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 moved a lot.
I´ve started over more times than most people would consider sensible. Gratefully, it always works out.
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.
MY LIFE NOW
These days, my life is quieter than it used to be. I have routines that hold me. I dance, I train, I work, I practice, and I spend time with people who matter. But something else has shifted too.
I have my affairs in order. I know what matters, what’s in place, and who would know what to do if something happened. That clarity has changed how I move through life.
There’s less background noise, less “I still need to take care of that.” More space. More ease.
Read the story that led me to this work →
IT USED TO BE DIFFERENT
For many years, I lived in movement. A lot of movement. Different countries. Different houses. Different versions of myself. I was strong, capable, independent. I could land anywhere and build a life.
Looking back now, I can see that all that movement built something in me. A resilience I didn’t fully recognise at the time. Maybe there was a reason I needed that journey before I could do the work I do today.
Either way, I feel deeply grateful for every part of it.
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.
Looking death in the eye, even briefly, changes your questions. Not in a dramatic way. In a simple one:
If this were it, would my life feel true?
Up until then I had already lived fully. What shifted was not regret, it was awareness. I wanted to live more consciously.
That year planted a quiet seed. Not immediately into end-of-life work. But into a deeper understanding of time, presence, and the conversations we postpone because we assume there is always more time. Once you have seen death up close, you carry it with you.
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 that 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. At some point, it became personal. I wanted my own affairs in order, so I got them sorted. What stayed with me wasn’t the structure itself, but the quiet that came with it.
My own experience with illness, and the awareness that life doesn’t always unfold slowly, deepened that understanding. Clarity and legacy became something I didn’t just understand,
but live.
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.
♡