🌿 My Journey to the Semicolon: Part 1 — The Day Everything Broke

Part 1: The Day Everything Broke

When people hear about a suicide attempt, they often imagine a single, tragic moment — one unbearable event that pushes someone over the edge. But for me, it wasn’t one thing. It was many things — small and large — that built up over time until one day, one situation, became the “straw that broke the camel’s back.”

In 2010, I moved from Colorado to Texas with my youngest son, who was 17 at the time. The move wasn’t part of a dream or some new adventure — it was out of necessity. We had to leave for reasons that were unconventional and deeply personal, tied to our safety and survival. I tried to stay hopeful. We had a plan, a place to live, and I truly believed we could start over.

But life had other plans. The relationship I was in turned toxic, and everything started to unravel faster than I could hold it together. Within months, my son and I were without a home — quietly living in our car, trying to make it look like everything was okay. I didn’t tell anyone. I couldn’t. The shame and fear of judgment were too heavy, and I didn’t want to put anyone else in danger by knowing too much.

Every day, I felt like I was failing — as a mother, as a business owner, and as a person. The guilt was suffocating.

Around that same time, I began having severe headaches and problems with my vision. I convinced myself it was stress, because honestly, what else could it be? I pushed through each day, focusing on survival, until someone I met finally convinced me to get checked out. When the doctor told me I had a pituitary brain tumor, I felt my world tilt again. I was already worn thin emotionally, and now my body was failing me too.

Before all this, I had built something I was deeply proud of — an airbrush tanning business that became world-renowned. I had traveled all over the U.S. and Canada, working with the fitness and modeling industries, and had built a name for myself through dedication, skill, and heart. My work had reached a level I never imagined possible. But as my health declined and my life unraveled, the business I had poured everything into slowly slipped through my fingers.

Through it all, my best friend would send money whenever he could — enough for a cheap hotel for the night, a full tank of gas, or a meal for my son and me. Those small gestures were lifelines. Still, my pride wouldn’t let me ask for more help. I was too ashamed to admit how far I had fallen, even though so much of it was out of my control.

Eventually, we were accepted into a women and children’s homeless shelter, and for the first time in months, we had a place to go. No more trying to find somewhere safe to park or sitting in the Texas heat wondering what tomorrow would bring. It was humbling, but it was also a relief.

My son — my rock — handled it all with more grace than I could’ve imagined. He tried to stay strong for me, even as I saw the worry in his eyes. We spent nearly a year in that shelter, both of us learning what it means to start over from nothing.

Closing for Part 1:

That year in the shelter was one of the hardest seasons of my life. It tested every part of who I was — as a mother, a woman, and a human being just trying to hold on. I didn’t realize it then, but that season was preparing me for everything that would come next. It was shaping a story that I would one day share, not from a place of shame, but from survival.

What happened next would forever change me — and eventually become the reason behind my life’s mission.

This chapter of my story is just the beginning. In my next post, I’ll share about the night everything changed — the moment that nearly ended my life, but ultimately became the start of my healing.

And one day soon, in my upcoming book, I’ll open up even more about how those moments led to the creation of 7 Semicolon Couture — a brand born from heartbreak, hope, and the belief that every story deserves a semicolon, not a period.