“Finding Voice Through Words” For as long as I can remember, I’ve seen the world through the lens of a storyteller. Writing has never been just a creative outlet for me—its been a way to make sense of who I am, my passions, and the quiet pain that comes with struggle. My identity has helped me face every challenge in my life, especially those that taught me how essential compassion & empathy is. I grew up with unique and complex expectations around who I was supposed to be—personally, professionally, and even spiritually. As a child actor in the 1980s, I learned early what it meant to live in public spaces while feeling unseen in private. Being part of that world carried pressures most children never know. Being responsible for the salaries of my adult co-workers is a challenge most children are unequipped to handle. Fame was not my goal but my mother's, and it showed in my performance. The adult expectations sometimes eclipsed the normalcy I craved and I never knew a sense of truly belonging. Later in life, I experienced how those early patterns can re emerge in different forms, including the isolation, misunderstandings, and, most profoundly, my family and legal struggles that shaped my understanding of how important compassion and justice truly is. My identity is multifaceted: I ama writer so I am both a journalist and a survivor of a world most people never see.I am simultaneously a believer and a skeptic, a voice for others and someone still finding their own. These dualities have not been easy to reconcile. I am a paralegal by trade, and I’ve faced misunderstanding because of my openness about my struggles with parental alienation—an issue that society still struggles to name—and my refusal to simplify my experiences for comfort or approval. These obstacles deepened my commitment to authentic expression through writing. They taught me that writing is not merely about eloquence; it is about courage, precision, and truth-telling when silence is the easier choice. Writing became the bridge between pain and purpose. Through years of personal experience, research, articles, and interviews, I learned how to transform private struggle into public conversation. I’ve written about families torn by alienation, about the quiet endurance of faith through suffering, and about the many forgotten voices of children in the legal and child welfare system. Each story has a vulnerability to it that can become advocacy when shaped with intention. It’s not enough to simply describe the hardship; a writer’s task is to reveal the humanity within it. Pursuing writing is not only my passion— I coauthored a best selling book two years ago on overcoming the trauma of the family court system. that was a moment I am so proud of. Now, going back to school has been a continuation of my lifelong mission to write. I believe words can illuminate what institutions overlook and bring healing to spaces fractured by misunderstanding. Whether writing about theology, social justice, or the aftermath of fame, my goal is to show readers that identity is not confined to the my last, but it's the door to an ever-evolving personal narrative. Every hardship becomes a paragraph in a larger story of hope. Writing, for me, has always been a way to express my inner voice. It’s where my weaknesses& sensitivity reside and where memories become something meaningful. I am passionate about writing because it touches lives quietly—starting with the my own—and then rippling outward to touch those who may need to see my experiences in their own reflections. I become someone else’s story and they become mine.

I was 18 years old when I first learned that I inherited, from my father, a rare genetic blood clotting disorder called Anti-thrombin III deficiency. It meant that I was prone to blood clots. It was a cold November night, I was hosting a birthday party when I collapsed. I had pulmonary emboli (clots) in both lungs. I couldn't breathe, had developed pneumonia, and was hospitalized for nearly 6 weeks. I was told that birth control pills was the trigger. When I was pregnant with my son, 5 years later, I had to take blood thinner shots in my stomach. My son was born healthy, and did not inherit it. In another 6 years later, I would have two more episodes, first another pulmonary embolism, followed by hemorrhaging from medication a year after that, to a 3rd episode of clots in my lungs a few months after that. Despite being put on anticoagulants, I would have clots in my calf, then more in my lungs and again in my thighs. I am 52 years old now and have lived through 4 episodes of clots in my lungs, 3 in my calves that didn't move, and two in my thighs. My doctor's have literally told me I shouldn't be alive. But I am. Since writing is my passion, hobby, and gift, I have always felt it was my calling. My son who was miraculously born healthy was later kidnapped from me when he was 8 years old. He was taken by my ex, and never came back home. It would be a decade before we found each other again, but the damage was done. My son had grown into a very broken man, a stranger I love more than life. I co-authored a best selling book about my experiences, and about overcoming the trauma of domestic violence and legal abuse. I have spent 20 years advocating for families in similar situations. Now, at age 52, I've returned to college, pursuing a bachelor's degree in professional writing, with a minor in behavioral health and trauma. I joke that Im doing this because I can't afford therapy. Only it's not really a joke. I'm still trying to heal wounds that will never heal. I'm trying to help others heal. I'm still trying to find a way back to my son, to form a relationship with the stranger who is now a father of 3. I pray that they do not inherit my condition, but if they do I know it's not a death sentence. It may be the beginning of a story that was written generations before.