Your circumstances are part of your story. They don’t get to own it.

But I refused to stop writing.

In 2020, my 18-year-old son, Nicholas, had a massive heart attack and was suddenly gone.

There isn’t a sentence that can adequately describe what happens when you lose your child.

My body shut down, too.

I ended up in a wheelchair, navigating profound grief, physical pain, and a life I no longer recognized as mine.

Five months after Nicholas went to heaven, I was in a very dark place. I didn’t want to be here. At the same time, I had two sick parents who needed me.

Then my friend Julie called.

She knew I’d been interested in energy and frequency work for years—I had practiced Reiki since my twenties—and she told me about a new frequency-wellness technology called AO Scan that was looking for beta testers.

I didn’t have a grand plan.

I was desperate enough to try something different, and I trusted my friend.

So I handed her my credit card and said:

“Sign me up.”

Eventually, I had to answer a different question: Who am I now?

In the years that followed Nicholas’s death, my mom—my best friend—went to heaven.

Fifteen weeks later, my dad followed.

There was divorce. The loss of a business. Betrayal by someone I considered a best friend. The death of a mentor. An engagement followed by another painful ending.

It felt as though life kept removing the roles and relationships I’d used to answer the question:

Who am I?

I had been a mom, first and foremost.

A daughter.

A wife.

A partner.

A business owner.

And when so many of those identities changed or disappeared, I had a choice.

I could spend the rest of my life defining myself by what I’d lost.

Or I could become intentional about who I was going to be with the life that remained.

There are no accidents in who you are.

One of the most transformative things I’ve done is learn to see myself differently.

Not as a collection of things that needed fixing.

But as a person with a design.

My work with Divine Design brings together insights from Human Design, Astrology, Gene Keys, Tikkun, Archetypes, and the patterns revealed through a person’s lived experience.

Not to put you in another box.

To give you language for what has been there all along.

Your natural gifts.

How you communicate.

How you make decisions.

What gives you energy.

What drains it.

The patterns you repeat.

The genius you may have dismissed because it comes so naturally to you.

For me, understanding my own Divine Design helped me stop trying to become who I thought I was supposed to be.

And start trusting who I already was.

Music has always been how I express what words can’t hold.

I’m a fifth-generation musician.

I started playing piano when I was five years old.

By thirteen, I was teaching piano and performing publicly.

For 25 years, I taught private piano and voice while performing, singing, playing, composing, and helping my own students discover the joy of creating music.

Churches. Weddings. Funerals. Performances.

Music was woven through my life.

And composing often felt less like something I manufactured and more like something God gave me to translate.

Then Nicholas died.

And I couldn’t sing.

The voice that had been part of me for almost my entire life simply wasn’t available to me in the same way anymore.

Years later, while my mom was in hospice, something began to change.

My mom had the voice of an angel.

And somehow, as I was preparing to say goodbye to her, my own voice began finding its way back.

Over time, I started singing again.

Somewhere along the way, music became mine again.

The titles have changed. The thread hasn’t.

I’ve been teaching since I was thirteen years old.

I hold a Master’s in Education and later became an NLP Master Coach and Trainer and a certified Positive Intelligence coach. I’ve coached, trained, spoken, taught business, worked with transformational communities, and spent decades studying how people learn, change, communicate, create, and become.

Those credentials matter.

But they’re not the most important thing I bring to my work.

I’ve lived it.

I’ve had to question my own identity.

I’ve had to rebuild.

I’ve had to make decisions when there wasn’t a good option.

I’ve had to learn where my energy was going.

I’ve had to grieve lives and identities that no longer existed.

I’ve had to find my voice again.

And I’ve had to consciously decide:

What am I going to do with the life I still have?

That’s the question underneath my work today.

You can love your life without loving everything that’s happened in it.

I love my life.

That doesn’t mean I love every chapter.

I wouldn’t have written many of them.

But I’m here.

And I am profoundly grateful for the woman I’ve become.

I believe you can experience grief and still make room for joy.

You can honor who you’ve been without being imprisoned by an old identity.

You can intentionally create your life without pretending you control every circumstance.

You can know yourself more deeply.

Trust yourself more completely.

Express yourself more freely.

Use your gifts.

Choose what matters.

And become more intentional about the pages you’re still writing.