Meet Fawne

I’ve been drawn to the ache beneath the surface for as long as I can remember. As a little girl—raised in the quiet wilds of Northwestern Oregon, the oldest of twelve—I was fascinated by pain, not in a morbid way, but with a longing to ease it. Whether it was caring for my siblings, cleaning the house to lighten my mother’s load, or leaving secret notes for strangers to offer hope—I was always searching for ways to soften suffering.

But I also carried my own pain. And early on, I learned to survive it by building imaginary worlds and slipping away from what felt too overwhelming to hold. I believed that if I stayed small, good, and invisible enough, I could escape betrayal, avoid abandonment, and finally become worthy of love.

All my life, I wrestled with the same burning question: How do we ease suffering?
I became my own experiment—trying everything I could learn, create, or imagine in my search for healing, wholeness, and joy.

And over time, I began to see that my deepest pain wasn’t just about what had happened to me — it was the severing from my own self. Somewhere along the way, I had exiled the parts of me that felt too messy, too angry, too needy, too much. To truly heal, I would need to bring every part of me — especially the ones I believed were unlovable — back into the circle of love.

This has become my life’s sacred work: to return.
To listen. To gather what was lost. To remember that nothing in me was ever beyond redemption.

I discovered that the true antidote to suffering is love. Belonging. But those very things felt so far away — until I began to offer them to myself.

I had to learn to become self-resourced — not because I didn’t need others, but because I could no longer let the voices outside me be louder than the truth within.