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.

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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.

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

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Now I accompany people in those moments.

I work with people who've stopped trusting their own read on things — who check with everyone else before believing what they already sense, and can't quite find their footing because of it. That "something feels off" feeling is often the first sign that a deeper part of you is asking to be heard.

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

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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.

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

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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.

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

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

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Later in life, I learned I am neurodivergent — something I'd spent years quietly working around without a name for it, the same way clients often work around signals in themselves before they learn to trust them. It didn't change my story. It explained it.

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If you'd like to read more about the story that shaped my work, you can find that here: