The hardest thing I’ve ever done is say yes.

Yes to being an artist.
Yes to being a sensitive, intuitive being.
Yes to the work I’m meant to do.
Yes to life itself.

I died a few hours after birth and was revived by my grandmother—a near-death experience that set the course for a life filled with resurrections. Yet for decades, I lived as though survival was the only script.

I grew up in a family of gifted storytellers who were also wounded people. From an early age, I became the helper and the pleaser—the one who carried everyone else’s burdens. At eight, I discovered writing and with it, a refuge where my truest self could breathe.

By thirteen, I knew I wanted to be a writer. But at twenty-two, when I lost my younger brother to suicide, I buried that dream beneath safe paths—supervisor, teacher, counselor—where I focused on others. Still, writing whispered, waiting for me to return.

Then my body broke down.

In 2012, just months after finishing my degree in clinical mental health counseling, I contracted Lyme disease. By 2014, my liver was failing, my bones ached, and my will to live was slipping away. In that dark night of the soul, one truth rang clear: if I was going to die, I wanted to die a writer.

So, I said yes. I quit my job, surrendered to rest, and picked up my pen again. Writing wasn’t a cure, but it was a portal that allowed me to heal. In a mindful writing class, my pain eased. Page by page, I unraveled trauma, grief, and the false stories about who I was and what I was allowed to want. I trained in Brené Brown’s Daring Greatly program, studied trauma and polyvagal theory, and wrote my way back to health. Slowly, I reclaimed my strength—and my voice.

That recovery opened doors I once thought impossible. I published essays in The New York Times, HuffPost, and other national outlets. I spoke to hundreds at conferences and taught thousands through webinars hosted by Jane Friedman, Craft Talks, and HippoCamp. I helped clients publish powerful essays and memoirs—including New York Times bestsellers.

But those yeses were to the artist and the work.

I needed to fully embrace my sensitivity, intuition, and mystical path. That journey led me to new writing projects, certifications in Akashic Records readings, and a devoted study of Human Design.

Today, I call myself a story alchemist, because the work I do is the work of transmutation. My toolkit weaves together:

• Craft: storytelling strategies to shape your work
• Science: trauma-informed practices that support your body, brain, and resilience
• Soul: esoteric practices like the Akashic Records and Human Design to align you with your deepest purpose

Because true creativity is a communion with the divine (however you define it), everything we do together is designed to unlock the story only you can tell.

Saying yes to myself—and to my authentic purpose—was the beginning of a transformation beyond what I imagined. I am not just a trauma survivor. I am a thriver, an artist, and proof that when you align with your truest story, you don’t just heal—you rise into your most authentic self.