Q. When you look back, where do you think your story really began?

A. I think it began long before I knew what I wanted to do. It started with paying attention—listening to people, noticing what went unsaid, sensing the weight behind ordinary moments. I didn’t have language for it then, but I was already collecting stories.

Q. What early experience shaped how you see the world today?

A. Growing up around people who didn’t always feel seen or heard shaped me deeply. I learned early that everyone carries more than they show, and that truth lives in the quiet details. That awareness never left me.

Q. What’s a challenge that tested you more than you expected?

A. Learning to trust my own voice. Not just as a writer, but as a person. It’s one thing to work hard—it’s another to believe you’re allowed to take up space. That took longer than I thought it would.

Q. Was there a moment when things didn’t go as planned—and how did you adapt?

A. There were many. Careers rarely move in straight lines. When doors closed, I learned to pause instead of panic—to ask what else might be possible. Adaptation, for me, has often meant slowing down and listening harder.

Q. What did failure teach you that success never could?

A. Failure taught me humility and patience. It taught me that effort doesn’t always equal outcome—and that resilience matters more than momentum. Success feels good, but failure builds muscle.

Q. What’s a belief you had early on that you’ve had to unlearn?

A. That being good meant being quiet. That working harder would automatically lead to being recognized. I’ve had to unlearn the idea that worth is something you earn instead of something you already have.

Q. How do you keep moving forward when motivation fades or doubt shows up?

A. I don’t wait for motivation anymore. I show up anyway—sometimes gently, sometimes imperfectly. I’ve learned that consistency carries you farther than inspiration ever will.

Q. What habit or mindset helped you through a difficult season?

A. Returning to the work, even in small ways. One page. One paragraph. One honest thought. Progress doesn’t always look dramatic—it often looks quiet and steady.

Q. Who or what supported you when you needed it most?

A. The people who knew me before the accomplishments—and loved me anyway. Family, close friends, and a few voices who reminded me who I was when I forgot.

Q. What’s something people don’t see about the effort behind what you do?

A. The emotional labor. The revisions no one sees. The sitting with uncertainty. Writing—and building anything meaningful—requires staying present with discomfort longer than most people realize.

Q. How has your definition of success changed over time?

A. Success used to mean recognition. Now it means alignment. Waking up knowing my work reflects my values—and that I still have energy left for the people I love.

Q. What lesson took the longest to fully understand?

A. That rest isn’t a reward—it’s a requirement. Burnout doesn’t mean you’re committed; it means you’re depleted. Learning to stop before breaking was hard-earned.

Q. What advice would you give someone facing a similar challenge today?

A. Be patient with yourself. You’re not behind—you’re becoming. Progress counts even when it’s invisible, and your voice matters even before anyone applauds.

Q. What keeps you grounded when things get busy or overwhelming?

A. Rituals. Quiet moments. Remembering why I started. And staying connected to the people and stories that remind me what actually matters.

Q. When you think about what’s ahead, what kind of story do you hope you’re continuing to build?

A. One rooted in honesty and connection. A story where curiosity stays alive, courage grows with age, and the work continues to serve something larger than me.