I’m a recovering Christian who went to seminary thinking I’d found my place — only to be shamed and abandoned by people I trusted when I came out as queer. I know what it’s like to have your identity collide with your faith, and to carry the weight of that rejection for years.

I know the silence and shame that comes with burnout in emergency services — because I lived it. I spent years working as a firefighter, sacrificing my mental health to stay strong, afraid that asking for help would cost me my job. I know the pressure to perform, to push through, to prove your worth in systems that never stop asking for more.

I was also an athlete for most of my life. Two-a-day practices, all-in mindset, living and breathing for the game — until I realized that kind of tunnel vision can wreck your body, your mind, and your relationships if you never come up for air.

But I came out the other side — softer, stronger, and more compassionate than I ever thought I’d be.

Now I’m a loving wife and mom, building a life I don’t want to escape from. My happy place is the backyard — watching my kids run wild with our dogs, my supportive wife by my side, soaking in the magic of the everyday.

I don’t believe in fixing people.

I believe in walking with them — especially when it’s messy, painful, or uncertain.

And I believe your story, like mine, deserves to be honored in all its gritty, beautiful truth.