I turned healing into another project to excel at. Therapy, trainings, certifications. I became a scholar of my own wreckage who still couldn't sit with sadness for five minutes.
The pattern was always the same: burnout, reinvention, collapse, repeat.
The breakthrough came through the body. A breathwork session in Bali cracked the armor. For the first time, I understood: what I'd been searching for in books and teachers and new cities was already here. The body had been speaking all along. I just hadn't learned to listen.
I became a breathwork facilitator. Shortly after, the war came to Ukraine, my depression returned.
The real turning point was simple and devastating, when I realized that nobody was coming to rescue me. No amount of insight would matter if I kept trying to run away from my body.
So I started moving with it. Reparenting myself through somatics, through art, through breathwork. Learning to be in my body. Learning to feel what I'd been running from. Not by thinking my way through, but by breathing, creating, staying.
And in that practice, I found what I'd been searching for all along.
I was never broken. I was whole. I just forgot.
Somewhere along the way, during one of many breath journeys, a thought landed like a feather:
We’re all just wounded children who never got a chance to heal.
That knowing has shaped everything I do now.
Today, I’m a Ukrainian breathwork facilitator, coach, and ritualist. I create spaces - in person and online - for people who are done performing and ready to tell the truth. People who are wildly self-aware but still can’t bridge the gap between knowing and doing. People who are exhausted by burnout, overgiving, and “fixing themselves,” and who secretly wonder if there’s something fundamentally wrong with them (there isn’t).
My work weaves nervous system regulation, somatic practices, breathwork, myth, and creative ritual. I don’t stand above you as a guru. I sit beside you as someone who has been to the underground and found a way out — not once, but many times.
I believe change is possible because I’ve lived it in my bones.
I’ve walked away from jobs, relationships, countries, and identities that required me to stay small.
I’ve sat with the parts of me I was sure would make people run — and learned how to love them instead.
When I hold space, I bring that whole journey with me: the rigor of my intellect, the irreverent humor, the immigrant grit, the tenderness of someone who knows what it’s like to want to disappear — and chooses, daily, not to.
The containers I create are not about fixing you.
They’re about remembering what’s already whole.
About learning to move with your fear instead of waiting to be fearless.
About coming home to a self you’ve spent years outrunning.
I found my way out of the underground. I saw the light for the first time.
Now I carry a torch for all of us still searching.
If you’re standing at your own crossroads — tired of your own patterns, hungry for something truer — I’m here to walk with you.