WHO I AM
Hi, I´m Niki. I currently live in a small Spanish coastal village.
I’ve never really done life the conventional way. I’ve lived in different countries, moved a lot and started over more times than most people would consider sensible. Gratefully, it always works out.
I’ve always been drawn to new places, new perspectives and experiences that change the way I see the world.
I love being active. I love feeling strong. I love learning and growing. I love real conversations; the kind where people say things they don´t usually say out loud.
I am curious about people. About what drives them. About what they avoid. About what they long for.
Read the story that led me to this work →
THE LIFE THAT SHAPED ME
For many years, I lived in movement. A lot of movement. Different countries. Different houses. Different jobs. Different versions of myself.
I learned how to land somewhere new and build a life. How to adapt. How to connect with people from different cultures and backgrounds. How to start again when life changed direction.
Looking back, I can see how much those years shaped me. They taught me that life doesn’t have to follow one particular path to be a good life. That change can be unsettling and enriching at the same time. And that every place, person and experience leaves something behind.
I feel deeply grateful for all of that.
AND THEN…
In my early forties, I was diagnosed with cancer. And strangely enough it wasn´t the collapse of my world. It became one of the strongest years of my life.
All the resilience I had built over years of starting over was there for me. I knew how to face things head-on. I stayed present. Fear did not define that year… love did.
During my recovery, movement became part of finding my way back to myself. I had always been active, but now I began to understand the relationship between movement, strength and recovery in a completely different way.
In 2017, I became a Cancer Exercise Specialist.
Cancer also changed the way I looked at time. Not because I suddenly felt I had lived the wrong life. Quite the opposite. I already knew I had lived fully. But when life reminds you that time isn’t guaranteed, you become more conscious of how you want to use it.
WHY THIS WORK
This work did not begin with a business idea. It began with a dream. One that felt unmistakably clear. I decided to train as an end-of-life doula and meet that calling with competence. Through my training and hospice work, I saw what happens when things are not clear, when people are left figuring things out in moments that are already heavy enough.
Then I moved countries again and realised how much more complicated everything becomes when you live across borders. I wanted my own affairs in order, so I got them sorted.
I know what matters, what’s taken care of, and who would know what to do if something happened. Having that sorted gives me a sense of calm. It’s one less thing sitting somewhere in the back of my mind. There’s more space to simply get on with living.
Over time, all these experiences have shaped the way I think about what it means to live well. For me, clarity isn’t about preparing for the end. It’s about creating space for the life you’re living now.
The Dream
A few years ago, I had a dream.
In the dream, I was sitting beside a man after a serious accident. He was awake. He looked at me and asked if he was going to die. I told him I didn’t know. I wasn’t a doctor. But I stayed with him. I asked if he had wife and children. If there was anything he wanted them to hear. I called his wife so she could come. When she arrived, I stepped back.
Two days later, something similar happened in real life.
A man on a scooter was struck by a car right in front of me. The driver was in shock, overwhelmed, trying to call for help. I walked over and sat beside the man on the ground.
There was blood. He drifted in and out. At times his eyes opened and met mine. I held his hand. I spoke to him quietly, keeping my voice steady. The whole scene was very peaceful.
At some point a couple arrived to help him. CPR began. A few minutes later I was told he had passed.
I drove home that day knowing something inside me had become clear.
Death had already been part of my life. I had sat beside both my stepdad and my mother as they crossed that threshold. I know how fragile those moments are, how sacred they are, and how important calm presence becomes.
But that day felt different. It felt familiar somehow.
Not something heroic. Not something chosen. Something that had always been there.
Just a quiet knowing that this was not new to me. That I belonged in that moment.
And from that moment on, I understood something clearly. Being present at the threshold between life and death was not accidental in my story. It was a calling I was ready to step into.
♡