Hello, I’m Simone Grimmer.

I began my professional life in engineering geology — studying fault lines, pressure, and the quiet forces that reshape the ground beneath what looks solid. Later, I worked around the world in the oilfield services industry, leading teams in high‑stakes environments where clarity, steadiness, and attuned listening mattered as much as technical skill.

​

Those years trained me to read systems, notice subtle shifts, and stay oriented in complexity. But they also revealed something else: people unravel long before structures do. And most of us were never taught how to meet those inner shifts with any kind of honesty or compassion.

​

Over time, my attention moved from outer landscapes to inner ones — the places where people quietly come undone, the thresholds where the old ways stop working, and the deeper intelligence that emerges when we stop overriding ourselves.

​​

Now I accompany people in those moments.

I work with people navigating midlife and other threshold states — the times when something in you goes quiet, flat, or strange, and you can’t quite find your footing. That “something feels off” feeling is often the first sign that a deeper part of you is asking to be heard.

​

My role is simple: to offer a grounded, attuned space where you can listen inward, understand what’s changing, and find your next steps without all the second‑guessing.

I don’t diagnose or direct. I don’t hand you a program to follow. I listen — to what you say and to what you can’t quite say yet.

​

Together, we slow down enough to hear the part of you that knows what needs to happen next.

​

I draw from Focusing, trauma‑aware presence, parts‑informed work, and spiritual companionship — not as techniques, but as ways of paying attention. My work is relational, embodied, and precise. See testimonials.

​

I live in North Texas with my spouse and our three cats. I work with clients across the U.S. and internationally.

​

I also write Between & Becoming on Substack — reflections on midlife and the inner life.

​

Later in life, I learned I am neurodivergent — a quiet unraveling of my own, the kind that often goes unnamed in women until midlife, when old ways of coping stop working. It didn't change my story. It explained it.

I share this openly because so much of my work is about the parts of us that go quiet, unseen, or misunderstood. I'm no exception.

​

If you’d like to read more about the midlife threshold that shaped my work, you can find that here: