I grew up homeschooled on a small horse farm, and that's where most of what I believe about people took root. Some of my best early teachers didn't come from a textbook. One of them was a horse named Honey. On a farm, you learn early that there are a hundred ways to do something right, and most of them don't look like what the textbook says. You learn by doing, by paying attention, and by showing up again tomorrow. 

When I entered traditional school, I was flagged as dyslexic and told, formally, by a test, that I probably shouldn't expect to graduate. I graduated anyway. Then I earned my Bachelor of Social Work summa cum laude, and my Master of Science in Social Work on the dean's list.

I'm not sharing that to brag. I'm sharing it because being misread by a system so early shaped how I see everyone I work with. A score, a label, or a hard season is never the whole story. Most of the time, the person isn't the problem. The environment is.

In high school, I didn't find my confidence in a classroom. I found it in structure, discipline, and endurance: JROTC, drill team, Raiders, and eventually running.

That discipline carried me further than I ever expected. Over the next decade, I ran twelve full marathons and twenty-four half marathons, and I crossed two Ironman finish lines. I became a personal trainer and STOTT Pilates instructor, and I spent years helping women get stronger physically, mentally, and in their relationship with themselves.

Every mile and every client taught me the same lesson: people are shaped by their environments far more than they realize. Change the environment, and the behavior follows.

Then, after years of working across fitness, hospitality, health, and corporate settings, and riding out everything COVID changed, I hit a wall. Deep burnout. Professional disillusionment. A year of stillness I didn't choose but desperately needed.

That year humbled me. It taught me that knowing what's good for you and actually living it are two very different things, even for someone who coaches it for a living. Finding my way back meant looking honestly at the parts of my life I'd stopped noticing. One of the first was my phone: I'd been scrolling through everyone else's highlight reel while my own story sat unwritten. The system I built to change that became the F.E.E.D. Method, and it's one of the tools I still use with clients today.

Now I bring all of it into my coaching: the farm kid who learned by doing, the student who was told she wouldn't make it, the athlete who learned how to keep going, the social worker who studies how environments shape us, and the woman who burned out and rebuilt.

"I don't think people need more shame or more willpower. I think they need better systems, stronger standards, and environments that support who they're trying to become."

If you've ever looked up and realized you've spent years consuming, saving, planning, and waiting while the thing you actually want sits untouched, I know that feeling. You don't need another reset. You need a system that changes how you come back.

That's what I do. And that's why I'm here.