Why the Tiara?
Shortest Short Version: The tiara is a symbol of my reclamation of self after an abusive past.
“I’ll go first.”
I didn’t set out to become a speaker, coach, or advocate. I set out to survive trauma.
On December 7, 1997, there was a bullet with my name on it. But I didn’t die. The bullet never even left the gun. Yet, the damage had been done over all the days and weeks and years that came before that day.
My life began again. I was alive. Except…for years, I lived in partial silence because with domestic violence, sexual abuse, and childhood trauma, there is a certain kind of shame that convinces you your story is something to hide, not something to tell. Oh sure, I did seem to talk about it at times, even writing about it online, but I talked about facts, not feelings. Or I used it as a way to test people: “Now that I told you my story, I bet you don’t like me.” And I’d push them away, afraid to trust, scared of letting anyone really care for me.
Like many survivors of abuse, I became very good at holding everything together on the outside while slowly disappearing on the inside. The weekend after my ex-husband tried–and failed–to end my life, just mere days after seeing his own body lowered into the ground, I was back at work, waiting tables, shoving it all down, refusing to feel all there was to grieve. Life goes on and all that when you have three small children depending on you.
I locked myself down internally. I thought I was protecting myself.
But it was costing me everything—my voice, my identity, my sense of self.
Around 2009, something shifted. While I had already been writing my story and sharing it online more, I hadn’t actively begun the work of healing. Without any real moment I can recall, I made a decision that would come to define not just my healing but my life’s work.
I put on a tiara.
Not because I felt strong or confident. But because I didn’t.
Wearing a tiara in public made people uncomfortable. It made ME uncomfortable. I could feel it—the stares, the questions people didn’t ask, the assumptions. And I made a real connection:
Talking about abuse and trauma makes people uncomfortable, too. They look away. They avert their eyes in the same way people acted when I wore a tiara to the grocery store or while pumping gas.
So I leaned in. I started paying attention and making more connections. I remembered how people looked away my whole life when my bruises showed, when my life was anywhere from messy to downright dangerous. I remembered how they peeked out of curiosity but never engaged, never asked questions.
The tiara became more than an accessory. It became a symbol of reclaiming my voice after domestic violence and all the trauma that came before. A declaration. A way of saying: There is more to this story. You can ask me about it.
That idea would later become my TEDx talk, Ask Me About My Tiara—an invitation into the conversations we’re often too afraid to have. Conversations about abuse recovery, trauma healing, shame, and survival. Conversations that create awareness, deepen empathy, and help others feel less alone.
Because silence keeps people stuck. But stories? Stories are where healing begins.
My healing didn’t happen all at once. Like many journeys of trauma recovery, it came in layers—through writing, through speaking, through allowing myself to be seen, and through deep work with therapists. And with each step, I realized I wasn’t alone. There were so many others who were also survivors of domestic violence and trauma waiting for their turn to speak.
So I decided to go first–for me, for you. Not instead of…just first.
Today, my work is rooted in that same belief: that telling the truth about our lives is one of the most powerful tools for healing–even if the “only” one we’re telling our stories to is ourselves.
As a trauma-informed coach, writer, and speaker, I help survivors reclaim their voice, rebuild their sense of self, and begin rewriting their story after trauma. Through 1:1 and group coaching, workshops, speaking engagements, and my podcast Scars & Tiaras (returning soon), I create spaces where healing is possible and stories are honored.
None of it erases what already happened. We can’t change any of it. But we can change how we move through the rest of our lives.
I believe our survival is not something to be ashamed of. I believe our stories are never too much. I believe healing from trauma is possible even when it’s messy, nonlinear, and hard. And I believe that when one person is brave enough to speak, it creates space for someone else to do the same.
This work is not just what I do.
It’s who I am.
Because I know what it’s like to feel invisible, to feel silenced, to wonder if your story even matters.
It does.
And if you’re searching for a place to begin your own healing journey, a place to reclaim your voice, process your story, and step into recovery…I’ll go first. And I’ll go with YOU.
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