Let’s start with this: I am a firm believer that everything happens for a reason. I know it can sound cliché, but for me, it has been a soul-saving perspective—a compass that helps me remember who I truly am.
To take you back to the beginning, I want to share a piece of my story. I learned in my early teens that I was conceived in what I can only describe as one of the most unique and unexpected ways imaginable. My mother, who had lived a very colorful youth, was in a coed federal prison in 1977. To put it as gently as I can, I was conceived during the one opportunity that could have allowed it to happen.
I have never felt ashamed of this part of my story. On the contrary, it has always felt like a proof of purpose—evidence that life unfolds as it should. Thinking about all the coincidences, all the events that had to align perfectly for me to even exist, still blows my mind today. That realization planted a seed in me, a belief that everything has a reason, a seed that would continue to grow throughout my life.
My childhood was far from easy, though as a child, I didn’t know any different. I grew up in a world filled with challenges most kids around me couldn’t even imagine. I was a child living in an adult world, and I relied heavily on my imagination. Escaping into possibilities allowed me to feel a sense of normalcy in a life that often felt anything but normal.
Even as a child, I knew I was different. I didn’t quite fit in, and for a long time, I allowed that feeling to hold me back. I kept my light inside, even though it seemed ready to burst out. I tried different ways to open myself up, only to retreat again into my own world—showing my true self only to those I truly trusted. It took me years to understand why I did that.
I was always a positive kid, seeing the glass half full, yet at the same time, I was a constant worrier. I worried about everything and everyone. Looking back, I now understand why—because I am an empath, highly sensitive, and intuitive. Those traits, while gifts, made childhood challenging. I always wanted to help, to protect, and to avoid hurting anyone’s feelings, but it often left me feeling drained and anxious.
Around my 18th birthday, I experienced my first major trauma. Just two weeks before turning 18, I was abruptly forced into an adult world—a world I hadn’t been prepared for. This would mark the first of three traumatic sexual assaults I endured.
To cope, I did what I had always done: I looked for growth, for purpose. I tried to find the reason behind what had happened, allowing it to guide me toward learning, even if the steps I took were sometimes reckless. About a year later, I made the impulsive decision to move from my hometown of San Diego to Las Vegas. My heart, naive and co-dependent, was drawn to a young man I had met. I thought following him would bring me stability, though in truth, I was chasing connection. Four months after moving, at 19, I discovered I was pregnant. Excited, scared, and overwhelmed barely scratches the surface of what I felt.
In 1998, I became a mother for the first time. Holding my daughter for the first time, I knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be. That moment gave me clarity—without the hardships of my past, I wouldn’t have been ready, or able, to fully embrace that joy. My daughter was perfect, a true miracle, and in her eyes, I saw that all my experiences had led me to exactly this point.
Just over a year later, the second trauma struck. My daughter’s father had been working long hours, and I needed to step outside for a breath of fresh air. During a short walk in our normally quiet neighborhood, something felt off. A premonition, though I didn’t recognize it as such at the time.
As I rounded the corner with my daughter, a man I had seen earlier approached. Before I could react, he grabbed me, knife in hand, and threatened my child. My instinct as a mother kicked in—I did everything to protect her. I won’t go into all the details, but I found a way to survive, and eventually, he was arrested. I spoke at his hearing, the only victim to do so, reclaiming my power and refusing to let fear define me. That event would later provide me with lessons that helped save my life almost two decades later.
The third trauma came over five years later. Though I won’t go into specifics, it forced me to go deeper into myself than I had ever imagined. I wasn’t broken—but I was searching for healing, for meaning, for growth. And I eventually found it.
In 2012, I decided to become a health coach after my youngest daughter was born with serious health complications. I began seeing the connections between stress, nutrition, and overall well-being. That path opened a door into mindset and self-development, guiding me toward growth instead of simply seeking lessons. Growth, I learned, is what propels us into the next version of ourselves.
By 2017, I had been deep in a spiritual and self-development journey for several years. I was more attuned to my intuition than ever before. On the night of October 1, 2017, that intuition would prove life-saving. At 10:05 p.m., a ten-minute reign of terror unfolded during what became the deadliest mass shooting in modern U.S. history. Amid the chaos, a voice echoed in my head: “Right now is not your time. You’re meant to help other people.” My past traumas, my spiritual work, and my inner growth all became tools I instinctively used to survive that night.
Within a week, I began therapy, meeting once a week for over two months. At our final session, my therapist smiled and said, “I believe this is our last session.” I agreed, saying, “I was going to say the same thing.” She explained I had reached what’s called Post-Traumatic Growth—the point where trauma no longer defines you, but shapes you into a stronger, more empowered version of yourself. I realized once again that every experience in my life had prepared me for this moment, and I chose to see it as such.
Since then, I have listened to that inner voice, using my story to help others. Vulnerability became a tool not just for my coaching, but for my own healing. By sharing, I could give others hope, a roadmap for growth, and a reminder that trauma does not define us—our response does.
I believe that everyone has the power to reclaim control, to transform trauma into strength, and to step into the version of themselves that can overcome anything. Life is an open world of possibility and hope. Our choices can define us—or lift us to the next level. I choose to level up, to embrace the new version of me, and to help others do the same.
I’ll end with one of my favorite quotes, permanently marked on my skin:
“Our fate lives within us; you only have to be brave enough to see it.” – Pixar’s Brave
