Becoming the woman She Needed

Growing up a podunk, bullied tomboy with home haircuts, buck teeth, and capitalized and lowercase T traumas, I longed for love and acceptance.

Since my days roaming those small-town pastures, I’ve accomplished a lot—produced a short film, written a best-selling memoir, created a podcast, traveled the world, earned six figures, and more.

But if I’m being radically honest? Pieces of my creations came from a place of not feeling worthy or good enough.

A place where if I do X, Y, and Z, then I’ll be worthy of love, pride, or acceptance.

I now understand that an overactive response to not feeling worthy can be perfectionism. Couple that with people-pleasing, and I did all the things—honor society, straight A’s, student council, degrees, certifications—morphing into who I thought others wanted me to be. I checked every box I thought would make me worthy of love and belonging. And on the other end of the pendulum? I chased validation everywhere. Believe me, I probably tried them all—shopping, sex, substance abuse, black-out drinking, travel, and even spiritual practitioners. I kept seeking external solutions for an internal ache. 

I spent so many years being what I thought everyone else wanted me to be that I didn’t know who I was anymore. Once I’d achieved what the world told me would make me happy, and it didn’t, I had a breakdown in my closet. But that led to a breakthrough, a reckoning, and a redirection. I finally placed my attention inward and started asking myself questions. Who am I? Why am I here? What do I want? How do I want to express myself?

Confidence and self-esteem were built, brick by brick, through devotion, discipline, and an unwavering commitment to showing up for myself… as myself. I believe people are inherently worthy, but to truly believe that about myself? That took repetition. Consistency helped grow my belief. Every time I honored my word—whether it was meditating when I said I would, pushing my edges, showing up on my yoga mat, or following my creative desires—I built trust in myself.

Instead of sticking to a rigid routine, which I undoubtedly tried for years, I asked myself, what will nourish me in this moment? What is my body and spirit calling for? Journaling and reflective writing. Movement. Stillness. Listening to myself. Exploring shadows. Play and pleasure. Honoring my body with hell yes clothing—because when I wear what makes me feel alive, I move differently in the world and carry myself with the energy of someone who knows their worth. From infrared sauna sessions to guided ketamine therapy, I eventually emerged from a once suicide-ideating place with self-compassion, realizing my tenderness was a gift and grounded in my true essence. 

Fear, for me, became a compass. I used to think fear meant stop, but now I see it as a signal—showing me where I’m deeply invested. If something scares me that isn’t truly for my safety, it’s because it matters to me. So, I get curious. Instead of running from fear, I write it out, speak it aloud, ask where it’s coming from, and go into it. I remind myself why I’m doing the thing in the first place. A potent, well-defined why carries me through the doubt, the discomfort, the moments where I want to shrink back into the familiar.

But fear isn’t just about investment—it’s also a call for more love. Radical self-love. A deeper embrace of all the parts of me, even the ones that still feel tender, afraid, or uncertain. Fear shows me where I need to pour in gentleness, compassion, and acceptance. It asks me to love myself through the fear, not just beyond it. To offer radical acceptance of every part of me and recognize how they’ve all worked for me. (Yep, talking to you, anxiety. I love you, too.)

Writing my book was one of my greatest acts of self-love. With every word, I witnessed myself, giving voice to my journey and realizing just how much I had overcome. Journaling, too, was my mirror—showing me not just where I struggled but where I triumphed. I continue to write down my celebrations because they are fuel for my journey. Even if what I’m celebrating that day is rest or making breakfast.

I’ve also learned to give myself permission to be new at things. Perfection isn’t required; presence is. Confidence isn’t about being the best—it’s about being in it, willing to stumble, learn, keep going, and knowing that no matter what happens, I’ve got me.

Of course, self-esteem isn’t a straight line. I’ve fallen off, doubted myself, and had seasons where I isolated. But self-worth is built in the circling back. Giving myself grace, listening to my inner guide, and choosing—again and again—to stand in devotion to the person I am becoming. So, I crafted a vision of who I dream to be and how I wish to contribute. I consciously weave in her essence now while simultaneously being happy and grateful right where my boots are. 

Being here now. 

Being the woman who would have shown up for that tomboy.

Being the woman she’s proud to have become.