SPIRITUALITY

I was raised in a traditional Catholic household. I knew the rituals of faith, but I struggled with the contradictions I saw around me. Prayer could be both a comfort and a weapon. Over time, I came to understand faith used to control others leads to fear, but faith used to transform ourselves leads to freedom.

That's when my understanding of God began to expand.

I stopped trying to fit God into doctrine and started looking for the Divine in experience — in quiet moments, in laughter with friends, in the way compassion softens a hardened heart. I came to believe that love, not judgment, is the truest language of the sacred. That belief became the foundation of my work as a spiritual director and coach.

On October 26, 2025, life reminded me again how fragile and holy it all is. My daughter, Ericka, passed away.

There's no way to soften that reality. The grief is constant. The ache is constant. And yet, even in that unbearable season, I can sense God's presence; steady, patient and nearby. The practices I've spent years living and teaching — stillness, prayer, surrender are now the lifelines keeping me grounded.

I don't see this loss as something to get over. I see it as something to live through, with awareness. Pain has a way of stripping away illusions and clarifying what really matters. It reminds me that spirituality isn't a destination we reach when life is easy. It's the way we walk when it's not.

Each morning, I sit in silence and breathe. Sometimes that's all I can do. And yet even there, something sacred stirs. The same grace that carried me through addiction and earlier loss is carrying me now. And once again, I feel called to share what I'm learning: that transformation doesn't mean the absence of pain — it means allowing love to do something holy with it.

Today, I walk alongside others who are searching for meaning in the middle of their own uncertainty. Through spiritual direction, spiritual coaching, group experiences, and workshops, I help people notice where the Divine might already be at work in their stories. Because I've learned that what breaks us open can also become the doorway to something far greater than we imagined.

If you find yourself longing for that kind of connection — tired of striving, yet hungry for peace — you're not alone. The sacred isn't somewhere far away. It's here, in every breath, every question, every tear. Sometimes the journey itself is the answer.