Phase 1: Falling — Loss and Disorientation

In 2012, my life changed completely. My son had just left for his first year of college, I was going through a divorce, in the early stages of a decade-long illness, and I had recently separated from my job of nearly nine years. Suddenly, everything that had defined my world was gone. I found myself in St. Louis, staying with family, unsure of what my next step would be.

 

After a year of hopelessness, I reached a breaking point. With no plan, no direction, and no idea where life would lead, I hit the road. At the same time, my health was rapidly declining. I was plagued with a long list of mysterious, painful symptoms that no doctor could explain. I was scared, sick, and completely alone.

 

When my family — as gracious as they were — could no longer support me, I headed west. I worried about how I’d get my medication without a permanent home or address, but I went anyway. I lived on the road for four months before reaching California, where I stayed on the beach for a month, trying to find peace and clarity. Eventually, I made my way north and settled in Portland, Oregon.

 

My son had moved to Seattle to find distance and healing from the divorce. Even though he wasn’t speaking to me, I wanted to be close enough to show him I was here — ready and willing to repair what had been broken.

 

When I arrived in Portland, I had no job prospects, and my health left me with little strength to look for one. I was sleeping only a few hours a night and living with constant, excruciating pain. I was in and out of emergency rooms, treated poorly by doctors who saw only an unemployed woman seeking relief. Every test came back negative, and every door seemed to close. I had lost my family, my health, my pets, my job — everything that once gave my life structure and meaning.

 

Phase 2: Breaking — Facing the Depths of Illness

One of the most difficult aspects of my illness was the relentless brain fog, inability to focus, extreme fatigue, and muscle weakness. Even simple tasks felt monumental. Reading, job searching, writing a résumé — all of it was nearly impossible. Watching TV left me feeling numb and depressed, and my options for how to spend my days were painfully limited. Some days, the most I could manage was a shower.

 

During that quiet, difficult time, I began exploring YouTube videos and listening to thought leaders who spoke about the mind, healing, and human potential. Voices like Gabor Maté, Dr. Joe Dispenza, and Dolores Cannon offered new perspectives and glimpses of hope. They helped me realize that even in the midst of illness and isolation, change and growth were possible — that I could begin to reclaim my life, piece by piece.

 

One of the most influential authors I discovered during that time was Jane Roberts, the channel for Seth. Listening to the Seth Speaks audiobooks on YouTube changed everything for me. Seth’s teachings about how our thoughts create our reality resonated deeply — it was as if I had finally found a language for something I’d always intuitively known.

 

Around that same time, I decided to try a free hypnosis session I found online, and the experience absolutely blew me away. For the first time in years, I felt a sense of peace and clarity that I thought I had lost forever. That single moment opened a door — one I’ve never closed since.

 

Driven by curiosity and a growing sense of purpose, I pursued certification in Reiki I and became a Licensed Consulting Hypnotist through the Northwest Guild of Hypnotists. Both of these accomplishments felt like climbing Mount Everest — nearly impossible at times — and yet, somehow, I made it to the top. Just as I began to find my footing again, the world shifted with COVID-19, and once more, everything changed.

 

Phase 3: Awakening — Stepping Into Community

During this time, I also became involved with the Portland Psychedelic Society, and I was honored to be asked to serve as Secretary on the Board of Directors. It was a small sign of progress — life was beginning to feel somewhat better — but the truth was, it was still incredibly difficult. I couldn’t make friends or form relationships; some days, I could barely feed or bathe myself.

 

I had dreams of becoming a hypnotist, but even getting out of bed felt monumental. Participating in Portland Psychedelic Society events and learning about how healing medicines work gave me hope, but I quickly realized that real transformation takes time, effort, and persistence. I also began seeing a therapist, which helped, but again, healing requires patience. Learning, practicing, and discovering what works — and what doesn’t — is not always comfortable.

 

I had gone from a life filled with travel, live music, friends, and comfort to a life that felt like walking through mud — every step a struggle, every day a test of endurance. But despite it all, I stuck with it. I continued to show up for myself, for the work, and for the healing that I knew was possible.

 

 

Phase 4: Rising — Integration, Empowerment, and Mastery

As my healing continued, I began to understand how trauma had shaped every part of my life — not only the trauma I personally experienced in childhood, which was intense and painful, but also the trauma I had normalized through family coping mechanisms. For most of my life, I hadn’t given the child in me the love, safety, or space she needed to be seen and heard.

 

Through deep inner work, I began to see that my pain wasn’t just mine — it was ancestral. My grandfather fought for Germany in World War II, carrying the weight of a generation marked by violence and shame. On my mother’s side, my Gullah ancestors were taken from their homeland, enduring unimaginable suffering that still echoes through generations.

 

Sitting with that lineage of pain, I started making connections — realizing how where I came from shaped the thoughts, beliefs, and behaviors I carried, and how those internalized patterns were still creating my current reality. It was a moment of profound clarity: to truly heal myself, I had to acknowledge and release the trauma woven through my bloodline.

 

As I began to feel a little better, I decided to pursue a degree in psychology. It felt like the perfect way to pass the time during lockdown — something to focus my mind on while the world stood still.

 

My first year was incredibly difficult. My brain fog, fatigue, and pain made reading and writing nearly impossible. Still, I made a promise to myself: I would show up. Every single day. Even if all I could do was listen, I would be there. So I lay in bed with my laptop open, listening to the lectures, absorbing every word. The way my instructors spoke — organized, structured, calm — brought peace to my chaotic mind. Hearing that rhythm of learning gave me something to hold onto.

 

By my second year, I started to feel stronger. I was accepted into a research fellowship, which felt like such a victory. Around that same time, after five years of silence, my sister came back into my life. She brought hope and the possibility of family again. I wanted so badly for us to heal together. But only a month into the new school year, her son — my nephew — was sentenced to 18 years in prison. The news shattered me.

 

All the healing work I had done seemed to vanish overnight. My health collapsed again. To make things even harder, just before returning to school, I had been hit by a truck and required shoulder surgery. My body was exhausted, but I kept going. I attended every class, listened to every lecture, and completed every assignment as best I could.

 

Eventually, I made it through. I completed my bachelor’s degree in psychology and even earned an extended research fellowship over the summer — an experience that tested every ounce of my strength. I don’t know how I did it, but I did.

 

And yet, when I finally graduated, I still wasn’t well. My body was breaking down, but my spirit was still searching — for meaning, for healing, for something beyond the limits of what I had already tried.

 

With nowhere to go, no one to turn to — no family, no friends, and no community in a city where I didn’t know a soul — I felt completely lost. I was sick, broke, and isolated. My days blurred together; I had no schedule, no reason to wake up, and even if I did, my body rarely cooperated. Making plans felt pointless because I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep them.

 

In that emptiness, I decided to chant. Having been born into Buddhism, I reached out to SGI, the spiritual community that had shaped my early years. But this time, instead of attending meetings elsewhere, I opened my own home for weekly chanting sessions.

 

It was a small gesture, but it meant everything. Creating that sacred space gave my days a rhythm, my mind a focus, and my heart a reason to keep going. It was the one commitment I could keep — a thread of meaning and connection that began to weave my life back together.

 

As my mind became clearer, I started to see a bigger picture. My psychology studies had given me language for what I had been living — trauma, neuroplasticity, subconscious patterning — and I began to understand that the key to healing wasn’t outside of me.

 

I realized that no one can heal you. You have to heal yourself.

 

For years, I had chased doctors, tests, and diagnoses, hoping someone would hand me a solution in the form of a pill or a label. But the more I searched outside of myself, the worse I felt. It wasn’t until I turned inward — into my own thoughts, emotions, and energy — that true change began.

 

That’s when hypnosis became more than just a tool. It became my pathway to healing. Hypnosis helped me access the subconscious beliefs that were running my life, the deep-rooted stories that kept recreating pain, fear, and limitation. Through trance work, I learned how to rewrite my reality — not by pretending things were different, but by shifting the thoughts and feelings that were shaping what I experienced every day.

 

This understanding reawakened my purpose. My degree in psychology helped me make a plan for my next step: I want to earn a master’s degree in public health — to help others bridge science, spirituality, and self-healing in a way that creates real, sustainable wellness.

 

Because I’ve learned firsthand that healing isn’t something that happens to you. It’s something that happens through you.

 

Today, I use everything I’ve lived — the pain, the rebuilding, the science, the spirit — to help others reconnect with their own inner power. Real Hypnotic Hypnosis was born from that mission: to guide people back to the place within themselves where change truly begins.

 

My work blends evidence-based methods with spiritual awareness, bridging the subconscious mind and the body’s natural capacity to heal. Every session, every program, and every conversation is designed to remind you that you are not broken — you are becoming.

 

Healing is not about chasing diagnoses or fighting symptoms. It’s about coming home to yourself, reclaiming your story, and creating a life that reflects who you truly are.

 

And if my journey has taught me anything, it’s this: no matter how lost you feel, your mind still holds the map back to wholeness.