Best Story

In one devastating breath, my life shattered. I lost my marriage, my business, and found myself a single mother to twin toddlers barely eighteen months old.
There I was—a woman once defined by achievements and structure—curled in the fetal position on my bed, believing everything that made me me had been stripped away. Rock bottom wasn't just a place I visited; it became my address.
But something remarkable happened in that darkness. When you lose everything that once defined you, you discover what truly makes you powerful.
Nine months later, in a stunning reversal that still takes my breath away, I stood before a room of women in Kuwait as an Expert Speaker with the State Department. Me—the same woman who months earlier couldn't imagine getting dressed—now empowering women in the Middle East to recognize their inherent power.
It was there, watching the light ignite in another woman's eyes as she recognized her own strength, that my purpose crystallized. My breakdown hadn't destroyed me—it had cleared the way for my breakthrough.
The wounds that threatened to break me became the very source of my power. My journey taught me that our deepest pain often holds our greatest gift—if we're brave enough to unwrap it.
Today, I help women transform their wounds into wisdom, their trauma into triumph. Because I've walked the path from despair to empowerment, I can guide others to discover what I now know with absolute certainty: the power to rebuild your life exists within you. And it's greater than any circumstance that tries to break you.
Are you ready to discover yours?

Origin Story

I was the fat girl.
Not just occasionally chubby or "going through a phase." Being overweight was my identity—the label that defined me before I could define myself. At 230 pounds and 5'4" in middle school, I wasn't just carrying extra weight; I was carrying the crushing belief that I didn't belong in my own skin.
Every morning, I'd layer clothes strategically, desperately trying to hide the parts of me that screamed "different" in a world that demanded sameness. Every night, I'd fall asleep hating the body that housed me, convinced it was a prison rather than a home.
When I transferred to an all-girls competitive school, I thought I was escaping one battlefield only to find myself thrown into another. The boys couldn't mock my body anymore, but here, my mind became the target. No matter how hard I studied, I couldn't keep up. The thought "I'm stupid" became as familiar as breathing.
So I made three devastating decisions that would shape my teenage years:

I am not enough
I don't belong anywhere
I am fundamentally broken

At fourteen, these weren't just thoughts—they were the architecture of my existence. One evening, alone with these beliefs echoing in my head, I swallowed an entire bottle of Advil. Not because I wanted to die, exactly, but because I couldn't imagine living as me any longer. When all it gave me was a stomach ache and kidney pain, I felt like I'd failed at even this.
Then at fifteen, salvation arrived in a little pill—my first prescription for fen-phen, the miracle weight loss drug of the '90s. The pounds melted away, and for the first time, I felt the intoxicating rush of control. I didn't understand that what I felt wasn't power—it was chemical euphoria masquerading as self-worth.
For twenty years, I surrendered my power to these pills. I made them my god. Without them, I believed I was nothing—just the fat girl waiting to return the moment the prescription ran out. I gave away my power so completely that I couldn't see the strength that had been within me all along.
What I didn't realize then—what took me decades, rock bottom, and a profound awakening to learn—was that the power I sought was never in the pills. It was never in being thin. It was never in anyone else's approval.
The power I desperately chased through two decades of addiction was already mine. It had been there in the girl who survived her own self-hatred. It had been there in the woman who eventually found the courage to face herself without chemical shields.
My journey from self-destruction to self-reclamation taught me the most profound truth: our greatest wounds often hide our greatest gifts. The very things I hated about myself—my sensitivity, my struggle, my pain—became the foundation of my strength and the wellspring of my ability to connect with and help others.
This is why I can stand before you today. Not because I'm perfect or "fixed," but because I've reclaimed every ounce of power I once gave away. And if I could find that power buried beneath decades of self-hatred and addiction, imagine what power is waiting within you, asking to be remembered.
Your wounds don't define you. They prepare you. For what? That's the journey I invite you to discover.