A great job where I worked as a behavioural specialist, designing leadership programmes and advising directors. A wonderful relationship. A beautiful apartment. Amazing friends. An MBA. I had checked every box I was supposed to check, and I had checked them well.
But on the inside, I was exhausted. Running toward something that never quite arrived. My standards were brutal. My inner voice was relentless. Every project had to be flawless. Every interaction was replayed and analysed. Every achievement was briefly acknowledged and immediately replaced by the next thing I hadn't done yet.
I was performing a version of myself that looked impressive from the outside and felt hollow from within.
I didn't know that was a pattern. I thought it was just who I was. The driven one. The perfectionist. The one who never quite sits still. I didn't realise my brain had created this reality for me.
Seven months. New streets, new language, new coffee order. And within weeks, something strange happened. My brain stopped running on autopilot.
In Amsterdam I had the same apartment, the same bike route, the same office, the same rhythm. The Default Mode Network, the part of the brain that maintains your identity by repeating what's familiar, had been doing its job perfectly. Efficient. Comfortable. Stuck.
In Madrid, none of that worked anymore. And without the familiar architecture holding everything in place, I got a reality check I wasn't expecting. I looked at my life. This life that was supposed to be perfect, and I thought: I studied the brain. I studied psychology. I know how this works. And yet I have been running myself into the ground for years without asking the one question that matters.
Is this actually the life I want? Or is this the life my brain built for me?
I knew the science. That the brain constructs reality through filters, beliefs, identity, and presents the subjective result as objective truth. That it runs largely on prediction, not observation. That patterns feel like personality but are actually learned neural pathways that can be changed. I had studied all of this. I had trained other people on it.
I had just never pointed it at myself.
Almost everything I had been treating as fact about myself was a filter.
The perfectionism wasn't discipline, it was a belief that I wasn't allowed to make mistakes. The exhaustion wasn't ambition, it was a nervous system that never felt safe enough to rest. The feeling that I was never quite good enough wasn't realism, it was a story my brain had been telling me for so long that I had stopped hearing it as a story.
I decided to rewire my own brain. I dove deep into the research. Not for a grade, not for a client. For me. Neuroplasticity. Predictive processing. How beliefs reshape biology. How identity operates as a filter on perception. How the nervous system holds patterns in the body long after the mind has moved on.
I read dozens of peer-reviewed studies and kept the ones with real, measurable effects. I went back to the foundational science I had fallen in love with during my degree, and discovered an entire world of research I hadn't yet explored. And I fell in love with the brain all over again. With its complexity, its adaptability, its lifelong capacity for change.
Then I applied it. I caught my filters in real time. I rewired my relationship with my inner critic. I trained my nervous system to tolerate being seen instead of treating visibility as danger. I rebuilt my habits, my routines, my sense of who I was. Not from the outside in. From the brain out.
The woman who emerged from that process was someone I recognised but had never fully met.
She had been there all along. She had just been buried under decades of protective wiring.
I was part of a network of ambitious women in Madrid. Founders, creatives, professionals navigating the exact kind of transition I was in. I started sharing what I was discovering. Not as a trainer. Just in conversations. I would explain how the brain constructs reality, why their self-doubt isn't weakness but wiring, how a single belief can change what their body does under pressure.
And every woman I talked to said some version of the same thing: that is exactly what is happening to me. I just never had the language for it.
With many of them it was not one conversation but many. The same women, over weeks and months, coming back to talk it through again. I would share a single tool, a way to catch a filter in the moment, or to speak to the inner critic differently, and then watch what happened with it. They would come back and tell me what had shifted: a conversation they finally had, a fear they moved toward instead of away from, a boundary they held, a story about themselves they had stopped believing. It was not therapy and it was not yet a programme. It was the science, made usable, doing in their lives what it had done in mine. One woman at a time.
They didn't need more motivation. They didn't need to be told to believe in themselves. They needed to understand the machine. They needed to see the architecture: the filters, the predictions, the identity running the show. And then learn how to redesign it. With science. With practice. With someone who had done it herself and could translate it into something they could feel, not just understand.
That was the moment I felt it. Why I studied psychology in the first place.
Not for the theory. For the look on someone's face when they realise, for the first time, that the thing they thought was broken about them is actually a pattern, and patterns can change.
I had already built The Rewire Method, for organisations who wanted more than another insight-heavy workshop. I was proud of that work. But every time I walked out of one of those Madrid conversations, something lit up that did not light up the same way after a corporate meeting. The conversations with women, where the science finally clicked into someone's actual life, were where I came most alive. That changed my course.
Wired for More is an 8 weekly evening neuroscience-informed programme for ambitious women who are done running on someone else's operating system. Eight weeks to see the game their brain has been playing, change it by designing who they actually want to become, and build the life that supports her. Built on more than a hundred peer-reviewed studies. Every tool tested on myself first.
Alongside it, I carried on with The Rewire Method, the programme I had already built for organisations that want more than another insight-heavy, behaviour-light workshop. A five-session corporate programme that works on three layers at once: how you think, how your body responds under pressure, and what drives you at the deepest level.
You are not broken. You are wired. And what was wired can be rewired once you understand how.
Your brain built this life. Now you get to rebuild it.
I am a Behavioural Scientist and Neuroscience-Informed Trainer. I hold a BSc Psychology (VU Amsterdam) with additional neuroscience coursework, and an MBA in Leadership and Change Management (VU Amsterdam). I spent six years as a behavioural specialist and consultant at the City of Amsterdam, where I built and led a leadership programme and learned how to guide change in real groups of real people.
I studied the science of the brain. I now translate it into experiential masterclasses, an 8 weekly evening programme for ambitious women, and training for teams.
I learned the science first. Then I tested every piece of it on myself before I taught it to anyone else. I know that makes me different from most trainers and coaches. I understand the mechanism in both science and experience.
I am not a therapist, and I am not a clinician. I do not diagnose, treat, or replace clinical care. I am a trainer who makes neuroscience felt. If you are in crisis or in active treatment, that deserves dedicated care, and the Crisis & Scope page points to the right support.
The first group of Wired for More starts Monday 5 October 2026. Applications are reviewed personally, and the group is kept small for a reason.
Apply for Group 1 →Whether you are an individual, a community, or a team, the door is the same.
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