About Katie
You are not the first person to stand here. And you don’t have to cross alone.
Why you’re here.
Maybe someone you love is dying, or is already gone, and the grief still has nowhere to rest. Maybe your marriage is ending, a child is moving out, a chapter is closing, or the life you built (the one that looked right on paper) has quietly stopped being yours.
You are competent. You have always been the person who handles things. You read the books, asked the right questions, found the right doctors, held the family together. You did everything you were taught to do. And now you’ve arrived somewhere the instructions don’t reach.
This is not a failure. This is what happens when a person of real competence runs into the one kind of situation competence was not built to solve.
What if this was never something to solve?
It makes sense that you would try to approach this the way you have approached so much of life: understand what is happening, find the right answer, take the right action, and find a way forward. That way of meeting life has served you well. But some experiences do not yield to understanding or effort in the same way.
Some things are not solved. They are lived differently.
That distinction sounds small on a page, but it is not small in a life. It is the difference between a relationship with someone you lost that is made of hard grief, and one that has softened into something closer to compassion, without any of the history changing at all.
I came to this work the long way.
I’m Katie. Before I sat at deathbeds, before I sat with five thousand clients in living rooms and group rooms across the North Shore, I ran my own CFO and accounting business. Spreadsheets. Tax season. Real-world competence, billed by the hour.
I know the traditional path from the inside. I know the achievement, the structure, the credentials, the careful capable life. I know what it costs to keep that life running, and I know what it costs when it stops working.
I also know another path.
For 14 years, I’ve been connecting with people as a medium. I’ve sat with people the day their husband died, and ten years after, when they finally said the thing out loud. I’ve sat with families in the strange suspended weeks between a terminal diagnosis and hospice: the stretch of time no one warns you about, when the medical system has effectively gone home, and the spiritual world hasn’t shown up yet.
I’ve sat with the dying themselves. I’ve held the space where someone could finally say “I’m dying” without having to manage anyone else’s feelings about it. There are very few places where that sentence is allowed to land.
I came to this work because it asked me to. I stayed in it because I’m built for it. Every year I do it, I’m more certain that the people who arrive at my door are arriving for a reason.
What it is like to be in the room with me.
There is nothing you can bring in here that will surprise me. Nothing is too strange, too old, too ugly, or too small. Fourteen years in, I have heard the thing you are afraid to say, usually more than once, and it did not shock me then either.
You do not need the right words. You do not need your question organized. You do not need to know what you believe about any of this, and plenty of people who sit down with me are not sure they believe anything at all. That is a fine place to start.
I laugh a lot. So do the people who come to see me, usually more than they expected to. Grief and laughter are not opposites, and a room that can hold both is a room where more can actually happen. I am not going to be solemn at you.
I am not going to perform, and I am not going to hand you dogma. No theatrics, no costume, no candles doing the work the work should do. I sit on the floor. I use crystals to map what is happening between people, living and otherwise. It looks like what it is, which is two people trying to find the truth of something together.
And I am not going to try to convince you. I do not run tests and I do not lead with proof. If you are coming to see whether I can be caught out, that is a reasonable thing to want and I am not the right person for it. What I will tell you is that people are regularly startled by what arrives. They come in braced, and they leave holding something specific they did not expect and cannot quite explain.
“Having never had one of these sessions before, she immediately made me feel comfortable and explained the whole process to me, including what to expect. I had been struggling with feeling lost and confused, and the messages received reignited in me the confidence I was needing.”
Anabel T.
For the part of you that wants to know the credentials.
I’m a medium, a Reiki Master, an IET (Integrated Energy Therapy) Master, and an IAPCC Certified Death Doula.
The credentials matter, but they aren’t the reason this works. The reason this works is the 14 years and the 5,000 conversations, and what those add up to in a room.
- 14 years in active practice
- ~5,000 clients served: in individual sessions, group readings, and at the bedside
- Individual and group sessions held weekly
- Based on the North Shore of Massachusetts (Beverly, Salem, and beyond), working with clients across the region and well outside it
- Former CFO and owner of a private accounting practice
The cost of staying at the doorway.
The grief stays frozen. The question goes underground and keeps running: another year, another five. The family stays stuck in the bickering, the denial, the heaviness no one names. The dying person dies without ever getting to say it out loud, because no one ever made space for the sentence.
The life that isn’t yours keeps being lived. You keep choosing the versions that feel safer, and you keep being kept from feeling free.
None of that is moral failure. It’s what happens when a person of real competence and real intelligence runs into the one kind of problem competence and intelligence weren’t built to solve.
What I have watched happen.
People arrive braced. Almost everyone does. And then something lands that they were not expecting, and the bracing softens.
They find ground under them. Not because the circumstances changed, but because they did. They can stand in grief without being swept away. They can sit with someone who is dying and be enough, simply by being there.