ABOUT

A woman's innate power is within, and until she finds it, she will keep searching for love, meaning and worth in the wrong places.

My story isn't that I lost my fiancé, although for a long time I thought it was. My story is everything that led me to this moment where I realized his death showed me the parts of myself I was hiding, performing and shaping to get everyone else’s approval.

It started at fifteen, in a relationship that taught me I was only good for my body. I reached for drugs to feel okay. I stayed in relationships that were mentally, emotionally, and at times physically unsafe, because I didn't yet believe I was worth more. For years, I didn't have the self-respect or the bravery to say the words that would have changed everything: that's not okay, that's not what I want. By twenty-nine, I had survived addiction, abuse, and years of being treated like an object instead of a person, and I had done some of that same thing to myself.

Then I met Scott. He was the first man who ever truly saw me and loved every part of what he saw, no editing required. He worshiped me. He celebrated me. We were three weeks from our wedding when he died. Losing him didn't just break my heart, it detonated the one place I'd finally felt safe enough to be myself.

What I know now is this: it was never really about Scott, or that relationship, or any of it in isolation. It's been one long apprenticeship in learning to approve of myself, because I spent decades looking for that approval everywhere else, from men, from a world quick to judge and slow to understand. Tragedy didn't create the wound. It just shined a light on the one I already had.

This is why I do the work I do. Not to help women become someone else, like she's out there waiting to be found, but to help them become so fully who they already are that being themselves is no longer negotiable. That's freedom. That's self-reclamation.