This is my story, this is my song….

I’m a mental health and human flourishing coach, writer, worship leader, pastor’s wife, and mom. I hold a Master’s degree in Church Music from Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary and have spent nearly twenty years serving in local church ministry as a worship leader, women’s ministry leader, and pastor’s wife.

But the most important lessons I’ve learned about faith, flourishing, and human resilience didn’t come from a classroom.

They came from the valley.

I am a recovering perfectionist. For most of my life, I operated with a strong pull toward doing things “right.” I believed that if I worked hard enough, learned enough, prayed enough, or followed the right formula, life would unfold the way it was supposed to.

I was so wrong! God had other plans.

My story really began when I fell head over heels for a cute college guy who felt called to ministry. Not long after our wedding, we stepped into seminary life and church ministry in North Carolina. I was leading worship, he was serving in pastoral ministry, and together we felt God stirring something unexpected in our hearts: adoption.

What followed felt like a whirlwind of grace.

Less than five weeks after submitting our adoption application, we were holding our tiny miracle boy. That is a whole other story! Two days later, we found out we were pregnant with our daughter. In the blink of an eye, our family grew from two people to four.

It was beautiful.

It was overwhelming.

And it was only the beginning.

Three years later, our son began struggling in ways we couldn’t explain. What started as intense emotions and hyperactivity gradually escalated into something much more serious. He was so angry. Everything was a battle. He lived in a constant state of fight-or-flight. His diagnoses would eventually include a complex web of Disruptive Mood Dysregulation Disorder (DMDD), anxiety, and ADHD, but for years we had no answers.

Only chaos.

He would become violent during emotional outbursts, attacking whoever happened to be nearby. He would throw objects, put holes in walls, break windows, try to jump out of moving vehicles, and run from the house when overwhelmed. I had a code word for my daughter that meant, “Run to your room and stay there until Mommy gets this under control.”

I loved my son more than life itself.

And I was completely helpless to help him.

From the outside, it often looked like I was simply a bad parent who didn’t effectively discipline and couldn’t control my child. Behind closed doors, our family was fighting a battle few people could see and even fewer understood.

We spent six years searching for answers.

Six years of doctor after doctor.

Six years of therapy appointments that never produced change.

Six years of research. Six years of questions. Six years of fear.

Six years of trying everything we knew to do. Every single day was more heartbreaking than the last.

Meanwhile, life didn’t slow down.

My husband and I moved to Houston to help revitalize a struggling church. COVID arrived mere months after we did. Our church building was struck by lightning a few months after that. Ministry demands piled on. We welcomed another child into our family. Parenting demands intensified.

And somewhere along the way, I lost myself.

For nearly eight years, I lived in survival mode.

I developed severe depression, anxiety, and eventually complex PTSD. My son’s care consumed nearly every ounce of emotional, physical, and mental energy I had. My marriage strained under the weight. We weren’t thriving. We were desperately holding onto each other and onto God.

Then came rock bottom.

One week after receiving my own official diagnosis of severe depression and beginning the long journey toward healing, my son entered the darkest season of his life. He became fixated on self-harm and attempted to act on those thoughts. He was transported to the children’s hospital and placed on suicide watch.

I remember sitting in that cold hospital room wondering how we had ended up there.

I was exhausted. Terrified. Heartbroken.

I was completely out of answers.

And yet, somehow, that was the place where God met me most clearly.

Not with instant solutions.

Not with easy answers.

But with His presence.

The valley became holy ground. When I thought I was going to break, I didn’t. Not because I was stronger than I thought. I wasn’t. But because He carried it all, including me.

From that point forward, God began leading us to the right doctors, the right therapies, the right support, and the right treatment. Little by little, light began breaking through the darkness.

My son is not magically cured.

Life is not perfect. But he is thriving in ways I once thought were impossible.

And so am I.

Today, I hold certifications in Mental Health Coaching and Human Flourishing Coaching and am a Board Certified Master Mental Health Coach. Those credentials matter, but they are not the reason I write.

I write because I know what it feels like to live in survival mode and I know what it feels like to carry burdens that seem impossible.

I know what it feels like to wonder whether healing is possible. And I know what it feels like to discover that flourishing isn’t found in perfect circumstances.

Flourishing is not the absence of hardship. Flourishing is experiencing growth, resilience, purpose, and joy in every season by remaining rooted in Jesus.

“Blessed is the one
    who does not walk in step with the wicked
or stand in the way that sinners take
    or sit in the company of mockers,
But whose delight is in the law of the Lord,
    and who meditates on his law day and night.
That person is like a tree planted by streams of water,
    which yields its fruit in season
and whose leaf does not wither—
    whatever they do prospers.”
Psalm 1:1-3

Psalm 1 describes a tree planted by streams of water that continues to bear fruit regardless of the season around it. That image has become a picture of the life I want to live and the life I want to help other women cultivate.

Because life is messy.

Because ministry is hard.

Marriage requires work.

Motherhood can brutalize your heart.

Mental health journeys are rarely simple.

But when we remain rooted in the One who gives living water, we can flourish even in places we never expected.

So, yeah…
That’s why I’m here.

To encourage women who are tired.

To walk alongside women who are struggling.

To offer practical wisdom, honest reflection, and hope for the journey.

To remind you that you don’t have to have it all together.

To cheer for you as you make your own way through. 

It may be your valley or mountaintop moments, but you’re not walking it alone. You have people walking the same way, going through those things too. 

And we’re here to help you move beyond survival and cultivate a life that flourishes.

I’m so glad you’re here. Let’s do this together.