2016 was the year I left my marriage. It was the year I turned thirty. It was also the year I started feeling like myself again — which is not a coincidence.

 

I had spent the previous years in motion. Left my island. Had twins, then another baby, all in three years. Moved to Colorado, then back to Maryland, all before the boys turned four. I had left behind the people who knew me at heart — people who lit up when I came in the room. I arrived in Maryland without community, closest family three hours away, responsible for three little lives.

 

By 2016, I was finally standing still long enough to look around. And there were people who could see me. Who delighted in my presence. Who reflected back parts of myself I had lost touch with somewhere in all that moving, all that mothering, all that trying to hold everything together.

 

At home, I was being blamed for everything that went wrong. I threw myself into trying to force a healing that was not mine to force — convinced that if I could just help enough, fix enough, everything would be okay. I poured everything I had into making my family stay together.

 

The inflammation had reached new heights. Rosacea covering my face, impossible to hide, impossible to ignore — staring back at me, inflamed and insistent: You are depleting yourself trying to save something that is hurting you.

 

I tried, and tried, and tried. Until I left.

 

And as soon as I started letting my truths play out in the world, my body stopped screaming. The people whose eyes lit up around me — they stayed. Slowly, I remembered what it felt like to take up space authentically and unapologetically.

 

I built the community I needed. I learned to trust that my knowing would not cost me the love that mattered. And the inflammation? It faded when I stopped trying to save what was breaking me.

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I live on the Chesapeake Bay now. I am a Jungian coach, yoga teacher, and Authentic Relating facilitator. And I accompany women who are learning, as I did, to stop betraying themselves — and to finally come home.

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These days, I am in love with how I do life. Not waiting for the destination to make it worth it — but alive to the road itself. The people who walk it with me. The deep meaning I find in challenges, in growth, in discovering new ways of inhabiting this body as fully, unapologetically me.

 

That is what I want for you.

 

If you are ready to fall in love with your own life, I would love to meet you.