It means so much to share more of my personal story with you because I truly and fully believe that getting to know each other on this level is so sacred!
It honestly isn’t at all just about “my” story:
it’s also so much about YOU reading this right now:
because sharing our stories with each other shows us how deeply connected we are on the most human levels:
our struggles, our triumphs, our fears, our dreams: they may be different but still share the same core… And it’s such a blessing to learn from each other’s journeys!
Thank you for being here!
… I was born and raised in a small town in the heart of the Rose Valley in Bulgaria — a place where the air itself carries the soft, unmistakable presence of Rosa damascena.
My childhood was simple, free, and deeply alive in a way that feels almost rare today. We didn’t have phones or screens pulling us away from each other. We had presence. We had connection. We had long days spent outside, running barefoot with dirty feet, knocking on each other’s doors instead of sending messages, gathering in front of our apartment blocks and playing until the sun went down.
It was a time that shaped me in ways I continue to discover.
Those were also years of transition for my country. Bulgaria was moving through a shift after the Soviet period, and many people were struggling financially. There was a real sense of limitation in what people could access or afford. And yet, somehow, I never felt lack.
What I felt was community.
I remember how natural it was to knock on a neighbor’s door and ask for something simple — sugar, oil, anything we needed. I remember how people shared what they had, how food came from grandparents’ gardens, how support was woven into everyday life. There was a quiet richness in that way of living. A kind of wealth that had nothing to do with money.
This environment shaped something essential in me — a deep understanding of connection, resourcefulness, and the beauty of simplicity.
At school, I found another part of myself. I loved learning. Truly. It was never something I had to force. Curiosity has always been one of my strongest inner drives. I’m constantly drawn to study, to explore, to understand. In many ways, I still see myself as a student — a small, curious being in a vast and endlessly unfolding universe.
When I was around 19, I made a decision that surprised even me.
I chose to participate in the most well-known beauty and cultural contest in my hometown — the Queen of Roses. For many girls growing up in the Rose Valley, this is a dream. But for me, it wasn’t about external beauty. What drew me in was something deeper. This contest has always honored not just appearance, but intelligence, creativity, expression — who you are as a whole human being.
And there was another reason.
The winner would travel to Japan as a representative of the Bulgarian rose.
Japan had lived quietly in my heart for years as a dream — something I felt deeply drawn to, without fully knowing why.
And somehow… I won.
It was a powerful moment. A dream unfolding into reality. A door opening.
But alongside that expansion came something I hadn’t expected.
Living in a small town, suddenly being seen everywhere, recognized, talked about — it brought a level of exposure that felt overwhelming. I felt watched. Judged. Spoken about. People’s opinions, projections, and words — some of them harsh and unkind — became something I had to face daily.
I was still very young. Sensitive. In the process of becoming.
And while I don’t stand in this as a victim — because over time I’ve come to see how much it taught me — at that moment, it was heavy. It shook me. It pushed me into a deeper, more internal space.
So at the peak of what others might have called “success,” I made a very different kind of decision.
I chose to leave.
To step away from the noise, the attention, the expectations.
I went to England and began working on a farm — surrounded by vegetables, fruits, soil, and animals. It may seem like a simple choice, but for me, it was a form of self-healing. A return. A way to come back to something real, something grounded, something honest.
It was also important for me, always, to stand on my own feet — to earn my own way, to not take anything for granted, to move through life with a sense of responsibility for myself.
And this was just the beginning of a much deeper journey.
Before I continue the story where we left off, there’s something important I need to bring in — because it has always been a part of me.
Alongside my love for learning… there was another love.
Actually — the love.
Dance.
Ever since I was still in school, I was completely insatiable when it came to movement. I wanted to try everything. Bulgarian folklore dancing, Latino rhythms, hip-hop, even a brief (and slightly chaotic 😄) attempt at classical ballet. I was just hungry to feel my body in different ways, to express something I couldn’t put into words.
And eventually, I found something that truly clicked.
I became part of a modern dance formation — a beautiful blend of contemporary movement with touches of classical ballet. We were a group, training together, creating together, showing up again and again. And I was devoted. Truly devoted. For almost two years, this was my world.
Dance wasn’t just a hobby.
It was a language. A release. A way to understand myself.
(This was all before the whole Queen of Roses chapter — before life took that very sudden turn.)
So… after England.
After choosing soil and silence over noise and attention, I came back to Bulgaria and stepped into what I had been looking forward to for so long:
University.
I was genuinely excited. I thought, this is it. This is where I’ll expand, deepen, explore, question, grow…
And then — reality hit me like a very unromantic slap in the face 😄
Because what I found was not a space that encouraged curiosity or imagination or critical thinking. It felt… mechanical. Like a system where we were expected to memorize information instead of actually thinking about it.
I remember sitting there and feeling this quiet disappointment growing inside me.
Like… wait, this is it? This is what we’re calling higher education?
I started with Chinese studies — and very quickly realized: this is not my path. Not my language, not my rhythm.
So I shifted. I enrolled in another university, this time studying marketing. That felt more aligned… but life had its own conditions.
The fees were high. Too high for my family to carry.
So I made a decision that would shape me in ways I couldn’t have imagined back then:
I would support myself.
And this is where a whole new chapter began.
I stepped into the world of work — fully.
Bars, restaurants, late nights, early mornings. I worked as a bartender, as a waitress, as a receptionist… sometimes more than one job at the same time. I was living in the capital of Bulgaria – Sofia, paying rent, figuring things out day by day.
And let me tell you something honestly — because this matters to me:
People often underestimate these kinds of jobs.
But working in service… especially in bars and restaurants… is a whole education on its own.
You learn psychology.
You learn energy.
You learn how to read people in seconds.
You learn how to hold space, how to shift a mood, how to keep things flowing even when everything feels chaotic.
You are not just “serving.”
You are holding the atmosphere.
And this shaped me deeply. It built my resilience, my awareness, my ability to stay present and adaptable in all kinds of situations.
At the same time, I was in a very intense “prove myself” phase.
I didn’t want to depend on anyone.
I didn’t want to be a burden.
Somewhere deep inside, I felt like I had something to prove — to my family, to the world… maybe even to myself.
I distanced myself from my family during that time. There were tensions, things I didn’t want to face, things I didn’t know how to hold yet. So instead… I distracted myself.
Work. People. Parties. Movement. Noise.
I became extremely extroverted on the surface — always around others, always in motion.
But underneath all of that…
There was a quiet emptiness.
A feeling that something was missing.
That I was moving fast… but not necessarily toward something.
And this is where another major turning point began to unfold.
Because slowly, almost naturally, I found my way back to something that had always been there:
Dance.
But this time… in a completely different form.
I started working as a dancer — performing in some of the biggest, most vibrant clubs. I was getting paid to move, to express, to embody music again.
And something about that… cracked open a whole new chapter in my life.
(But let’s pause here… because this part deserves its own space.)