09/08/2026
I am 55 years old.
Fifty-five years on this earth. That feels impossible and sacred.
I’m thinking about the little be-bop girl roller-skating at the Roller Palace in Brooklyn. The girl who spent summers at Ortley and Brighton Beach. The girl who stood in Slide Rock in Arizona and said, “I’m going to live here one day.”
And I did.
I’m also reflecting on what I endured and survived.
For over 20 years, I endured severe abuse from a husband who was supposed to be my safe place. I am grateful to be free, but freedom does not erase the scars.
My body kept the score.
It lives with C-PTSD, MCAS, EDS, POTS, chronic pain, fear, and exhaustion. My heart wants to explore, work out, love my family, and enjoy this freedom. Sometimes my body cannot keep up.
But that is not my whole story.
I survived. I met the love of my life, the man God placed beside me to be my rock. I became a mother, a Bubbie, and a business owner. I built something meaningful after walking through the fire.
My clients trust my expertise and helped me find confidence I never knew before. I didn’t simply build a business. I rebuilt myself.
The scared little mouse became both a gentle lamb and a lion. I found my words and learned I am allowed to use them. I can be strong while still needing tenderness and the emotional equivalent of a chunky chenille blanket.
God’s hand has always been on my life, even when I didn’t recognize it. At 55, I see what I wish I had done differently. But I know God is working behind the scenes, turning pain into purpose and scars into compassion.
To my parents and family, I love and appreciate you beyond words. Even when my body limits me, I pray for you daily.
To my grandchildren, your Bubbie’s love lives in every FaceTime, text, prayer, and countdown until our NJ sleepovers begin again.
Vulnerability is hard, but someone may be in the fire, unable to imagine who she could become when she walks out.
I want her to know:
Freedom is possible.
Love can still find you.
God has not forgotten you.
Your voice is still inside you.
Beneath the scars, a beautiful life is waiting.
I am still healing.
Still learning.
Still becoming.
And I am so grateful to be here.