For a long time, my life revolved around raising children, meeting deadlines, and doing whatever needed to be done to make it through the day. Somewhere along the way, I lost touch with the things that made me feel most like myself.

When my youngest child started school and my freelance work slowed down, I found myself with something I hadn't had much of in years: time. Instead of feeling relieved, I felt restless. Purposeless. I no longer knew who I was outside of work and motherhood.

So I began looking for myself again.

I returned to the library, a place that had once felt like a second home. As I worked my way through novels, memoirs, and essay collections, I rediscovered something I didn’t realize I was missing. 

The more I read, the more I wanted to write.

This wasn’t a new desire. My love of writing began much earlier, in my grandmother's den, where shelves overflowing with books introduced me to worlds beyond my own. Surrounded by stories, I discovered not only a love of reading but a longing to put my own words on the page.

There was just one problem: I had spent so many years focused on everything and everyone else that I had stopped writing altogether. 

I wasn't sure how to begin again.

What started as a desire to reconnect with an old dream eventually led me back to school. I returned to college as a nontraditional student, earned a BA in Creative Writing and English, and discovered that talent can only take you so far. I stopped relying on instinct alone and began developing the skills and confidence to tell the stories I wanted to tell.

Today, I am pursuing an MFA and working on a memoir that explores grief, faith, forgiveness, and the complicated process of rebuilding a life after it unravels in unexpected ways.

Through my writing, I hope to encourage others to pursue what brings them joy, to trust that it's never too late to begin again, and to find meaning in the twists and turns life takes along the way.