I’m 51 years old, and I just remembered who I am.

For three months now, I’ve been remembering who I was before trauma rewrote my entire life. I was an artist—painting, printmaking, detailed mandala work that took me into flow states where nothing else existed. I was a district merchandiser and store manager at The Gap—good at it. Corporate bound. I opened over a dozen stores. I had skills, ambition, a future that made sense.

Then in 2007, a severely abusive relationship shattered everything. The PTSD I’d had since childhood worsened significantly. Bipolar I disorder spiraled out of control. The next 18 years became about one thing: survival.

I lost everything trying to heal.

No family to fall back on—I’d learned in therapy to stay away from the toxicity I grew up in. No insurance, so even basic mental health care was a struggle. I tried every med combination. Stayed in therapy. Did the work. But I kept choosing survival over healing, and it kept me stuck.

In 2021, I finally chose differently. I chose healing over everything else, even if it destroyed me.

The mountains called. I moved to an off-grid eco-village that felt like sanctuary. No one told me that real healing isn’t spa retreats and self-care Sundays. It’s brutal. It’s facing everything you’ve been running from.

I fell further than I knew was possible.

My cat was attacked through my screen door by a feral mountain cat and almost died. I ended up in a falling-apart RV for almost two years—rodents constantly invading, everything breaking, living out of a cooler. Completely isolated. I became addicted to marijuana just to cope with the triggers and the nightmare my life had become.

My own mother convinced me I could only handle part-time work.

I hit rock bottom in the mountains, alone except for my two cats who became my entire world. The immense and majestic beauty surrounding me was excruciatingly painful when played against the bleakness of my mental health spiraling.

And then I started climbing out.

I quit the marijuana with help from online 12-step groups. One baby step at a time, I clawed my way back. Got into full-time work almost two years ago. Got an apartment—a real home for me and my kitties.

And three months ago, everything clicked.

I was doing food demos at grocery stores—the only work I could handle with my PTSD and mental health challenges. But something was happening: people were dancing in the aisles when they tasted my recipes. Taking down my recipes for their dinner parties. Genuinely delighted and asking for a recipe book.

And I remembered: I know how to do this. I spent my life giving my creative gifts and excellent work ethic to corporate America. I opened stores. I managed teams. I made things successful.

I can do this for myself.

My Business: Life is Hard. Eat Well.

I’m building an American Fusion Gourmet Comfort Food catering and food truck business that serves what people actually crave when life gets overwhelming. I handcraft flavorful pinwheels (Pinwheelies), hot melty sandwiches (Meltwiches), and warm cheese dips (Cheesy Hugs)—all made with premium Boar’s Head ingredients. I’m using a modular format with specific flavor profiles that will be available in different formats to streamline prep and ingredients, minimizing waste.

I’ve created four signature flavor profiles and am currently testing new recipes daily at my demos, such as:

• Classic Comfort (loaded baked potato, ham carbonara, chicken parmesan, Hawaiian pizza)

• Savory Herb (Brie/smoked Gruyère with chicken and apple, curry chicken)

• Spicy Kick (southwestern chipotle, mango salsa pepper jack)

• Sweet & Tangy (Mexican street corn, bacon and fig with balsamic)

My business model works for my disability—I control my schedule, my environment, my pace. No toxic bosses. I can adjust things when I need to. And I have multiple revenue streams planned: weekday lunch service from my food truck, weekend catering for events and corporate clients, and individual lunch boxes for meetings and gatherings.

I’ve done the financial projections. Year 1: $110,000 gross revenue with $25,000-40,000 net profit. Year 2: $200,000 gross revenue as I build my customer base. The numbers work. The concept works. People love the food.

I have the skills from my Gap days—opening locations, managing operations, understanding what customers want. I have the recipes that make people dance. I have the business plan.

The Bigger Vision:

This is just phase one. Once I establish the Maastricht business and build a team, I want to expand to a mountain food truck near the Belgian/Luxembourg borders where I’ll eventually retire. The long-term plan: build businesses that run themselves, move to the mountains full-time, and spend my days making art. Food will fund the creative life I was meant to live.

But here’s the thing: I can’t do it here in the U.S.

This country is killing me.

I work those demos where people love my food, and about once a month, a man grabs me. Wraps his arm around me. Touches me without consent. Every week, someone winks, leers, feels entitled to my body because they’re trying my samples.

It’s gotten worse since an administration led by convicted abusers took office. The entitled men feel emboldened.

I have PTSD from repeated sexual trauma. Working in an environment where I’m assaulted monthly while our government dismantles healthcare and is led by predators—it’s not sustainable. My mental health can’t take it. I’m triggered constantly by the events happening and I go into a dissociative episode. My abuser told me he would hunt me down and kill me if I left. So when I left, it was actually even more terrifying, because I felt hunted. Now, with this administration, being a hippie at heart and with disabilities, I have that same feeling of “they’re coming for me”. I feel very vulnerable and it’s taking a heavy toll on my wellbeing. I HAVE to protect my mental health. I have no fallback. I have to stay upright.

So I’m leaving.

I’m moving to Maastricht, Netherlands on a DAFT (Dutch-American Friendship Treaty) visa. It’s one of the few paths for American entrepreneurs to build businesses in Europe. I’ll have access to actual healthcare. I’ll be in a country that doesn’t celebrate abusers. I can finally build my business while continuing to heal.

This is my Phoenix moment.

I’ve spent 18 years in the fire. I’ve been burned down to nothing. And now I’m rising.

In all, I need $56,000 to do this right:

• $22,000 gets me there safely (visa deposit, moving costs, 3-month survival cushion, basic business setup, vehicle, kitchen rental)

• $56,000 lets me actually thrive (professional equipment, food truck, marketing, first-year cushion to build the business properly)

I’m also applying for grants—this is what I actually need to launch successfully and give my business the best chance to thrive. But every dollar gets me closer.

I have the skills from opening a dozen Gap stores. I have the plan. I have the recipes that make people dance. I have my art that kept me alive through the darkest years. I have 18 years of hard-won healing behind me. I just need help getting to where I can use them without being grabbed, without my government making my PTSD worse every single day, without cobbling together healthcare that might disappear tomorrow.

Will you help me rise?

I’ve clawed my way out of hell. I’m ready to fly. I just need a little lift to get there.

Every dollar you contribute goes directly toward:

• DAFT visa deposit and legal fees

• Moving expenses and initial housing

• Business registration and permits in the Netherlands

• Commercial kitchen rental while I build my customer base

• Professional equipment and food truck purchase

• Marketing and branding

• Working capital to sustain me while the business grows

This isn’t charity. This is investment in someone who refuses to stay down. Someone who’s survived the worst and is building something beautiful from the ashes.

Life is hard. But I’m going to eat well.

And I’m going to help others do the same.

Thank you for being part of my Phoenix rising.