Zineb (zee-neb): An Arabic name (زينب) meaning “fragrant flowering tree.”
For years, my name was a cherished connection to my great-grandmother. Over time, I’ve come to see how it reflects my own life—one deeply rooted in cycles of growth, resilience, and renewal.
From a young age, I was labeled “too sensitive” and “timid”—qualities that once felt isolating. Now, I see them as early clues to the way I feel the world. Academically, I was the “shy nerd,” immersing myself in science to make sense of the world. I studied agronomy, specializing in plant genetics and breeding, with a few years of research between Rabat and Paris. Those days in academia, labs, and fields taught me the beauty of precision, patience, and the long arc of tending something into bloom.
After graduating, unsure of my next move, I joined my family’s event business. I fell in love with the unpredictable rhythm of coordinating events, the thrill of organizing, and the joy of connecting with people. I was energized by the constant motion, unaware at that time that my intense focus and hyper-vigilance were adaptive strategies, shaped by earlier experiences. I just knew I could instinctively anticipate details, handle crises on the fly, and stay ahead in high-stakes situations—all traits that helped me thrive in the event world.
A role at the World Bank in Washington, D.C. brought me to the United States for the first time, opening up a new dimension of discovery. Working alongside global teams fueled my passion for people, languages, and cultures, and it was these human connections that gave me a profound sense of belonging. I soon found myself traveling more intentionally, camera in hand, which led me to backpack across Latin America. There, I immersed myself in Spanish and Portuguese—and made a valiant attempt at learning Tango. Time and again, Brazil pulled me back with its vibrancy and the warmth of its people. I returned often, camera in hand, and had the privilege of letting my photography become part of the journey.
Despite these enriching experiences, I eventually felt adrift. Hoping to find deeper fulfillment, I took a role as Head of Communication for a pan-African organization in Morocco, only to feel constrained by the rigidity of the position. Chasing a creative spark, I returned to the U.S. for a photography workshop, hoping someone might see my raw talent and help me become the next Henri Cartier-Bresson... That breakthrough didn’t arrive in the way I’d expected—but I did find something more profound: I met my life partner. Falling in love brought a softness to parts of me I hadn’t realized were guarded, gently concluding a vibrant decade of movement and seeking.
New York City became home, ushering in a fresh chapter of life and partnership. The city, with all its intensity and creative pulse, challenged and shaped me. Its contrasts mirrored my own—movement and stillness, ambition and surrender, solitude and connection. In a place known for its speed, I found myself slowing down—learning to notice the quiet within the noise. I spent hours wandering through parks and bookstores, walking unfamiliar neighborhoods with my camera. There was a beauty in being anonymous, and a kind of freedom in not knowing exactly what was next. Our path to growing our family was not easy; we faced losses that unearthed old wounds I had not fully acknowledged. This challenging period led me to various restorative practices—yoga, acupuncture, coaching, and a transformative Ayurvedic treatment in India—each teaching me how to invite peace and acceptance into places I had kept protected. Deepening my meditation practice further allowed me to hold space for both pain and possibility.
During the pandemic, I found refuge in nature: hiking, forest bathing, and taking a long road trip, which ended with a bit of magic— I was pregnant. Our son’s arrival felt miraculous after past heartbreaks. Motherhood brought immense joy and a deeper awareness of my own early experiences. The vulnerability of becoming a mother opened a path to revisit and gently transform those earlier chapters. Motherhood became an opportunity to break old cycles and replace them with conscious care and compassion. My son, in his purest form, has become my greatest teacher—showing me daily the boundless nature of love and the beauty in surrendering control. I am endlessly grateful for the privilege to nurture him and to learn from him.
Around that time, I discovered the powerful work of Kristen Neff and Chris Germer. Attending their Mindful Self-Compassion (MSC) intensive in Sedona in spring 2023 felt like a homecoming. Realizing I wasn’t alone in my struggles was transformative; it taught me to become my own friend. Inspired, I committed to training as an MSC teacher, and I look forward to sharing these insights with others—a journey I undertake with profound appreciation for everyone who has supported me so far.
These days, I live with my family in a quiet corner of Connecticut, where the pace is slower. I’ve come to appreciate the stillness, finding beauty in foggy mornings, local trails, and the hush of early evenings. There’s a quiet kind of magic in beginning to notice the same paths, the same trees—an invitation to be more present, to belong slowly. In this new chapter, the everyday moments have become a soft landing place, grounding me in ways I didn’t know I needed.
As I continue exploring pathways of inner discovery— from mindfulness to sacred medicine—the concept of oneness and interconnectedness has shifted from an intellectual idea to an embodied truth. Nowadays, I experience joy and equanimity not as distant ideals, but as qualities arising naturally when I soften into the present moment. My passion for connection has deepened, and I’ve realized that rediscovering wholeness is a lifelong journey best traveled in community. I love walking along others as they relearn their capacity for radical love—not as a skill to master, but as a truth that has always lived within.