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Türkçesi Aşağıda 👇 Nerve Craft is grounded in scientific foundations such as neuroplasticity, nervous system regulation, somatic awareness, and body-based therapy. It is also a multilayered process of discovery shaped by a deep connection with nature, creative intuition, and respect for one’s unique rhythm. While restructuring the nervous system, it listens to the wisdom of the body and the earth. With compassion and awareness, it opens the door to a sustainable process of inner exploration. It aims to help participants meet their essence — rooted and aligned with their own rhythm. Nerve Craft goes beyond talking; it invites self-exploration through the body, nature, music, sound, and drawing. The process is shaped with care, responding to each participant’s sensitivity to body, nervous system, senses, and emotions. Depending on individual needs, a wide range of methods are integrated — including Neurographica®, NeuroChange Method®, Jungian shadow work, mindfulness, somatic therapy, m...

Türkçesi  aşagıda 👇 I once believed I was broken. Too intense. Too disciplined. Too impatient. Too slow to start. Too fast to speak. Too deep to fit in. Too much and not enough all at once. I didn’t know my brain was wired differently.  That my nervous system wasn’t faulty, just sensitive.  That my constant state of overwhelm wasn’t weakness,  but a response to a world that demands masks and punishes difference. It took years of self-betrayal, trying to match the rhythm of a world built for neurotypicals,  Before I realised I was dancing to a different beat all along. After my teenage years, including two months in a mental hospital  where  doctors told me I was gifted,   For years, through different therapists, I came to believe  I was made up of many different versions of myself. So I thought I understood myself. But there’s a difference between thinking you know who you are and facing that truth when no one is watching without s...

  Türkçesi Aşagıda👇 I’ve always felt different. Too much. Too intense. Too easily overwhelmed. Knows too much but believes too easily. My existence has always been a chain of contradictions. I was born into chaos and silence in Turkey. At five, a car crash shattered my family. My mother never came home. Grief arrived early, and never really left.  It learned to live in me, quietly. I wrote to make the world bearable and to wrap words around the ache, to bring order to the noise. But I still didn’t belong. They called me sharp-tongued, dangerous, unruly. One of my books was banned. I was judged, criticised, and reduced. So I masked. I doubted myself. I learned to disappear while appearing strong. No matter how much I created, something kept pressing in, like I was made of static in a world that only accepts silence and smoothness. In 2013, my absurdist play Mi Minor,  a mirror held up to imagined power, became the target of a hate campaign. They said I inspired ...