Rewrite YOUR Story

I grew up in a world where fear was normal, safety was uncertain, and the people who were supposed to protect me… didn’t. The grown-ups I trusted either looked away or didn’t know how to protect innocence, including mine. By the time I entered adulthood, I was carrying the invisible weight of my family’s secrets — both spoken and silent — without realizing how much they were shaping my choices, relationships, and sense of self.

In my twenties, I was raising a child while desperately chasing the dream of an intact family. I longed so deeply for belonging that I trusted anyone or anything that promised it — and each time, I found myself trapped in repeating trauma cycles that felt like an invisible sentence I couldn’t escape.

Despite making straight A’s in college, working full-time, and pouring everything I had into motherhood… I experienced homelessness three times. I kept finding myself in relationships and situations that broke me further — and I couldn’t understand why.

Years of therapy helped me survive. But it wasn’t until I worked with a trauma-informed life coach that I finally saw the full picture: I wasn’t broken — I was patterned. I learned that trauma doesn’t start with us. It echoes through generations, passed down in silence, pain, and coping strategies that were meant to protect — but often caused more harm.

That revelation lit a fire in me.

I began asking the hard questions. I dug into my family story and uncovered truths that read more like movie scripts than real life — but they were mine. I started to see the faces behind the pain. The wounded children inside my elders. The coping, the silence, the survival. I did the messy, sacred work of forgiving — my family, my abusers, and eventually… myself.

As I stepped into my role as a trauma educator, holistic practitioner, and Celtic shaman, I made a vow: I would do the work first.

I went deep into shadow work. It was painful. Humbling. Transformational.

And somewhere along the way, I also gave myself permission to experience joy. To reclaim the sacred. To see the beauty between the bruises — and to finally love myself, not despite my story, but because of how powerfully I’ve rewritten it.

Because I’ve lived the pain. I’ve unearthed the truth. And I’ve learned how to turn generations of wounds into rituals of liberation.

This isn’t just my work. It’s my sacred calling. And if you feel the pull — it might be yours, too.