Since 2017, I’ve had the privilege of working closely with two remarkable individuals with profound autism. What began as a part-time college job quickly became a life-changing chapter. That role taught me the quiet power of presence, the dignity of interdependence, and the deep fulfillment that comes from helping someone experience joy, safety, and support.

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Later, my work in human resources offered a different vantage point, one that focused on people, systems, and the unseen mechanics of care within organizations. I believed that if you worked hard, stayed kind, and genuinely cared, it would always be enough.

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Then, in early 2024, life shifted in ways I never expected. A wave of personal and professional changes forced me to reexamine my identity, my health, and the future I assumed I was building.

 

In the stillness that followed, I found myself looking backward and inward. In 2020, my mother-in-law passed away after living with us. In early 2024, we lost my father-in-law as well. Between those two losses, I was diagnosed with a neurological condition that reshaped how I moved through daily life. Each event held its own grief, but together they created a pause. I wasn’t only mourning the people I had lost; I was grieving the version of life I thought I was headed toward.

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That ache made room for deeper questions:

• Who am I beyond a title or a schedule?

• What brings me real joy and vitality?

• What can I create that feels honest and healing?

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During that period of reflection, a memory from early childhood resurfaced. At a family wedding, around the age of two, I fell into a pond. I don’t remember the fall but rather the sensation of being wrapped in a blanket, safe in my father’s arms afterward. I was told a stranger had pulled me out. In my heart, I’ve always imagined there was an angel nearby whispering, “not yet.”

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That image lingered.

 

One day, I picked up a pencil and tried to draw it. I began with a faceless angel, then drew a single eye.

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That small moment changed everything.

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I became fascinated by what eyes hold, from memory to emotion to unspoken truth. They aren’t just windows to the soul; they are portals into questions we’re only beginning to understand.

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Art became a lifeline. A mirror. A way to translate what I once tried to explain with logic alone. I found myself drawn to surreal, symbolic imagery that asks quiet but universal questions:

What shapes our beliefs, our identities, our inner worlds?

• How do we make peace with what’s gone and still grow forward?

• What is “real” in a world full of perception and contradiction?

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My work reflects these questions with gentleness, curiosity, and deep respect for each person’s unfolding story.

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Today, I am building a life with art, creativity, compassion, and reflection at its center. My hope is to offer others what I’ve learned to offer myself: the courage to evolve, the space to reflect, and the permission to begin again.