About The Author

I’m the girl that claps her hands and snorts when something is seriously funny.

I have 2 awesome little men who challenge me and make me face palm, and a husband who entertains my need to create, whether it’s a kitchen backsplash or a turkey dinner.

I work one on one with clients who need some modifications to their self-talk, assist in neutralizing their anxiety, and coach them as they embrace this life. My goal is to connect your inflammation (mental, emotional, and physical) to your life experiences and shatter the crap out of your limited thinking.

Catch me on Facebook or Instagram… and the odd YouTube video

This Life Turns Me On


Women everywhere, worried they are going to shit the table in delivery, and I was wielding a hammer,

“I could definitely tear down this wall between our room and that stupid small room and make an awesome master bedroom! -And if I do it before Michael comes home, there is a chance he won’t notice. I mean, he barely notices when I cut my hair. There’s barely a difference.

So, 7 months round, I pounded through the drywall.

I was used to Michael working late hours so by the time he came home, it was well into the evening and I met him at the stairs. Before I could bat my eyes, he commanded, “What did you do?” This was a similar concern he gave me just a couple years prior when I came home with 7 cats.  In fairness, he did encourage me to volunteer to pet cats at the local animal shelter when I insisted I needed some furry love.

In writing this, I recognize 1 of 2 things could very well be our marital truth and so I share with you my genius:

1.) I am most probably for sure a sex goddess. I mean, I must be hella good in bed if he can still put up with my adventures…. For all you women out there wondering what my ‘special’ move is, it’s lying on my back creating bedsheet ‘snow’ angels. You’re welcome.

Or 2.) His version of a sense of humor (British, gah), is also his approach to handling conflict. To the bystander, his statue-like response can seem baffling, and far-too polite, and that would be relatively adequate. I’d like to think the inside of his eye lids read, “Shut up, you’re totally getting ‘the special’ tonight if you act cool.”

Before Michael could fully admire my craft, to be clear I am referring to the wall, and not bow-chicka-wow-wow; I was hunched over in incredible pain. This was it. I was sure.

The ambulance came, and every time I think of the paramedic who escorted me for those 10 solid minutes, he becomes even wiser and more beautiful. The hero of his own narrative, he went on about how ‘all of the statistical pregnancy and parenting books’ are total shit and need to be burned as all they do is make your pregnancy look like an anomaly, and your child look like an idiot.

Next time I retell the story, I might include a majestic unicorn. I feel it’s owed. Anyways, once we arrived at the hospital he proudly announced to the nurse, “Mary is here, Jesus is coming.”

3 things to mention:

1.) It was Christmas Eve

2.) When comparing baby names, Michael wanted to name our child Jesus or Richard (purely to call him Dick) and was quickly revoked of all naming rights, but the paramedic announcing my arrival in such a way, re-sparked that conversation for the next 2 months for when our baby did arrive.

3.) I was NOT ready for a baby.

That boy is now a week away from turning 5, his beefcake ‘little’ brother is 3, and even as a ‘seasoned mom’, I’m still not ready for a baby – and you never really are because no two experiences are alike.

In all things know, you are doing the best you can, and yes, that is always good enough because you are more than good enough.

And if you feel your story is lacking magic, add a unicorn.