A few years ago, I lost my mom. Her name was Evelyn. She was warm, and endlessly kind—the kind of person who made people feel safe just by being near her. Losing her broke something in me. Grief is strange. It’s quiet and loud at the same time. I was still showing up to work, still pretending I was okay… but inside, I wasn’t. I couldn’t sleep. I was anxious all the time.

And even though I knew therapy could help, I wasn’t ready to talk to anyone. I didn’t want to explain myself or be seen in that state. And on top of it all, I was watching someone I love deeply—my brother—navigate life with a chronic illness. It felt like I was carrying so much, and there wasn’t a place I could set it down.

So I thought, what if there was a space where you could be completely anonymous—no name, no judgment, no pressure to make sense of your pain? What if you could speak your truth in your own language, in your own time, without fear of being exposed? Evi was born from that vision.

She isn’t here to diagnose you. She won’t ask for your real name. She’s here for the thoughts you don’t know how to say out loud. She’s not a replacement for human therapy, but she’s here when you’re awake at night and can’t stop overthinking. She’s here when you need to feel like someone gets it, even if just for a moment.

Evi is anonymous, multilingual, and safe. She’s soft. She’s steady. She’s what I needed back then—so I made her now.

I named her after my mom—Evelyn.
Her love lives on in this. And if you’re reading this and feel even a little bit less alone—then Evi is already doing what she was made for.

With love,
Nadia