My Early Years
I was born in the small town of Spirit River, in the old Catholic hospital. My parents had recently bought a property 45 minutes northwest of town in the homesteading community of Silver Valley. When they brought me home, we had to travel the last couple of miles by tractor and wagon, and I rode in a paper box—there was no road yet.
For the first years of my life, we had no electricity or phone, relying on a generator for what little power we needed. Winters meant moving deep into the bush, where my father worked bucking logs for an onsite sawmill. Over time, my parents built up a herd of cattle and transitioned to full-time farming.
We were Conservative Mennonite, attending a small church with local members. Eventually, the church built a private school, where I went for my education. At 13, I was baptized and became a member of the church.
Shortly after, my parents were called to be missionaries in Haiti, and we spent the next several years traveling back and forth until I was 21. Those years were some of the most memorable of my life. We ran the mission headquarters, met people from all walks of life, and explored different parts of the island. More than anything, I cherished the time spent with the local people, learning their culture and way of life.
Love, Loss and Redefining My Path
In my early to mid-20s, I married. My husband’s background was different from mine—he had moved from Ontario and had grown up Old Order Mennonite, using horse and buggy. Over the next decade, we had three daughters.
Eventually, our marriage ended, and I found myself raising my girls alone while navigating separation and divorce. As I processed my own personal losses, I also realized that I no longer found the mental and spiritual support I needed in the church. I made the difficult decision to leave the only faith community I had ever known.
With that decision came an immense shift. Leaving meant letting go of a strict system of right and wrong, but I had no roadmap for what came next. Many of the choices I made—big or small—were viewed as "wrong" or "sinful" by the church, making it incredibly difficult to guide my daughters through our new life.
Then, life delivered another devastating loss. When my middle daughter was 22, she was in a fatal car accident. The grief was indescribable. Because of the pandemic, we were only allowed 50 people at her burial. Within just seven months, my entire world shifted—I went from having all three of my daughters living at home to none. One had passed, and the others were stepping into their own lives. The emptiness was overwhelming.
Healing, Purpose & The Path Forward
The last few years have been a journey of deep healing—mentally, emotionally, and physically. I have learned that grief, transition, and uncertainty can feel like being tossed in an endless storm. But I have also learned that even in the darkest moments, there is still a way forward.
Now, I am stepping into a new chapter. I am ready to do something that brings me joy. Through my lived experiences, I have gained insight, resilience, and a deep understanding of life's hardest transitions. And now, I am using all of it to support others.
I know what it feels like to stand at a crossroads, unsure of what comes next. To be overwhelmed by loss, heartbreak, or change. And I also know the power of having someone there—not to fix or rush the process, but to hold space, to listen, and to gently guide the way forward.
That is my passion: helping women navigate life’s transitions—whether it's grief, religious deconstruction, single motherhood, or rediscovering themselves after loss. I create a space where you can breathe, process, and take the next step forward, in your own way, in your own time.
For so long, I wondered why my life had taken so many painful turns. But now I see—this is my gift. Everything I have been through has prepared me to walk alongside others who are finding their way through change.
You are not alone.
If you are standing at a transition in life and feel uncertain about what’s next, I would love to walk alongside you. You don’t have to figure it all out on your own.