Music found me before I found words.

At two years old, I’d sit at the baby grand piano in our Oregon farmhouse for hours, lost in melodies I didn’t know how to name. By three, I was begging my mom for a violin. By six, I was the youngest member of the local youth orchestra — so small I needed a stool for my feet, wearing concert dresses my mom sewed by hand.

I grew up milking goats at dawn, playing Mozart by afternoon, and having encounters with God during bedtime prayers that I didn’t fully understand until years later. At thirteen, I soloed with the Salem Chamber Orchestra. I went on to study at Willamette University and the San Francisco Conservatory of Music. I led worship, served as Concert Mistress, and poured my whole heart into serving through song.

But somewhere along the way, the religion I loved became the thing that wounded me most.

There was a season in my life when I didn’t think I’d survive.

I was a young mother of four, barely functioning. The grief had piled so high I couldn’t see over it anymore — years of trauma, abuse within a church community I trusted, being blamed and pushed out by people who were supposed to love me.

I isolated. I stopped singing. I wondered if the light inside me had gone out for good.

And then, in my darkest moment, I encountered Jesus.

Not the version I’d been taught to fear. Not the one who comes with conditions and judgment. The one who meets you on the floor when you have nothing left — and stays.

That encounter didn’t erase the pain. But it became the seed of everything that came after.

In 2017, the Tubbs Wildfire forced my family to leave California and start over in Houston, Texas. I was grieving. Lost. Wondering if I’d ever feel that creative spark again.

And then, slowly, the music returned.

I started writing my way through healing — songs that became prayers, melodies that carried me when words couldn’t. My debut single, “Love Surrounds You,” began as a lullaby to my children and my own inner child. It became an anthem of divine protection and the truth that only love is real.

The name “The Love Faery” emerged as I searched for words to describe my essence. My name, Tatiana Karina, means “fairy queen” and “pure” — and I realized I was being called to embody the purity of love through everything I create.

I started writing again. Songs that were prayers. Melodies that carried what words couldn’t hold.

My debut single, “Love Surrounds You,” began as a lullaby to my children — and to my own wounded inner child. It became a declaration: only love is real. Even when everything burns. Even when you can’t see the path. Love surrounds you everywhere you are.

The name “The Love Faery” came to me while searching for words to describe who I was becoming. My name, Tatiana Karina, means “fairy queen” and “pure.” Karinca spelled with a C means “love.” I realized I was being called to embody the purity of love — not perfect love, but real love. Healing love. The kind that meets you exactly where you are.

I know what it feels like to lose your voice.

To feel like you don’t belong anywhere — too wounded for the world, too unconventional for the church, too much and not enough all at once.

I also know what it feels like to find your way back. To discover that your sensitivity is a gift, your story is medicine, and your voice matters more than you know.

That’s why I teach. That’s why I sing. That’s why I hold space for others to heal.

🎵 Voice Coaching & Music Lessons Heart-centered instruction that helps you break free from what’s holding you back — and reconnect with the voice that’s been waiting for you.

🌿 Sound Healing & Sacred Gatherings Private ceremonies, voice activations, and ceremonial cacao experiences for profound transformation and divine encounter.

✨ Wellness Support Essential oils and holistic practices I’ve trusted for over a decade to support body, mind, and spirit.

I live in Cypress, Texas with my husband Caleb — my best friend for over sixteen years — and our four children. I’m a night owl, a recovering perfectionist, and someone who believes showing up imperfectly still counts as showing up.

I drink ceremonial cacao like some people drink coffee. I take long Korean spa days when my soul needs tending. I still cry when I sing certain songs.

And I still believe — maybe now more than ever — that your dreams are closer than you realize. That you are the medicine. That your presence makes a difference.

And I believe love surrounds you everywhere you are.

I don’t know what brought you to this page.

Maybe you’re searching for something you can’t name. Maybe you’re healing from something no one else understands. Maybe you just need to know that someone out there has walked through fire and made it to the other side.

Whatever it is — you belong here.