Where I Started
I want to say something that surprises people: I grew up in a genuinely loving home. My parents adored each other and adored us. There was warmth, there was safety, there was love — real love, freely given. I didn't come from a broken family. I didn't have parents who modeled dysfunction. By every measure, I had a beautiful foundation.
And yet. Somehow, I still grew up carrying a quiet insecurity I couldn't fully explain. A fear that I wasn't quite enough. That I was one misstep away from not being chosen. I don't know exactly where it came from — but it was there, underneath everything, like a crack in otherwise solid ground.
When I started dating him, that insecurity took over completely. I was terrified that I wouldn't be able to find better. So I settled. And once I was in, I convinced myself I could make it work — that if I just loved him well enough, tried hard enough, gave enough — it would become what I hoped it could be.
"I didn't come from a broken home. I came from a loving one. And I still found myself begging to be chosen by someone who never fully chose me. That's how powerful unchecked insecurity can be."
Fire & Gasoline
We married young and fast — two people completely unprepared for what marriage actually requires. Looking back, we were fire and gasoline. He was manipulative; I was insecure. He was controlling; I was codependent. A combination that was never going to end well.
For twenty years, I believed that if I just gave more, sacrificed more, bent a little further — he would finally choose me. Fully. Completely. Instead, the opposite happened. The more I gave, the less I existed. I lost myself piece by piece — my opinions, my boundaries, my sense of who I even was — trying to earn love from someone who had already decided it wasn't worth giving.
The Double Life
He was physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually abusive. I want to be clear about something, though — I don't believe he was trying to be cruel. I believe he was deeply immature and self-absorbed, emotionally stuck somewhere around middle school. Someone who blamed others for his own problems, couldn't control his temper, and always chose the path of least resistance over the hard work of becoming. That almost makes it harder. It's easier to leave a monster. It's much harder to leave someone who simply never grew up — and to stop waiting for the day they finally would.
What made it harder still was that he was an active member of the LDS faith — a bishop, an elders quorum president — one person in public and someone entirely different behind closed doors. I am not someone who pretends well. Living that double life nearly broke me.
"I felt like I was living two lives — the one he wanted everyone to see, and the one behind closed doors. I don't do well with pretending."
Always Moving, Never Rooted
We moved every two years across twenty years — never settling, never rooting, always uprooting. His family was deeply enmeshed in our marriage, and he could never quite choose me over them. I watched him play us against each other for years. When we finally moved out of state to create space, he couldn't stay away from them — and eventually began blaming me for all the family conflict. In the end, he chose to go back to what was easy instead of committing to us and pushing through the hard.
I felt completely unchosen. Unloved. Unprotected.
The Moment I Knew
The moment I knew it was truly over wasn't dramatic. His family came to visit. I chose not to be home — because I finally knew I wasn't emotionally safe there — and he had a complete breakdown. He raged. And I sat there and felt nothing. No fear. For the first time in years, I was completely unmoved.
That stillness wasn't emptiness. It was earned.
"I was able to sit there and watch him rage and feel no fear — because I had been meditating, building myself up, and learning that I didn't need him to give me permission to like myself."
How I Found My Way Back
I had been quietly building something inside me. Meditation was the first thing that shifted the ground beneath my feet. I stopped measuring my worth against whether he was happy, whether he wanted me, whether I was doing enough. For the first time, I started coming back to myself.
After that, feminine energy work taught me what it felt like to live in my body again — to be soft and strong at the same time, without apology. Intentional thought work helped me choose which stories I was going to believe about myself. And journaling helped me get the chaos out of my head and onto the page, where I could finally see it, name it, and release it.
Who I Am Now
Today I know exactly who I am. I feel a trigger and I know what to do with it. I don't spiral. I don't chase validation. I don't shrink to make someone else comfortable. I know what I'm worth — and I know exactly what I will and will not accept.
I am feminine. I am confident. I am at peace.
I love who I am. I know there are people who will love me just as I am — and I get to attract those people. I don't have to chase anyone. I don't have to work for love. I refuse to be with someone who doesn't choose me with his whole heart.
Why I Coach
I became a coach because I spent too many years feeling stuck — not because I wasn't strong enough, but because no one had ever shown me that I was valuable. That I was worth loving. That I was easy to love.
The tools that changed my life — meditation, feminine energy work, intentional thought work, journaling — they aren't complicated. But they are transformative. And every woman on the other side of an abusive, controlling, or emotionally exhausting relationship deserves access to them.
That's what The Unshaken Woman is. It's what I wish someone had handed me twenty years ago.
If you're ready to stop performing strength and start actually feeling it — I would be honored to walk that road with you.