Now, before I write about these woes, I have to say that it is not despite but because of them I am now this pretty glorious version of me. Grief gave me a better grasp on joy.

My pack of wolves, my dudes, my fam·a·lama ding dongs. We had so much fun. We lived life so good. From amazing food to the hottest night spots. Then the beast entered the mix. Look, we had all imbibed. This, this fucking dope shit, when it snuck in to my crew, all was lost in a sauce filled spoon. I escaped it, knew that if I tried it, I’d die to it. I popped my pills, I drank my drinks, I almost always knew when to be through. My pack of wolves, my dudes, didn’t have that skill.

For years, so many tears, multiple deaths every year. It was and is so much to bear. The loss of so many friends made me feel raw, I wanted to hide, I wanted to scream, I wanted just needed to feel any damn thing. Numb from that pain, I wasn’t acting so sane.

Then one day, I decided that no matter what else, I had to be ok. I asked a friend and she helped find me a coach. I sat with her, I healed with her, I grew in that room filled with so much care.

“BOOM” this is what I was meant to do. I had to. I have to be this me that helps others with their demons. I need to show others that grief is space, space that is ready for love, for joy, for happiness. That sad is fine when you give it its time. Joy is a way to find things ok. ​

If you found yourself nodding your head, thinking "oh, it's me!", wondering how you too can know that your frown will always, inevitably, turn upside down. Then I am the life coach for you. 'Cuz: