For as long as I can remember, I’ve been writing.

As a young girl, I’d come home from school, crack open my computer, and disappear into other worlds. Story after story poured out of me—small portals filled with feeling, fueled by curiosity and imagination. My mom saved them all, binding them into one big book, quietly hoping I’d return to it one day.

And I did—but not in the way I expected.

In 2017, I picked up the pen again—not to write fiction, but to make sense of my own life. I started sharing pieces of myself on Instagram, and to my surprise, others saw themselves in my words. What began as personal expression became a place of resonance, reflection, and reclamation. Eight years later, I’ve written and published two books: The Fall, The Rise and When The Waves Come.

But writing, for me, has never just been about the words. It’s always been a sacred return. A remembering. A reconnection with the woman I’m becoming—and the woman I’ve always been.

She’s lived many lives. She’s learned many hard lessons. She’s remembered the parts once lost. And I’ve written them down so you can remember too.

In my spaces, we don’t bypass. We meet and honor ourselves fully.

We build devotion around our truth.

This is the work of reclamation. Of embodiment. Of returning home.

And just like me, my writing continues to evolve. There are still so many versions of myself to meet. So many words waiting to be written.

Welcome to the journey.