From a young age I learned how to express without speaking –


expressions into secret corners…

Fear under



into nightlight



My father was a recovering

alcoholic through his stumbled

journey with sobriety he had not

quite mastered taming his rage.

I grew up in a restrictive religious environment, which I found most

of  my identity and community within. As a teenager, however, it

was slowly  revealed to me that I was definitely not straight.

As I gradually awoke to the many ways my “family” lacked acceptance. I faded out from the church.




 I found a new home in musical theatre.

Where I could sing, scream and be as emotional as I wanted to be.

I was applauded for behavior that

would have gotten me in serious

trouble at home.

And I was in love with it.





I was discovering my voice in many ways. I came across a book of Anne

Sexton’s poetry at a thrift store, and my confused angst found solace.



I wrote dark confessions,

however clouded in riddles

of poetic metaphors. There

were some things too difficult

to even admit to myself.

I was struggling with my body

and the gender ascribed to it.

I was in the throes of

undiagnosed anxiety, 

depression, and PTSD. I learned

to cope in ways that masked

and evaded the problems at

hand: I starved myself

and exercised compulsively, 

drank excessively and 


It wasn’t until I went to a holistic massage school – That taught me more

about how to process trauma than it did about muscles – Did I begin to

acknowledge the abuse I had forgone as a child. The vault door to

repressed emotion and memory had been opened.

I began to write my truth:

However messy and

uncomfortable it was. I came out

as non-binary and

became translucent about

my struggles and triumphs with

mental health.

Now I investigate the illnesses of American society through my writing

as a call to action. I write to explore my own internal landscape and to

offer others possible tools for their own introspection and healing.