It's hard to believe it's been 10 months since my accident. It's been quite a journey. I went from the trauma unit to an acute care hospital, connected to more life support machines than I could count. One by one, I was able to come off each machine until I was finally discharged at the end of December. When I got home, I spent about a month in bed. I couldn't do much for myself and had to slowly rebuild my strength. I started going to the gym once a week, and after a couple of months I was finally able to get a caretaker who could take me two or three times a week. That's when I really started making progress. But recovery hasn't been a straight line. My amputated leg had complication after complication, and the wounds wouldn't heal for months. Even though I received my prosthetic leg on February 10, I couldn't safely wear it until the very end of April because the wounds wouldn't close. Just when I started walking with my prosthetic at the gym, I ...
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There was a time I silenced myself—
Not because I had nothing to say,
But because I thought nobody cared.
It all started when I became a photographer.
I spent years capturing other people’s stories—their moments, their milestones, their memories. I poured myself into their light while quietly fading into the background. No one ever really asked about my story.
Then I moved to a town where, oddly enough, that silence deepened. Coming from Orange County, I was used to people being curious—wanting to know me, connect with me. But after moving to Lake Elsinore, it felt like no one gave two shits about who I was or what I’d lived through. Even in my church community—despite showing up, attending events, trying to build relationships—no one asked. No one seemed to care.
So, over time, I just stopped sharing.
I stopped offering anything at all.
For years, I silenced myself.
Not because I had nothing to say—
But because nobody asked.
Then came the stroke.
Afterward, I stuttered and stumbled over words. In my mind, everything was crystal clear—but getting it out felt like a battle. I’d get flustered. Embarrassed. I was ashamed of how I sounded, how I struggled. I was afraid of looking stupid.
So again, I went quiet.
But the truth is… I’d been holding back long before the stroke.
I’d spent too many years believing I didn’t matter.
That my voice didn’t matter.
That I was easier to love when I was silent.
And somewhere along the way… I gave my power away.
But something changed after my near-death experience.
Something woke up inside me.
I made a decision:
If I’m still here, I’m going to live a life that matters.
Not just for me—
But for the people who feel disconnected.
The ones who feel like they’re too broken, too far gone, too stuck.
Because I’ve been there. I’ve lived that.
And now, even though I still trip over my words sometimes…
I speak.
Because the truth I carry in my heart is louder than my fear.
Yes, I may still feel nervous speaking in public.
But I’m more afraid of leaving this world with my story still inside me.
So I speak—shakily, slowly, imperfectly—
Because someone out there needs to hear it.
And if that someone is you, just know this:
Your voice matters.
Your story matters.
And it’s never too late to reconnect with your soul and start again.
✨
As a coach and energy healing practitioner, I now help others clear the blocks that hold them back—especially in the throat and heart chakras—so they can reclaim their voice, their truth, and their power.
If you've been silencing yourself out of fear, shame, or past trauma... I want to help you get your voice back.
I offer one-on-one coaching and energetic throat clearing sessions to support those who are ready to speak up, stand tall, and live fully expressed.
🔗 You can learn more or reach out to me directly through my website: Artful Living Coaching
Let’s begin the journey back to your voice—together.
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