Before my accident, I kept saying the same thing to myself: I want to be in the best shape of my life when I turn 60. I meant it. I was hiking, walking, going to the gym. I was building strength in my body and imagining a future where I kept getting stronger, not weaker. Then the accident happened. I was still 59. I turned 60 in a hospital bed. I lost a leg. I fractured my other leg in multiple places. I broke ribs. I had vertebrae injuries. My body went into heart and kidney failure. Pain became constant, not occasional. Everything I thought I was building… was suddenly gone. And for a long time, I couldn’t understand something: If I was focusing on health, strength, and vitality… how did I end up here? I used to think maybe I did something wrong. Maybe I thought wrong. Maybe I “manifested” the wrong thing. But I’m starting to see something different now. Life isn’t a formula where good thoughts guarantee safe outcomes. Bodies exist in a world where accidents happen, s...
When I decided to leave modeling, I unknowingly started playing down my energy and dimming my light. I’ve always known I have a powerful presence — I am a strong, intelligent, confident woman — but somewhere along the way, I believed I had to make myself smaller to let others shine.
One of the reasons I left modeling was because I grew tired of constantly scrutinizing myself — wondering if I was too tall, too short, too fat, too skinny, or just too something. The modeling industry is complex, and different countries often favor different looks.
I secured a contract to spend three months in Tokyo, where a casting agent told me I was “too beautiful for Tokyo.” I believe this was because of my chiseled features, which were better suited for high fashion and European runway work. Instead of feeling confident, I was left confused. I didn’t know how not to be a high-fashion model — after all, that’s what I thought I was there for. But in Japan, the industry often favored softer, rounder features, which didn’t align with my look.
I share this story because it’s yet another example of how I felt pressured to dim my light to fit someone else’s needs. I was expected to become “cutesy,” but that’s not who I am. I’m sophisticated, confident, and poised. Yet, because I had a three-month contract, I was forced to shift my energy and try to fit into a box that didn’t match my essence. All the while, I kept asking myself: If that’s not what they were looking for, why was I there? Despite the challenges I faced, it was still a beautiful experience. Being able to go to Japan and explore incredible cities — including the island of Sapporo — was truly one of the most amazing experiences of my life. The culture, the scenery, and the opportunity to see different parts of the country enriched me in ways I’ll always cherish.
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After leaving modeling, I managed contestants for the Miss Beverly Hills pageant and worked with ilive.com, broadcasting internet shows. I poured my knowledge and energy into shaping and mentoring these young women. But in doing so, I felt the need to dim my own light to make theirs shine brighter. When people said, “You should have been Miss Beverly Hills,” it felt like a contradiction to everything I was trying to achieve for these girls.
Later, as a photographer, I found myself stepping into the background yet again, blending in and making it all about others. I toned down my energy to avoid drawing attention to myself. I was aware of my presence and power, but by constantly dimming my light, I started blocking my true self and all my potential.
I also lost my voice along the way. Photography is a visual medium, and my interactions were limited to booking processes and directing clients during shoots. After that, I didn’t engage much with people. Working from home in a semi-rural area for nearly a decade, compounded by the pandemic, intensified my isolation. The lack of communication, combined with a stroke that affected my fluency, made it difficult to form sentences and connect with others. Social isolation left me feeling awkward and disconnected.
I’ve learned that isolation is not healthy if you want to maintain a sharp mind and a strong spirit. Conversations and connections are essential. Silence — especially self-imposed silence — can be destructive. Nobody silenced me; I silenced myself. That was a huge mistake, and I’ll never do that again.
Now, I know better. I have a lot to say — and I intend to share my ideas, opinions, knowledge, and wisdom with others. My voice matters. My light matters. And I’m here to shine, fully and unapologetically.
I would never advise anyone to dim their light for others. If you feel the need to shrink so someone else can shine, perhaps you’re in the wrong place. You should never suppress your energy, your power, or your brilliance. It’s not good for your spirit, your soul, or your growth.
Getting back to who you truly are takes work, but it’s worth it. So please — don’t dim your light. Don’t turn down your energy. Shine fully, unapologetically, and without hesitation. The world needs your light, and you deserve to shine.
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