Born on the beautiful island of Bermuda during a cozy December
I have been mindful of God for as long as I can remember
Raised with love in our family home
Thanks to my parents, the Spirit of God I’ve always known.

Later, living in the United States, I attended a mindful movement class
With no clue how much its impact would last
I wasn’t sure how the class would flow
But I felt drawn to it and knew I had to go.

I profoundly felt the presence of God on my exercise mat
Experiencing sacred intimacy in a way I’ll never forget
Using body, mind, soul, and spirit to connect with Him
This is where my turning point begins…

My intimacy with God this way steadily increased
Sacred, relaxing, and full of Christ-centered peace
It led me to become a movement instructor and ‘minister on the mat’
Helping others pause, consciously breathe, and soulfully connect

With God of the universe
And the Holy Spirit within
With the One who sent His son, Jesus
To forgive and erase our sins.

Blending movement with stillness along with God’s word
A new mission for me was what I heard
Guiding others to relax their shoulders and straighten their backs
While engaging their abdominals to strengthen the core
Using the physical to go spiritually deeper with God to know Him more.

This turning point became a love language between God and me
Blessing me to spiritually see
The beauty of God moving within
And that physical movement could also be a vehicle for following Him.

Rooted in this mission like a tree
God and me
We got to going
The wind was blowing…

Taking me to the training, credentials, and opportunities to teach this way
This perspective on life was a brand new day
Combining the elements of work and play
And today, I am here to say:

Speaking this embodied love language with God
Wasn’t what I initially sought
Until experiencing the process of slowing all the way down
And anchoring my feet on God’s solid ground.

Aligned like a charm
My soul felt calm
Spirit illuminated
Body and mind invigorated.

Then…

Poetic prayers eventually became a solid part of my voice
A blessed, sweet, and playful choice
Communicating with God in such a way
That He feeds me the words to write and say.

Aligning with Him as a spiritual poet
I know His voice. I know it; I know it.
A vessel of His poetry to help others and me be free
To become clear about what God has created us to be.

With that clarity, purpose beautifully unfolds
Stories of turning points are written and told
Divine connection leads us to become bold!

My boldness—A manuscript, “Rhyming with God,” was recently birthed
Pages with poetic prayers and reflections about positive worth
A publishing offer has been given to me
So, in 2025, readers will see…

My intimacy with God poetically expressed
A relationship with Jesus nurtured by holy rest
Life with the One who is the very best
Who meets us where we’re at and helps us through any test.

Whether writing or on the mat
I give God all the glory, honor, and utmost respect
Purposed by Him with roles that feel like a dream
Some days I’m so excited I could joyfully scream.

Embodied intimacy with God is of a special kind
Aligning with Him, we’ll peacefully find
Life outside of the daily grind
And restoration for the body, soul, spirit, and mind.

Thank You, God, for the lessons of many kinds
Thank You for allowing me to find
The paths to go, the ways to flow
And how to know, and know, and know—You!

The crack to the skull
A bleed in the brain
Death shook me
She called-
Addressed me by name
Stood above so I could see
My Rome in vanity

Momentum increased
Pillars collapsed
Every image stumbled
Shattered & crumbled
Unmasked & raw
Only held at the seams

The life I once knew -In pieces at my feet
Outstretched for miles, it resembled defeat
Yet the weight lifted & she drew her first breath
Emerged from the rubble, an image pristine

A glimpse of what was to come
To accept the unbroken
Was to conspire to murder
The audible & unspoken

The purpose & the drive
Debilitating all at once
Breathed into me new life
& undiscovered fronts
In honor of the indelible
What once was, exists in memory
What is yet to be – a blank slate
Out of mind, as it should be
But in my hands all the same
The moment she spoke my name

Growing up I was abused spiritually, verbally, physically, emotionally and the unspoken. Being quiet and fulfill the needs of others taught me how to survive in toxic environments, but it was never stopped the abuse. My entire belief system was built on the foundation of pleasing people. I believed I wasn’t good enough. Love was supposed to be unrequited- at least for me.
Though I never learned to put my own needs first, I had a secret. I never stopped dreaming, hoping and believing for unconditional love. As I got older I searched for this unicorn named unconditional love, but to no avail. I found comfort in unhealthy habits that provided artificial happiness.
Then I had children. They became my light in the darkness. I vowed to always protect them from things that I endured and ensure they had a great life. However, my belief system didn’t change. As a result, the trauma seeped into my children and infected our family dynamic. I saw what was happening, but felt powerless to change it. It was a sinking ship with no life jackets. Whatever I tried was never enough, so I worked harder. I got more jobs. More work meant less quality time, but they had material things and spent a lot of time with other people.
Over time the relationships I developed via family, friends or lovers grew worse.
I felt hopeless. One day, the inevitable happened. I discovered that my beloved children were experiencing abuse in various forms, even the unspeakable. I wanted to vanquish myself from the Earth. I fought to give them freedom, but continued cycles.
I was consumed with anger and depression at the thought of failing them. Everyone blamed me. Not the person who violated them, but me. Sadly, I blamed myself too.
While I spent time away from them during the investigation I had a choice to make. I could wallow or move forward. It required a lot of introspection. I moved into a shelter. I had lost everything I tried to hold on to and just had me. Me and the universe. How did I get here? Through therapy and meditation I soul searched. Inner child healing was necessary, but painful.
The next step was to speak up. It took courage to testify. I was horrified reliving the events and hearing my autistic daughter tell her truth. I had to ensure she got justice others refused to me. I made a statement and closed a painful chapter in my book.
Though I am still rebuilding and reparenting myself, I am grateful for my journey. I am grateful to the universe. I am grateful to myself for believing that I was worthy to heal my trauma. The hardest part wasn’t testifying, asking forgiveness or taking accountability, but learning to forgive myself. I had to forgive myself for neglect, rebuild my entire belief system and visualize a different perspective. I take care of myself now because I love me. I spend more time with my children and enjoy life’s journey. Who knew that playing uno, park visits and baking cookies together could heal so many wounds? What was meant to destroy me has become a motivation for real change in all aspects of my life. I am grateful I will never be the same.
Although I was able to stand up for my daughter, there are many children who will never see their justice. Issues like this are hidden dark secrets. Although I cannot save them, I can encourage others to speak up and to heal themselves. I have found many creative avenues to do it. I hope that my story will encourage others to find their voices too. Save themselves. Take their power back. The more we speak out, the braver we become.
This is only the beginning…

I tore my soul out today
I could see no other way
Teaching was the goal I had
Since I was a little lad
Helping others to achieve
Was my purpose, I believe
But then ideology
Frustrated pedagogy
The choice for me became clear-
My kind was not wanted here
Thus I chose to walk away
And tore out my soul today

I tore my soul out today
I could see no other way
Students deserve honesty
Teachers with integrity
Discussing our history
Told to lie so they won’t see
The truth about prior pain
So the abuse can remain
With the truth play loose and fast
So we can repeat the past
Thus I chose to walk away
And tore out my soul today

I tore my soul out today
I could see no other way
Politicians monger fear
Demonize for all to hear
Students who don’t fit their mold
“So call them out” I am told
Put them at risk of abuse
Parents, peers, teachers, a noose
Pretend that they don’t exist
Convince them they won’t be missed
Thus I chose to walk away
And tore out my soul today

I tore my soul out today
I could see no other way
If truth you wish to discern
Science is the way to learn
Enabling discovery
Dodge cognitive fallacy
Contradict what they hold true
Though they be wrong, they can sue
You will soon be out the door
And able to teach no more
Thus I chose to walk away
And tore out my soul today

I tore my soul out today
I could see no other way
Ten Commandments on the walls
Bible verses in the halls
Bow your head, it’s time to pray
Everyone in the same way
You’re entitled to your beliefs
Public schools aren’t your fiefs
Teach them to your own children
And not someone else’s kin
Thus I chose to walk away
And tore out my soul today

I tore my soul out today
I could see no other way
Underfunded; called disgrace
Education’s aim efface
Keep them stupid and oppressed
They ban the books they detest
Analyze and synthesize
And you can see through the lies
Education is the key
To upward mobility
But I had to walk away
And tore my soul out today

Oh the things I’ve had to survive…
Always weathering the storm; at what point do I thrive?
My experience did not equate to my deeds.
But I kept my dignity; could not bargain nor plead.
Yet I became sick, wondering how one could leave…
A new, single mother; another mouth to feed.
Nothing left to do but pause, make art, and follow His Lead.
Suspended in space; a moment of peace…
My heart beating fast; still no relief.
No time to cry or wonder why.
‘But oh, my darling, you are the eye.’
Nothing left to chase; no where left to go; no new ways to numb.
A look in the mirror; ‘Lord, what have I become?’
So disassociated; everyone must know…
Yet back into my body I go…
How scary? How almost unsafe?
‘Holy Mary…’ I connected with grace.
I made the world go quiet; kept my circle small…handed over my fears; cut any attention towards what could befall.
What a beautiful trinity; mother, child, and God.
Untouchable to any force that could poke or prod.
‘Go through your flow,’ I say to my class…with access to child’s pose; access to rest… With sovereignty, autonomy…too blessed to stress.
I considered the birthrights of peace and of breath… one hand on my belly; the other on my chest.
Access to my birthrights at any and all times; the power of presence was suddenly mine.
Permission to be new; permission to choose.
On the mat there is nothing to prove.
A look in my daughter’s eyes; she is everything I admire.
Such joy to relish in, before I expire.

This is me trying. Trying to find a new way, recognizing that the old way wasn’t working. Leaving behind an old identity. An old set of rules in favor of a new birth, rebirth, aggressively sought after alternative ending. I’m emerging as a new person, despite my unrelenting efforts to cling to what was.

Two months ago, I risked it all when I abandoned life as a lawyer, the only life I’d ever known. The life I’d spent decades building at the expense of so many important moments and memories. Since law school orientation, I’d worked overtime trying to orient my mind around the reality that I’d never be like them, bending and breaking myself to blend into a world that made no effort to accept me. It never fit. Or rather, I never fit.

So, I quit. And left my job to become a writer. I risked a step away from a carefully curated career in favor of a move toward an existence that would actually set my soul on fire. I made bold proclamations about not going back and cautiously counted coins and considered logistics, ways I’d support my family in the “in between.”

I thought on it. I prayed on it. I cried about it. I built momentum and discovered joy during daunting days of exploration. I found myself, lost her again, and laughed at the beauty of the journey. I spoke in a loud voice, one years in the making and I summoned the confidence to risk it all…again…and burn it to the ground, with the hopes of emerging from the ashes a battle tested phoenix. And I felt calmer than I expected.

Two months ago, I cut ties with reliable income, pronounced paths, predictable promotions, private planes, and bank-breaking bonuses. Two months ago, I bet on me. And I went to bed at night excited about who I was becoming, eager (for the first time) at the start of each day. I felt fulfilled. Full. Focused. Certain.

Two months ago, I ended it on my terms.

Three days later, I went out for a run and woke up in an ambulance. Brain injured. Memory erased. Creative vision demolished. Dreams crushed. Speech altered. Disoriented and disillusioned, I opened my eyes to the end of my new life. The death of my fresh start. The denial of the woman I’d fought to become.

Three days later, I realized that the fight was only just beginning when life brought me to my knees. Three days later, I cried real tears that burned my face and blurred my vision as they exited my weary eyes. Three days later, I realized that the best laid plans are, at times, the ones you must painfully and practically cast to the side.

Three days later, my life changed forever.

But today, I write again. I’ve picked up the pen to see what I can produce. This is my redemption story. Ending unknown.

This is me, bloody, bruised, but brave. This is me not easily broken. This is me, trying…

brushing my hand against the coarse grain
brings back memories of yesterday
the old wood was painted white
nimbly finished with imperfections

through the frosted glass center
a soft glowing light would show
the warm compassionate touch
that lightly soothes me to sleep

i never minded the creak of the hinge
or how imprecise the handle was,
i miss it’s slanted suspension
and how you would lift to latch it

the wood that replaced it
was polished to perfection
and standardized like the rest;
no different than others of it’s kind

there was no glass i could gaze through
the knob would click with precision
however it had a surprising charm
brought by memories of passing through

i assumed that this frame
would be the last i pass through
but life had different stories
and characters to introduce

eventually i became burned out,
fatigued and growing indifferent
for the different walkways
i had been nudged into

hesitant to try something new
the lock remained sealed to the outside
yet a light filters though the cracks
slowly enticing me for more

finally i have become comfortable
with the volatile directions
and i wonder what’s the next door
that i walk through in life

She rises, she falls
She tries to find her way
Hearing the quiet call
She doesn’t want to stay
In this back and forth
Ping pong balls in her mind
The game is a battle
Against what she knows inside
The truth is buried
Deep inside her heart
She’s ignored that voice
And doesn’t know how to start
To trust in who she is
And what she really knows
Who she is made to be
She longs to truly grow
She sheds the thick skin
One layer at a time
She whispers to herself
I believe, I can try
To know she can go
Where she’s made to be
Just trust in the voice
And then she’ll truly see
The beauty that she’s made for
The rising of the sun
She’s blossomed and she knows
Her life has just begun.

Choosing yourself is hard when you grew up meeting the needs of others.

Imagine being raised in a home with three siblings and a single mother.

You’re the oldest who carried the world’s weight on her shoulders.

Who was I supposed to lean on when my days became colder?

You begin to think your mom doesn’t care when she can’t afford to be there.

I battled with depression for so many years, hiding my pain behind a smile while the world persevered.

I spent so many nights crying alone, trying to make sense of my broken home.

I was a broken kid who was desperate for love and attention.

At the time, I was too young to understand the depths of my dimension.

I learned from a broken parent who was the product of a broken home.

She was capable of giving out the only love she’s ever known.

Before my mom was a parent, she was once a kid, too.

I never took the time to see things from her point of view.

My mom was the oldest without a shoulder to lean on, searching for love and someone to depend on.

Time heals all wounds when you go with the flow.

Allowing things to unfold naturally leaves room for growth.

My mom and I are one in the same, blossoming from a life of heartache and pain.

There’s value in seeing that change is possible, even if it doesn’t happen in a flash.

Accepting the things I cannot change allowed me to make peace with my past.

Mother, oh, mother!
That look upon your face
When I awoke as a critical case.
Never had I seen your eyes so tearied blue.
Never had I felt your aching heart so true.

Weeks had slidden by
While in a coma I did lie.
You must have trembled deep inside.
You must have shuttered at my bedside.

They said it was a mystery
What I imbibed so viscerally.
They knew I must’ve wanted to die.
They knew my chances were not high.

Yet lying in that bed,
Only emptiness filled my head.
I could not recall what I had done.
I could not reveal my mind to anyone.

Regret I did not feel
For I knew not how I could heal.
My pain still stuck to my sad soul.
My pain still sucked my essence whole.

Yet when I peered into your eyes
I found an unexpected surprise.
I had been wrong that you lacked love for me.
I had been wrong that my life wasn’t meant to be.

At that moment I did decide
That in misery I would not hide.
I’d fight the darkness that plagued me so.
I’d fight the sickness that tried to grow.

I put my life into your hands
And I followed all your mands.
It took trust to drop my worn-out crutches.
It took time to build up my new trusses.

Today my spirit’s strong
For I follow a sweeter song.
Always will I push past the agony.
Always will I honor your love for me.

I gathered everything that I was and locked you away in a box.

I hurled the key as far as I could off the edge of my sanity — sending it out into the vast universe, with all of your accompanying memories.

I prayed I would never have to see you again.

And then, I left you there.

————————————————————

Years pass until one day someone walks by, not for the first time, but this is the time that matters because of everything that comes next.

Just a tiny graze and just a whisper of a breeze is all that is felt as they brush past… but it vibrates all of the shattered pieces inside of me.

Instead of hearing the cacophony of ugly noise I’ve grown accustomed to, I hear a soft and blissful sound emanating from my broken mess.

The melody resounds inside of my being filling me with an old sensation.

I’m not the only one who hears the sweet sound.

I notice the stranger noticing, as they ask,
“Is this yours?”
Holding up a beautiful key.

It looks like something I would cherish, but it isn’t something I recognize.

“Sorry, that isn’t mine,” I swear to him.

————————————————————

I accidentally walk past him again and again, but then it quickly turns into on purpose.

I can’t get enough of the sweet sound that erupts from my mess when he walks by.

I wish he could just keep walking by, letting his breeze make my melody sing.

I just want to relish in the intoxicating music as long as possible.

That’s all I’m here for, I promise.

And yet he stops and pulls out the key exclaiming, “I know this belongs to you! I found it and have held onto it in hopes that I would find the owner someday.”

“That is a spectacular key! Again, sadly, it’s not mine. I don’t even have anything to unlock!” I try my best to convince him.

Why does he insist on giving me this key that is not mine?

Yes, it’s divine and it does seem oddly familiar, but it couldn’t be mine.

I’m not the type of person who would have such an ornate key.
And if I even HAD a key, mine could not be so extraordinary.

But damn, how I wish that was my key, so fucking badly.

————————————————————

Someday I want a key like that for my own.

I can slowly forage around and find the materials I need to make it.

Possibly one day I will try to forge a key of my own… it would be so nice if I did.

Maybe I will.

Here he comes again, now with a chain around his neck wearing the key proudly.

The way he displays it, the key appears even more brilliant and tantalizing.

As if my staring makes the key grow too warm on his chest, he lifts it and says “Please take it, the key is yours. I know it is yours. I know that YOU know it is yours!”

“Why do you care so much? Why is it so important you find the owner?” I plead.

He asked, “Don’t you see, it has a match?”

Revealing from his opposite hand a larger, just as striking key.

“It matches mine.”

Then I remember the girl I locked in the box and I run to free you immediately.

There you are.

My much younger self would have been shocked today:

I wear jeans as much as I love jean skirts,

Would had strongly suggested that I had strayed.

Now in childhood, it wasn’t always like this before.

Used to wear all kinds of mismatches, costumes, shoes, and

Even display self to explore.

Then one day became part of a group,

A strict fundamental sort, was very welcoming,

And had let me into their troop.

There were rules, too many to count.

We don’t do this or that,

All would come at the cost of the amount.

“We must wear skirts from now on,”

What I was told——so unfortunate to me that never happened before,

Was now the new change that was thrust upon.

“You would make boys lust and sin,

It would be your fault, and you wouldn’t look good in pants,”

The disheartening words I then let my mind enter in.

Hem must be way below the knees.

No slip of any kind should be showing nor any see-through,

And the butt part of the material must never have a tight squeeze.

For most of my teen years, I was a happy advocate.

After all, girls can do anything in a skirt!

Beliefs and dreams of mine back then seemed to be going straight.

Unfortunately, everything came crashing down when we had to leave.

For they then started teaching things that didn’t sit right,

Things that we knew wholeheartedly did not believe.

Looking back, I bet my parents felt awful.

Taking us away from one church to a different one,

But they wanted us to grow and live by the true Gospel.

I will admit, for two years I was grieved.

I thought I knew who I was, who I thought I was to be,

Used to be fully confident that my dreams would achieved.

Now, from one big church building to a tiny congregation in a small community hall,

I was not used to it, I wanted to go back, yet I knew what fundamentals taught

That they weren’t fully right in their teachings at all.

Through the next few years I still wore jean skirts,

I still believed in it and was very comfortable. Well, also didn’t want to distract

Guys and remembered all the fat girl insecurities that still hurts.

I got to be part of ministry groups in different states.

All of them kind people, working together, challenging good traits,

None was judging or condemning anyone in humiliating disgrace.

I met many women in jeans and pants, never wore in any sexual way.

They were all in heights, shapes, weights, shades, and all radiantly beautiful.

None of the gentlemen had a look toward the opposite gender like prey.

It was all very new thought to me;

In a new environment, a new life, would it be okay to change completely,

Even if it means not every one of the old friends will agree?

In this world, it says “Go for it! Rebel!”

Please understand, not everyone wants to change very quickly,

For patience takes time for a person’s life on a whole new level.

I studied the beliefs, asked questions, and many a time thought and prayed——

Change a lifestyle to wearing jeans, no turning back, explore, and create new dreams.

A part of me wanted to try, yet another was afraid.

What if I didn’t look good in pants because of no thigh gap?

How do I handle response, criticism, or judgment? Then again, I can no longer live in

The past, so out of questions and doubts I snap.

Getting back into wearing jeans felt…surreal yet weird.

I started wearing them at home, then later in town, then in other places.

I did get stared at by those who knew me and wished their stares disappeared.

Half a decade later I’ve gotten used to this living.

I have no regrets about this change, this chapter, the awesome fashion in my wardrobe.

A new kind of happiness called joy is worth every day reliving.

I have no grudges on those long ago by what they taught.

Sometimes many have good things to share, to teach, to learn, to encourage,

But in the end, self becomes the center instead of individuals they forgot.

I have a man who loves me for my heart more than my body.

New faces and strangers see me for my character, smile, testimony, and what I can give.

For the last few words to say here with my coffee:

Clothing does speak of a person but never use it to curse.

Have a lovely heart, a kind face, live joyfully, be a beautiful person always——

That was how I went to jeans from jean skirts.