There's a version of this page that lists credentials and accomplishments and wraps a difficult life into a neat arc of triumph. I'm not going to write that version.
What I will tell you is that I spent a long time being a woman who appeared to function — who had the family, the work, the life that looked like something — while quietly managing something I didn't want to name. The perfectionism. The performing. The slow, creeping sense that the version of me everyone saw wasn't the whole story. Alcohol was part of it. So were the choices I made to keep disappearing into my own life rather than living it. The need to be good enough. The belief, wired into me early, that if I just held it together long enough, I'd eventually feel okay.
I didn't feel okay.
In 2022, I made my sobriety public. That decision was not about bravery. It was about not being able to pretend anymore that my private experience and my public life were two separate things. The work I was asking other women to do, the honest, uncomfortable work of looking at themselves clearly, required me to do it first.
What followed was not a straight line. It was years of somatic work, relational repair, and the daily decision to keep going even when going back would have been easier. I didn't recover in a weekend. I recovered in the ordinary moments — the ones no one applauds.
I grew up in Baltimore, the eldest of the Phelps family — a household that understood ambition, excellence, and the particular pressure of being expected to be extraordinary. I spent the first half of my life meeting that expectation. I spent the second half learning that meeting it had cost me something I couldn’t immediately name.
Today I am a guide, a Hay House author, a speaker, a community builder, a board member, a mother, and a woman in long-term sobriety. I work with women who are somewhere in the middle of their own becoming: not at the beginning, not at the triumphant end, but in the messy, necessary middle.
That middle is where I live too. That's why I can guide you through it.
I work with women navigating major transitions — sobriety, divorce, career change, loss, the particular exhaustion of being the person everyone leans on — who need more than information. They need someone who understands the nervous system, the shame, the 3am spiral, the part of them that wants to change and the part that is terrified of what change will cost.
I bring somatic approaches, deep relational presence, and the specific knowledge that comes from having navigated this myself. I am certified in yoga and Pilates and trained in somatic healing practices. More than any certification, I bring the lived understanding that you cannot think your way through this. The body keeps the score. The work happens there.
I founded The Sanctuary because I needed a space that didn't exist: a community for women doing serious inner work that felt like a home rather than a program. A room where you don't have to explain what you're going through, because everyone in it has been in the dark too. That's what I built.
If you've read this far, something in you recognized something here.
That recognition is where we begin.
Hilary’s approach is somatic, embodied, and evidence-informed — grounded in years of formal training across multiple disciplines.
Every credential points back to the same belief: the body knows things the mind hasn’t caught up to yet. The work happens there.