The Story
Every life has rooms we avoid.
This is the story of learning to walk back into them.
Before the book, there were the rooms.
I learned early how to leave parts of myself behind.
How to lock doors quietly.
How to survive by not looking too closely at what hurt.
My life looked functional from the outside, but inside, I was carrying rooms filled with memories I didn’t yet have language for — family rupture, loss, illness, addiction, and the kind of grief that doesn’t announce itself.
I believed healing meant moving forward fast.
I didn’t yet know we carry our rooms with us.
Everything changed when I stopped running.
After a brush with death, a body I didn’t recognize, and a season of deep unraveling, I realized something simple and terrifying:
Healing wasn’t going to happen by closing doors.
It was going to happen by opening them.
Slowly.
Honestly.
Without pretending I was finished.
Sobriety didn’t fix everything.
Therapy didn’t erase the past.
But they gave me the courage to stay in the room instead of escaping it.
This was where the writing began.
Why I write. Why I speak.
I write for people who are functional on the outside and exhausted on the inside.
For those carrying rooms they don’t talk about.
For anyone who has survived, adapted, and wondered if healing is still possible.
My work—on the page and on the stage—is about this truth:
Bravery isn’t about feeling brave.
It’s about showing up anyway.
Room by room.
Breath by breath.