Often times people feel like their lives are somehow derailed when they don't follow the straightforward path they created for themselves. If you told my 19-year-old self as I met Chris that I would end up married, with four kids and homeschooling them, I'd tell you that you were lying. But that's where I ended up and have no regrets. 

Along the way, I wrote. Maybe not the Great American novel I dreamed about writing as I sat in Dr. Hawke's Fiction classes, but I never stopped writing for the reasons I started: to connect, to make an impact, to change.

I volunteered my skills in starting programs at my local library to serve the community. Many of these families could not afford young writing camps. I started a writer's group, tutored struggling kids, wrote professionally as a copywriter, marketing director, and even as a STEM educator. I wrote press releases, newsletters, brochures, website copy, social media posts, and curriculum.

Life curved off the straight path I mapped out at 18, but each step served a meaningful purpose and aligned with my original strategic plan: write to connect. Write to make an impact. Write to change.

In January 2025, Chris, my husband of nearly 26 years passed away from Glioblastoma, a deadly brain cancer. As he braved through treatments to add even a month more onto his life, writing steadied me. At first, I wrote to connect people to his treatments and doctor visits. As I shared my writings on social media, people told me my stories started conversation with spouses. It made people more grateful. Then, I crafted my writings to make an impact. And it saved me. Writing helped me make sense of something I could not control. Writing changed me. And I hoped it changed others.