About

About Andie:

I am a death doula, care worker, songwriter, plant lover, homemaker and closet intellectual. As a death worker, I offer support for people in all stages of life who are facing big transitions or existential questions.

My hope is to help bolster our human collective as we shift into a more loving relationship with our own mortality. To honor the cyclical nature of life so that we can slow down, heal our relationships and our planet, live fully and die peacefully.

I work in a values-based, power-with paradigm. I offer loving witness that supports the possibility of alchemy and transmutation, inviting a connection to the present in a way that allows for a greater sense of wholeness. 

My joys include long walks, deep talks, reading, riding my bike, being outdoors (the garden, the shore, the forest, the desert… love them all!), dancing, cooking, crafting and of course, resting in my cozy bed. 

I practice an earth-based, intuitively ancestral spirituality that is informed by eastern and indigenous thought/practice and deeply rooted in interdependence. That said, I keep my beliefs nebulous. I abide in the mystery.

My Story:

A decade ago, I realized I was going to die. Not imminently… only in the same way we are all going to, someday, but the realization was profound and it changed the way I lived my life.

I was in my mid-20s, a disaffected barista living at home with my father after graduating from college and spending a few years working in marketing and the nonprofit world. The conflicting pressures of capitalism, a heart that yearns for service, and a longing for fulfillment weighed heavily on me. I felt stagnant and restless and I worried, “what am I doing with my life?” I wondered how I could simultaneously support myself, make a contribution to the world, express myself creatively, experience loving relationships, and be both “successful” and “happy” (...whatever those mean). I wondered what I would have to do to get to a place where I felt like I’d “made it.” I couldn’t shake the feeling something was missing in my life.

One day I had my life planning maps all spread out, with markers of every color ready to chart my future, when out of seemingly nowhere (maybe the grandmas of times past whispered it to me through the veil) it occurred to me that no matter how much I succeeded or failed, no matter how deeply I fell in love, it would all come to an end. Eventually, I would die and lose everything. You might think it was a scary thought, but instead of the existential terror of loss, I felt relieved. It actually felt a bit funny. The attitude of ceaseless trying I had learned to embody growing up would never work… I could relax. Understanding there was no finish line to happiness, I felt happier. I felt expansive, appreciative and free to be myself. I became less drawn to proving myself according to values I didn’t agree with, and more interested in healing work and enjoying my life. I learned to play guitar and started writing songs. I started gardening. I developed a yoga and meditation practice. I attended and hosted grief rituals. I learned conflict resolution techniques and practiced loving deeply. I got to know what gratitude felt like in my body.

Though I was still young and healthy, I carried an awareness of death with me and sought out practices to support me in deepening that awareness. I became interested in the practice of memento mori, rooted in the Ancient Greek & Christian traditions, of symbolism in art that serves as a reminder of our imperative to die. I even tattooed “m.m.” on my finger. I spent hundreds of hours in meditation on death, mostly in the maranasati style of the Theravada Buddhist tradition. I completed a personal death ritual after a year of dedicated death contemplation practice. I was committed to not losing sight of this deep and impactful truth.

For a long time I thought that reflecting on mortality was a part of my own personal journey, but not something I would share with others. Death can be so taboo, especially in the U.S. and I didn’t want to weird anyone out. And yet, as I became more comfortable with my mortality, the way the culture around me related to death felt different, tragic, and in need of a reality check. Even my own father resisted having end of life conversations with me until shortly after his 82nd birthday, when he announced “I’m an old man.” He said the phrase as if it were synonymous with failure and “giving up.”

I know that it doesn’t have to be that way, and so I became drawn to the calling of supporting others in the multi-layered task of facing death. It became even more clear to me that this was my path in a healing ceremony when I asked within, “what does the collective need from me?” and saw myself beside a deathbed. Feeling spiritually and emotionally equipped, I knew I needed a better understanding of the medical, practical and logistical needs at the end of life. I completed a death doula training program through Going with Grace and joined the National End of Life Doula Association to stay up to date with best practices.

I understand how hard it can be to think or talk about death. Grief and terror can penetrate us to our core. Not only is it devastating to lose a loved one, or to imagine our own death, but in a culture that portrays old age, sickness and death as a sort of personal failing, it can also bring up shame, fear and other challenging emotions. It’s not always easy, but it can be immensely liberating to confront and embrace our mortality. I feel grateful and honored to accompany others on their paths as we walk this sacred road.