From Suffering Artist to Empowered Creative Professional

My Story

If you’re here, chances are we share something in common—a love for music, creativity, and maybe even a desire to make the world a more gentle place.

Music has always been my home. My mom loves to tell stories of how I would wake up singing in my crib in the mornings, filling the house with little melodies before I could even talk in full sentences. Before I was in grade school, I was confidently belting out the ABCs for my family like it was my first big performance. From the moment I could make noise, I was singing, intuitively drawn to the magic of sound and the way it connects us to something bigger than ourselves.

I was born and raised in Las Vegas, Nevada, and from the time I was a kid, music was my refuge. From elementary school through high school, choir was where I found my voice—not just as a singer, but as a collaborator. Singing was my safe space in a childhood that often felt unkind.

Growing up in a large body, I learned early on that the world wasn’t always gentle. I experienced body shaming throughout my adolescence, internalizing a disdain for my body that took years to unlearn. Healing didn’t happen overnight, but through the love of a supportive community, therapy, and a deepening connection to God, I found my way back to myself. Looking back, it breaks my heart to think of the pain I carried—but I also know my suffering wasn’t for nothing.

No, I don’t believe everything happens for a reason. But I do believe we have the power to give meaning to our suffering.

Holding Space for Multiple Truths

My experience in music school was bittersweet. On one hand, I left with an incredible voice and strong performance skills. On the other, I left with chronic self-doubt, self-esteem issues, and the overwhelming belief that there wasn’t a place for me in this industry.

Everywhere I looked—in every class, every curriculum—I saw that tradition was valued more than inclusivity and truth. It deeply troubled me because it went against my core values. As I studied music, I kept asking myself: Where are all the women? Where are the people of color who shaped the history of Western music? We were sold the idea that only white cis men moved classical music forward, but through my own research outside of school, I learned that this was far from the truth.

Holding space for multiple truths: I would not be the musician I am today without music school and music school deeply traumatized me. I gained the skills I needed to be a professional performer and I walked away questioning my worth, feeling like I didn’t belong.

As I developed my performance career and made industry connections, I realized I wasn’t alone—far from it. So many artists carry the weight of music school trauma. Now, I teach artists how to take back their power and build careers rooted in intention and purpose. And the truth is, I wouldn’t be doing this work if I hadn’t been traumatized by music school.

After earning my master’s degree and stepping into life as a freelance musician and music educator, I knew something had to change in the music world.

I felt a deep responsibility to leave the music world better than I found it. Too many artists—myself included—have experienced harm in environments that should have been nurturing. All music educators have a responsibility to innovate, to create healthier learning spaces for the next generation of artists.

This passion for change led me to create Music on Mushrooms, a podcast where artists and musicians can explore the deeper, more expansive sides of creativity. I wanted to start real conversations about artistry, healing, and breaking free from outdated traditions that no longer serve us. The podcast became a space to challenge the status quo, to invite curiosity, and to offer new perspectives on what it means to be a creative in today’s world.

From there, I created Soul Recharge—a healing space for artists and musicians to reclaim their power, connect in community, and find support beyond the rigid structures of the industry. I know firsthand how isolating the music world can be, how easy it is to feel like you don’t belong if you don’t fit the mold. Soul Recharge exists to change that. It’s a space for artists to come together, heal from creative wounds, and build careers that are rooted in intention, authenticity, and self-trust.

As I deepened my work in both music and healing, I realized that truly supporting artists required more than just good intentions—I needed the right tools. That’s why I became a trauma-informed certified coach. I pursued this certification not just to bring into my teaching space, but also to ensure that my healing spaces were safe, supportive, and truly transformative. Artists don’t just need technical skills; they need spaces where their nervous systems are respected, where they can unlearn harmful conditioning, and where they can step into their full creative power without fear.

At the core of everything I do—whether performing, teaching, podcasting, or community building—is the belief that music should be a source of healing, not harm. Artists deserve better. And I’m committed to making that a reality.

Be the change you want to see