My story didn’t start with courage. It started with responsibility.
The day after I graduated high school, my dad had a massive stroke...
I was the steady one.
The strong one.
The one who never fell apart.
But somewhere in all of that…
I lost myself. I told myself this was my path.
That I didn’t have choices.
That other people were allowed to dream — but my job was simply to get through the day.
And then, at 50, something inside me cracked open.
It wasn’t loud.
It wasn’t dramatic.
It was a tiny whisper I almost ignored:
What if this isn’t all there is for me?
What if I’m allowed to want more?
What if I get to rewrite my own story?
What if… maybe I can?
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Those four words became my lifeline.
I started making small, tender shifts — choosing myself in tiny ways, reconnecting to pieces of me I had forgotten. I didn’t realize it then, but I was slowly building the foundation I would need for the hardest chapter of my life.
Because at 59, I became a widow.
You can know something is coming.
You can feel it in your bones.
And still… you are never ready.
Losing my husband shattered me. But it did not destroy me. And the only reason I survived that season was because I had already begun finding myself again. I had already started believing that my life was still mine to shape.
I knew — somehow — that I would be okay.
Not because the grief wasn’t unbearable, but because I finally trusted my own strength.
Today, as an author and speaker, I share my story so other women can rediscover their own.
Women who’ve spent years caring and giving until there’s almost nothing left for themselves.
Women who are ready for a turning point, even if they’re not sure what it looks like yet.
If you’ve ever wondered whether it’s too late to choose yourself, to dream again, to begin again…
I’m here to tell you: it’s not.
Your “maybe I can” moment may already be whispering to you.
