Let's start here: I grew up being told to shrink, because I already took up plenty of room without trying. Learning support classes. A medical disability that meant I sometimes wet myself in public — which, as a kid, is basically a permanent invitation to the Mean Girl Olympics. Tall, loud, allergic to blending in. .

But underneath all that noise, there was a whisper. Even with the learning disability, the C average, the circumstances everyone assumed would define me, there was this one quiet, unshakeable moment of just knowing. I never told anybody about it. I just followed it — out of the classes I was told I belonged in, into the jobs, the schools, the decisions that actually mattered. It was the only compass I trusted, and it never once steered me wrong.

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Then 2017 happened. A surprise pregnancy my junior year of college — and suddenly everyone had a fresh batch of opinions about what I was and wasn't capable of. A year and a half later, at the end of my first year of grad school, my partner died by suicide. I was in my twenties, a single mother to a one-year-old, and so hollowed out by grief I barely recognized the person doing my grocery shopping.

I did everything I was supposed to do. Therapy twice a week. Movement. Journaling. The whole respectable grief-recovery starter pack. A year later? Still having panic attacks in the shower every morning, letting the water cover the sound of me sobbing before work. Still dreading waking up. Still getting yanked back into that night without warning.

And I was furious — because I was watching thirty-plus of my own clients do the exact same thing. Showing up faithfully, doing the work, and barely moving the needle. I refused to build a career around the idea that one horrific night gets to keep someone underwater forever. That felt like malpractice dressed up as "the standard of care."

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My best friend, in the most loving, most stubborn move she's ever pulled, basically walked me into energy healing and intuitive work. And the relief I felt in that first session — after eighteen months of free-falling — felt like landing. Like I'd finally remembered how oxygen worked. I knew immediately: if this could do that for me in one session, it was going to change lives at scale. I just had to build the bridge nobody had built yet.

So I researched. I trained. I built what I now call The Intuitive Therapy Method™ — my own blend of the best of psychotherapy with energy healing and intuitive strategy, because I refuse to choose between the science that trained me and the gift that had always been running underneath it. Clients who'd been in weekly therapy for over a decade with zero symptom relief became symptom-free within a month. No panic attacks. Clear-headed. Free.

Since then I've helped 500+ people become fully symptom-free. I went from a broke single mom on welfare to a six-figure business owner who gets flown places to talk about this on stages. I'm not telling you this to brag — okay, a little to brag — I'm telling you because I built the Outlier Mastermind for the exact reason I needed it and it didn't exist yet. I know exactly what it costs to have the gift and not have the container built to hold it. I'm here to be your container.

This was never about hitting a revenue number. It's about building something legendary enough to outlive the hours you personally poured into it and a building block I could support my family on — a legacy, not just a good year.