There’s always a moment. 

The moment you can never forget.
The one that splits your life into two parts: before and after. 

For me, that moment was a phone call.
My daughter’s voice was shaking.
Then she said the words that dropped me to my knees:
“Mom, I lost Austin.” 

My body collapsed before my mind even caught up.
I didn’t cry. I wailed. From deep in my chest.
Nothing prepares you for that kind of pain. 

Before That Day 

I thought I knew what grief was.
I didn’t. 

Before that day, life felt normal.
Busy. Full. Focused.
Then in one second, everything changed. 

That’s the thing about loss—it doesn’t ask permission.
It doesn’t knock politely.
It shows up, uninvited, and wrecks everything in its path. 

After the Call 

After that moment, the world went silent.
Time didn’t slow down. It disappeared. 

The grief took over my entire body.
My chest ached. My stomach twisted.
I couldn’t think, sleep, or breathe right. 

And the world?
The world just kept going. 

People said things like:
“He’s in a better place.”
“Time will heal this.”
“You’ll get through it.” 

But none of that helped.
I didn’t want comfort.
I wanted my person. 

Searching for Help 

I searched for something—anything—that would help.
But what I found was surface-level advice and tired clichés.
Support groups where no one was really healing.
Books that told me to be strong, to move on, to let go. 

What I needed was truth.
Someone who wasn’t afraid of my pain.
Someone who had been there. 

That’s why I created The Grief School.
Because I realized no one was coming to save me.
And I didn’t want another woman to feel as alone as I did. 

You Don’t Have to Live Like This 

I remember one night, lying on the floor, whispering to myself:
“I can’t live like this anymore.” 

It wasn’t a breakdown.
It was the beginning of healing. 

Not because I had the answers.
But because I finally stopped running.
I stopped pretending I was okay. 

And that’s when I started to grieve that shit—out loud, for real. 

If You’re There Now… 

If you’ve had your day—the day it all fell apart—please hear me: 

You are not broken.
You are grieving.
And you don’t have to carry this pain forever. 

This pain is real.
This story is yours.
But you can still heal. 

And when you’re ready, I’ll be here. 

Join me in Study Hall or explore The Processing the Pain of Grief Program.
Because no one should have to do this alone.