I didn’t choose the healing path. It cracked me wide open.

In October 2016, I found myself standing at a crossroads I never asked for — betrayed by a cheating husband, broken, and holding the weight of a son newly diagnosed on the autism spectrum, then grieving the sudden loss of my mom June the following year. Those events shattered everything I thought I knew about safety, identity, and love.

But it also became the spark.

I didn’t know it then, but that fire would burn away the people-pleasing fixer, the good girl trying to hold everyone else together, and awaken something far more powerful.

A fierce, grounded, jeans-and-Converse-wearing no more BS taking doormat. A boundary-setting empath. A Momma Bear, a mystic, a creator.

Gypsy is more than a name, it’s a reclamation! It’s the identity I built on my own terms long before all this bullshit happened (a story for another day), no longer trying to meet cultural, societal, or family expectations that never fit my spirit. You know … the BRULES – bullshit rules!

Now? I help other women, especially moms dealing with the toxic bullshit that is holding them back, do the same.