Santiago René

At the core of who I am, I care deeply about people.

As a child, I was quiet, shy, and deeply observant. I was always paying attention, even when I wasn’t speaking. I wanted connection, I just didn’t always know how to move toward it right away. When I did, those relationships were meaningful and lasting, and my world has always been built on depth more than volume.

Being the oldest in my family, I naturally stepped into a role of responsibility early on. I learned how to care for others, how to be dependable, and how to hold space for what was needed. That sense of care shaped me, but it also taught me how to put myself to the side without even realizing it.

As I moved into my teenage years, I became more aware of how different I felt. There was a quiet understanding that I didn’t fully fit into the environment around me, and that awareness came with its own challenges. What I did know was that I didn’t want anyone else to feel alone in the way I had, so I did something about it.

I co-founded the first Gay-Straight Alliance in West Texas, creating a space where young people could feel seen, supported, and connected during one of the most critical times in their lives. What began as a small group quickly became something much larger, and when we were told we couldn’t exist within the school system, we stood our ground.

That experience led to a legal battle with the school board, national attention, and a documentary that followed our story. It went on to receive recognition at major film festivals, including Sundance, and opened the door for conversations with young people across the country. At a young age, I learned what it meant to stand for something, to lead, and to create space for others even when it wasn’t easy.

Not long after that, life shifted in a very different way. A major accident within my family changed everything and brought a level of responsibility, uncertainty, and emotional weight that I wasn’t fully prepared for. It was one of those moments that forces you to grow up quickly, whether you’re ready or not.

From there, I did what many people do when they don’t yet have the tools to process what they’re carrying. I kept moving, distracted myself, and tried to build a life that looked successful on the outside, even if I still felt unsettled on the inside.

In my twenties, I built a career in the beauty industry that took me further than I had imagined. I worked professionally for years, including over a decade with MAC Cosmetics, leading teams and working in fashion, television, film, and major live productions. I worked backstage at Fashion Week, contributed to large-scale shows, and collaborated with artists across multiple industries. From the outside, it looked like everything was working, but there was still something inside of me asking deeper questions.

In my late twenties, life delivered another moment that shifted everything. I received a call that my mother had been shot, and it is not a call anyone expects to receive. It changed something in me instantly. Against all odds, she survived, and what could have been another loss became something else entirely.

That moment brought me back to what truly matters. It showed me how fragile life is, how quickly everything can change, and how important it is to be present with the people we love while we still have the chance. From that point forward, I knew something had to change in me.

That awareness continued to build, and eventually it led me to meeting the love of my life and moving to Costa Rica together a couple of years after. I believed I was going there to build something external, a new life, a new direction, a new chapter. Instead, everything slowed down.

When the world went into lockdown, life as we knew it paused. For the first time, not just personally but collectively, everything stopped. In that stillness, I began to see something I had never fully allowed myself to see before. There was more to life than what I had been chasing, more than work, more than achievement, more than constantly doing.

I watched nature come back to life in a way that felt undeniable, and I found myself sitting in a level of stillness that forced me to look inward. At first, it was uncomfortable. I didn’t know who I was without movement, without distraction, without the identity I had built.

But in that space, something opened.

Through deep introspection, time in nature, and profound personal experiences, I began to connect with myself and the world around me in a completely different way. I trained in shamanic Reiki, explored meditation and breath practices, and allowed myself to experience life from a place of presence rather than performance.

During that time, I had an experience that shifted everything for me. It was not something I can fully explain in words, but something I felt completely. It brought a sense of connection to everything, a recognition that the same presence that moves through me exists in all things, and a kind of love that does not depend on approval, identity, or circumstance.

From that place, my life began to unfold in ways I could not have planned.

I stepped into leading a performing arts program that grew into something far beyond what I imagined. What began as a small group became a space that brought together hundreds of people in the community. People who had lived near each other for years began to truly see each other, connect, and open. It became a space for expression, vulnerability, creativity, and joy, and it showed me a different kind of leadership rooted in presence, trust, and the ability to create environments where people feel safe enough to be themselves.

At the same time, my work expanded into retreat spaces, creative direction, and capturing people in deeply personal moments. Through photography, makeup, and visual storytelling, I was able to reflect people back to themselves in a way that felt honest, raw, and empowering. These experiences required trust, presence, and care, and they shaped how I hold space today.

Costa Rica connected me to something much greater than I had known before. It connected me to nature, to water, to music, to stillness, to joy, and to people in a way that felt real and unfiltered. It changed how I listen, how I relate, and how I show up.

Today, my work is centered in that presence.

After years of living and working in Costa Rica, I’ve returned to the United States and am now based in Nashville. This season of my life feels less about searching and more about integrating, bringing everything I’ve lived and experienced into a new environment in a way that still feels true.

My husband Richard and I have built a life together over the past decade that has been a constant source of growth, grounding, and expansion. That foundation has allowed me to move through each phase of my life with a deeper sense of stability and trust.

Here in Nashville, I am continuing to evolve my work through sound, presence, and connection. Sound has become an extension of how I hold space, whether through voice, vibration, or instruments like sound bowls. It allows people to move beyond the mind and into a more direct experience of themselves.

When people sit with me, something begins to open. Conversations move beyond surface level, and people find themselves sharing honestly, often in ways they have not allowed before. Many arrive feeling overwhelmed, disconnected, or unsure of themselves, and over time, they begin to feel lighter, clearer, and more grounded in who they are.

Not every moment is easy. Growth has a way of bringing forward what has been avoided, and while some people feel immediate relief, others feel challenged as they begin to see themselves more clearly. I remain present with them through all of it.

I care about this work because I know what it feels like to search for yourself, to feel different, and to try to become someone else just to belong. I also know what it feels like to come back to yourself.

What I offer is a space where people can slow down, reconnect, and experience themselves with honesty. A space where nothing needs to be performed and nothing needs to be forced.

If someone could feel one thing in my presence, it would be authenticity and love. And if something in you is ready, even quietly, to return to yourself, I will meet you there.