My name is Michelle, and I’ve always been in conversation with space.

I was born outside of Chicago, not far from Frank Lloyd Wright’s studio. His work taught me that structure can be spiritual. As a child, I didn’t dress Barbies—I rearranged their furniture. I watched where sunlight touched the floor. Every six months, my sister and I swapped rooms, dragging furniture through our Jack and Jill bathroom in a ritual that felt both playful and profound. I didn’t have the words for it yet, but I was learning something essential: space shapes us—and change, when invited in, can be healing.

Design school gave me perspective—literally. A professor once asked us to sketch a stack of boxes from every angle, and suddenly I saw it: how rooms hold us depends on what we’re willing to see. Volume. Pattern. Possibility.

I spent the next decade in residential design, public spaces, and creative retail—learning how people live, what they keep close, and what gets in the way. Over time, I found myself drawn less to luxury and more to transition: helping people clear, rearrange, and reclaim the spaces that shape their lives.

Today, I work as a professional organizer and spatial storyteller.