Hello! I'm Amani—a heart-led transformational and embodiment coach, founder of the MindShift Membership, and advocate for radical self-acceptance. With a background in corporate leadership and my own transformational journey overcoming generational trauma, alopecia, burnout, and deep-rooted self-doubt, I empower women to rediscover and confidently step into their authentic selves. My approach integrates deep inner healing, somatic practices, powerful mindset shifts, and unconditional self-love, guiding women to reclaim their voices, their bodies, and their lives.
There comes a moment when you look at yourself dead in the eye and think—
Who the hell have I become?
Somewhere along the way, fear got louder. Self-doubt crept in.
And piece by piece, you started shrinking. Editing. Performing.
You learned how to be what the world wanted.
But you forgot how to be you.
You don’t need another program that tells you to hustle, push, or think positive.
You need a space where your whole self feels safe to exhale.
It’s about finally feeling safe enough to be you.
Are you tired of wearing masks, shrinking your dreams, and performing for acceptance? Deep within, you know you're meant for more—more freedom, joy, authenticity, and meaningful connections. This workshop isn't just another "motivational talk"—it's an immersive experience designed to gently awaken your inner power, guiding you from survival mode to soulful living.
The Story That Made Me
There’s a version of me you might have met years ago.
She was always smiling. Always polished. Always “fine.”
She knew how to say the right thing, wear the right thing, be the right thing.
But the truth?
She was never whole.
Because that smile... was a mask. And behind it?
Was a girl who had spent her entire life splitting herself in two.
I was born into a traditional Middle Eastern family, raised in a predominantly white British town in the ‘80s—when “different” didn’t mean special. It meant “less than.”
And people didn’t whisper it. They said it to your face.
The first time I was told to “go back to where I came from,” I was six.
The second time? I was eight—by a girl who’d called me her best friend just a week earlier.
That was the first time I felt shame for something I couldn’t change.
And that shame... it stayed.
I didn’t belong at home. I didn’t belong outside.
At home, there were rules. Modesty. Control. A language of fear.
Outside, there was freedom—but I was never fully welcome in it.
I wore long sleeves while other girls wore shorts.
I was told to be quiet while others were praised for speaking out.
My family believed in honour. The world outside believed in rebellion.
I belonged to both. And to neither.
And when you're a girl split in two, you're always scanning:
“Who do I need to be in this moment to stay safe?”
I became excellent at adapting. I shape-shifted my way through life.
And while others saw a smiling, high-achieving, well-mannered girl...
Inside, I was crumbling.
But nothing shattered me like what happened when I was twelve.
It was 1992.
I’d been grounded for coming home late one too many times.
That grounding—my punishment—saved my life.
Because the next day, my best friend was murdered.
We usually took the bus together.
But that day, I wasn’t with her.
One landline phone. It rang. I picked up.
It was another friend: “Have you seen the news? Have you seen her?”
Before I even processed the words, my body folded.
I fell to the floor. My heart knew before my mind caught up.
The next knock came from the police.
“When did you last see her?”
“Why weren’t you with her that day?”
“Would it have made a difference?”
I told them the truth.
“My mum shouted at me in Arabic (not english) the night before. I knew I couldn’t push it again.”
They exchanged a look—like that wasn’t a good enough reason.
And in that moment, I felt like I had done something wrong.
Like maybe… I should have been there.
Like maybe… I didn’t deserve to be spared.
My parents?
They didn’t hold me. Didn’t comfort me.
Instead, they said:
“See? This is why girls shouldn’t be out late.”
So I buried it.
The grief. The guilt. The rage.
There was no room for emotion. No space for softness.
And so, I hardened.
But trauma doesn’t just go away.
It shifts. It festers. It rewrites how you see yourself.
And for me, it turned inward.
Motherhood.
When my daughter was placed on my chest—warm, wriggling, brand new—I made a vow.
She would not inherit my shame.
She would not grow up watching me punish my body.
She would not hear me curse my reflection.
She would know joy. And softness. And enoughness.
I’ll be honest—I expected her to be lighter-skinned.
Her father is white.
But when I saw she was my colour?
I cried.
Not because I was disappointed.
Because I saw me. And for the first time… I didn’t flinch.
At two years old, she’d stretch her arms in the sun, soaking up the warmth.
I’d spent a lifetime hiding from the sun—afraid of getting darker.
But she? She taught me to love what I was taught to hide.
She taught me how to come home to my body.
Because the cycle ends with me.
LINKS & SERVICES
Website & Membership:
MindShift Membership: https://heal.com.pt/the-shift-collective/
1-to-1 Coaching:
Transformational Private Coaching:https://heal.com.pt/unleash-your-inner-power/
Social Media:
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/amaniedyvane/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/amani.kaptan