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My Story
Dance has always been my sanctuary. It was where I felt most alive where I could lay down my heartache, my worries, and just be. Whenever life grew heavy, I knew I could lose myself in movement and somehow find myself again.
More Than a Workout
Curvora is so much more than a workout. It’s a community built on love, acceptance, and the simple joy of moving together. It’s a celebration of your curves and your aura, inviting you to sway your hips not just to tone your body, but to release the old stories and pain you’ve held inside. It’s a safe space to reconnect with yourself, surrounded by people who see you, support you, and lift you up.
Because healing isn’t just about your body — it’s about reclaiming every part of yourself that ever felt small, unseen, or unworthy. It’s about finding the courage to stand fully in who you are, with power and softness all at once, and knowing you’re not doing it alone.
I felt a quiet nudge deep within me, a knowing that there was more I was meant to do. I wanted to reach even more people, to share this gift of movement and healing with a wider community. So I packed up my life and moved to San Diego.
I came here to create something beyond just a class to build a true sanctuary where people could sweat, smile, heal, and feel completely at home in their own bodies.
That’s how Curvora was born, est. 2025.
Teaching Others to Heal
For years, this was my personal medicine. Through these movements, I rebuilt not just my body but my spirit and my sense of self.
When I was strong enough, I returned to the studio, teaching private lessons to people carrying their own trauma and pain. Helping them learn to trust their bodies again, to move with love instead of fear, was profoundly healing for me too. Each person I guided reminded me why I had fought so hard.
When Everything Changed
But everything changed in an instant. I remember it so clearly: during a performance, I felt my back rip. I lost cartilage, tore my rhomboids, and was left with deep bruising that ran black and blue across my skin. The scar tissue grew so dense it pinched my nerves, leaving me unable to turn my neck pain that clung to me every waking moment.
Months passed in and out of doctors’ offices and physical therapy rooms, all with the same haunting uncertainty. Until finally, sitting across from a specialist, hoping for reassurance, I heard the words that would echo in my mind forever. He turned, looked straight at me, and said:
“You can never dance again. You better find a different career.”