About the Author
There are parts of my story that look like breaking, and parts that look like becoming — and for a long time, I didn’t understand that they were the same thing. My path has been shaped by moments that stretched me open, seasons that asked me to rise when I felt emptied, and turning points that revealed what I was truly made of. I’ve lived through the kind of darkness that forces you to choose: collapse under the weight of it, or learn to weave light from the pieces. I chose the latter. Not because I was fearless, but because something deep within me refused to stay silent.
I’ve always been a seeker — quietly studying the world, pulling at the threads beneath human experience, asking the questions most people run from. My curiosity was never academic; it was spiritual. I wanted to understand why we suffer, how we heal, what purpose pain holds, and what it means to reclaim yourself after you’ve been broken open. That longing carried me through my own transformation. It led me into metaphysical work, conscious leadership, and the deeper layers of emotional, energetic, and spiritual truth.
Along the way, I learned that healing is not a straight line. It’s a remembering. A return. A reclamation. It asks you to sit with yourself, breathe through the noise, and trust that the version of you emerging is wiser, softer, and more powerful than the one who survived the storm. And it asks you to share — because someone else is standing in the dark right now, searching for a light that looks like hope.
My life today is built around that purpose. I write for the ones who are awakening. For the ones who feel the shift before they have the language for it. For the ones who are ready to step into their own truth but need a voice to walk beside them. Through my books, my creative work, and my message, I invite people to explore their inner worlds with gentleness and curiosity. I believe in conscious evolution — in rising with intention, in leading with compassion, and in creating spaces where authenticity, healing, and spiritual growth can exist without apology.
I’m not here to preach. I’m not here to promise quick fixes. I’m here to hold a lantern, to share what I’ve learned, and to remind you that your story — no matter how heavy or complicated — carries wisdom waiting to unfold. My work is a blend of lived experience, deep introspection, metaphysical insight, and a heart that refuses to give up on humanity.
If you’re reading this, you’re likely a seeker too. Someone who senses there’s more to life than survival. Someone who feels pulled toward growth, meaning, and soul-level alignment. And if so, welcome. You’re in the right place. This is a space where truth is honored, where transformation is celebrated, and where the journey inward becomes the bridge to a more expansive life.
I’m still evolving, still learning, still rising. But now I walk with intention — not from who I was, but toward who I’m becoming. And I’m grateful you’re here, walking a part of this path with me.
Let me share who I am with you…
There are parts of my story that look like breaking, and parts that look like becoming — and for a long time, I didn’t understand that they were the same thing. My path has been shaped by moments that stretched me open, seasons that asked me to rise when I felt emptied, and turning points that revealed what I was truly made of. I’ve lived through the kind of darkness that forces you to choose: collapse under the weight of it, or learn to weave light from the pieces. I chose the latter. Not because I was fearless, but because something deep within me refused to stay silent.
I’ve always been a seeker — quietly studying the world, pulling at the threads beneath human experience, asking the questions most people run from. My curiosity was never academic; it was spiritual. I wanted to understand why we suffer, how we heal, what purpose pain holds, and what it means to reclaim yourself after you’ve been broken open. That longing carried me through my own transformation. It led me into metaphysical work, conscious leadership, and the deeper layers of emotional, energetic, and spiritual truth.
Along the way, I learned that healing is not a straight line. It’s a remembering. A return. A reclamation. It asks you to sit with yourself, breathe through the noise, and trust that the version of you emerging is wiser, softer, and more powerful than the one who survived the storm. And it asks you to share — because someone else is standing in the dark right now, searching for a light that looks like hope.
My life today is built around that purpose. I write for the ones who are awakening. For the ones who feel the shift before they have the language for it. For the ones who are ready to step into their own truth but need a voice to walk beside them. Through my books, my creative work, and my message, I invite people to explore their inner worlds with gentleness and curiosity. I believe in conscious evolution — in rising with intention, in leading with compassion, and in creating spaces where authenticity, healing, and spiritual growth can exist without apology.
I’m not here to preach. I’m not here to promise quick fixes. I’m here to hold a lantern, to share what I’ve learned, and to remind you that your story — no matter how heavy or complicated — carries wisdom waiting to unfold. My work is a blend of lived experience, deep introspection, metaphysical insight, and a heart that refuses to give up on humanity.
If you’re reading this, you’re likely a seeker too. Someone who senses there’s more to life than survival. Someone who feels pulled toward growth, meaning, and soul-level alignment. And if so, welcome. You’re in the right place. This is a space where truth is honored, where transformation is celebrated, and where the journey inward becomes the bridge to a more expansive life.
I’m still evolving, still learning, still rising. But now I walk with intention — not from who I was, but toward who I’m becoming. And I’m grateful you’re here, walking a part of this path with me.
Behind the Scenes
Awakening Your Higher Consciousness
A glimpse into the lessons, initiations, and soul-work that shaped the book.
Writing this book was not an intellectual process — it was a lived experience. Every teaching inside it was born from a moment that broke me open, stretched me, humbled me, or awakened me in ways I never expected.
These are the behind-the-scenes truths… the places where each chapter began long before the writing ever started.
The Lesson of Surrender
Where it came from:
I learned surrender in the moments when my life collapsed — when the illusion of control was stripped away, and I was left with nothing but breath, pain, and the presence of something greater than myself. That night when I faced death, surrender became not a concept, but a choice: loosen my grip or slip away entirely.
How it shaped the book:
This became the foundation of the first teaching — the reminder that true awakening begins when we stop forcing life and start listening to it.
The Lesson of Trusting the Unseen
Where it came from:
During the months of brain injury treatment, when my memory failed and my emotions spun unpredictably, I had to lean on something deeper. I couldn’t rely on logic; I had to rely on intuition, presence, and spiritual guidance. Christopher’s unseen support — and the Wolf Pack’s grounding — taught me to trust what I could not see but could feel.
How it shaped the book:
This inspired the sections about intuitive connection and the metaphysical threads that guide us even when we feel lost.
The Lesson of Asking for Help
Where it came from:
Healing forced me to accept what I never wanted to admit: I could not do everything alone. The hospital stays, the specialists, the moments I couldn’t tie my shoes or remember conversations — they all stripped away the armor I had worn for years. This was where humility and receiving truly began.
How it shaped the book:
This became the teaching about allowing support, learning healthy dependence, and breaking the illusion of self-sacrifice as strength.
The Lesson of Releasing Old Identities
Where it came from:
I lost pieces of myself after the assault — not just physically, but emotionally and energetically. The woman who walked into that night was not the same woman who walked out. I had to grieve her while embracing the unfamiliar self emerging.
How it shaped the book:
This formed the chapter about identity, ego unraveling, and stepping into a new version of self without shame or fear.
The Lesson of Listening to the Body
Where it came from:
Chronic pain, trauma responses, and a damaged nervous system taught me to listen to my body as a messenger rather than an obstacle. Every flashback, flinch, or exhaustion spell was information — not an enemy.
How it shaped the book:
This inspired the somatic healing practices, grounding techniques, and breathwork woven throughout the book.
The Lesson of Loving Myself Through the Mess
Where it came from:
There were days I felt unlovable, broken, ashamed. Self-compassion didn’t come naturally — it was learned in the quiet moments when I had no strength left to pretend. This was when I learned that gentleness toward myself was not optional; it was salvation.
How it shaped the book:
This formed the heart of the sections on self-love, grace, emotional regulation, and rewriting inner dialogue.
The Lesson of Divine Timing
Where it came from:
Everything in the healing process felt too slow. Every breakthrough felt too far away. But looking back, every step unfolded exactly when I needed it. The people who helped me — Christopher, the Wolf Pack, my parents, unexpected mentors — arrived at the perfect time.
How it shaped the book:
This created the teachings around patience, alignment, and trusting the timing of your own awakening.
The Lesson of Rebuilding Sacred Connection
Where it came from:
My relationship with God changed that night — shifted, deepened, expanded. Jesus meeting me in the darkest moment of my life was not metaphor; it was presence. And learning to rebuild my relationship with the divine afterward became its own healing journey.
How it shaped the book:
This shaped the spiritual framework of the book — the reminder that awakening isn’t about perfection, but relationship.
The Lesson of Seeing Darkness as a Portal
Where it came from:
The trauma, the collapse, the fear — none of it was meaningless. It became the portal that opened me to a new consciousness, a new life, and a new purpose. Without the darkness, there would be no awakening.
How it shaped the book:
This formed the core message: your pain is not your punishment; it is your initiation.
The Lesson of Returning to Myself
Where it came from:
The greatest healing happened not in hospitals or counseling rooms, but in the quiet moments where I heard my own voice again. Where I recognized myself beneath the damage. Where I chose to rise.
How it shaped the book:
This is the closing arc of the book — a return to self, to truth, to empowerment, to a life built with intention rather than illusion.
This story contains images and references to domestic violence, physical harm, and a near-death experience.
If at any point you feel your breath tighten, your emotions rise, or your body ask for space, please honor that.
You are welcome to pause, step away, or return when you feel grounded.
Your wellbeing comes first, always.
This wasn’t the end of me, this was the beginning of finding myself again.
The Night I’ll Never Forget
I was living a dream.
At least, that’s what it looked like from the outside.
People saw the success, the prosperity, the kind of love that photographs beautifully and makes others envious. We had just moved into a new home. We had just signed a million-dollar deal. It felt like everything we had worked for was finally falling into place.
And then, one night… it all came crashing down.
A series of bad choices — one drink too many, one argument too deep — fractured the dream in an instant. We had gone out to celebrate, laughing too loud, pretending everything was perfect. But when we came home, the celebration dissolved into something unrecognizable.
The war started with words.
Sharp accusations. Raised voices. Emotional blows hurled like knives. What began as a heated argument spiraled into something darker, faster than I could comprehend. The energy in the room shifted — from tension, to danger, to something I no longer had control over. We both yelled. We both pushed. But he was six feet tall, 230 pounds. I was 5'5” and barely 150.
It was a battle I would not win.
What happened next unfolded in violent flashes —
being thrown across the room,
punched,
kicked,
head-butted,
choked,
slapped.
Minutes felt like hours.
Hours felt endless.
I remember the sound of my ribs cracking beneath pressure.
The dislocation of my shoulder.
The fracture in my right orbit — a deep, shocking pain behind my eye that made the world shift sideways.
I remember screaming.
I remember wondering how the neighbors couldn’t hear me.
I remember the moment I realized he wasn’t stopping.
And then came the moment burned into my memory forever.
I was curled in the corner of the living room floor —
bleeding,
ribs fractured,
vision fading.
His feet were pressing into my chest as he stood on top of me.
And in his hand… a knife.
Everything in me should have shut down.
But instead, something extraordinary happened.
In that impossible darkness, Jesus spoke to me.
He was suddenly beside me — not in a dramatic vision, not in light or thunder, but in a presence that settled around me like truth itself. His voice was calm, steady, unmistakable:
“You have a choice.
It’s time to surrender, or come home with Me tonight.”
The world froze.
My breath paused.
My soul listened.
And in that sacred stillness, something inside me shifted.
My survival instinct awakened.
My consciousness rose above the terror.
I looked up at the man towering over me, knife in his hand, and I heard a voice slip from my mouth — soft, steady, unshaken:
“I love you… let’s go to bed.”
It didn’t match the chaos around us.
It didn’t match the violence.
But it was the only sentence that came from the place that wanted to live.
And just like that… the rage stopped.
We went to bed.
Not because it was safe.
Not because the danger was gone.
But because I chose survival.
Later, when he fell asleep, I moved carefully — quietly — and managed to get his phone. I hid. He found me. I asked to go to the bathroom and begged to be left alone. He stood guard outside the door.
With shaking hands, I texted my brother.
Help. 911.
No response.
Help. 911 now.
Still nothing.
That was the moment I realized I was alone.
I took a breath.
Surrendered to the truth of my situation.
And dialed 911 myself.
That was the moment my healing began — not consciously, not spiritually, not with understanding.
But in raw survival.
In fear.
In the decision that I would not die that night.
Red and blue lights flashed through the windows like a silent promise of safety. He ran out the back door. I ran toward the front. The officers were already on the porch when I opened the door, and for the first time in hours, hope flickered.
They called for medical help. The ambulance came. And I begged to be taken to a hospital in another city, far from the home that had become a crime scene.
The injuries demanded it —
shattered bone,
broken ribs,
dislocated shoulder,
a concussion that would become months of cognitive struggle.
This was the beginning of my journey —
not the part filled with transformation or clarity,
but the part filled with shadows.
Where fear lived in my body.
Where I trusted no one.
Where every noise made me flinch.
But it was also the night
I chose to live.
I chose to rise.
I chose myself —
even before I knew what that meant.
