I got married right out of high school, believing I was stepping into the life I was supposed to have. But by 21, everything had fallen apart. My husband had become an addict, and I found myself in an unsafe situation with no choice but to leave.

I walked away with nothing—just my son on my hip and a backpack.

We had no money, no car, and no real plan. We slept on a family member’s couch while I worked three jobs, trying to keep us afloat. I was just a kid myself, suddenly responsible for another life, and I had no idea what I was doing.

Because I had no experience with children, I didn’t recognize that my son was developing differently. Looking back, I can see the milestones he missed—but at the time, I thought it was my fault. I believed I was failing him.

The first time I heard the word autism, my world shattered.

I remember sitting on the floor of a pediatrician’s office, holding my little boy and crying, wondering how I was ever going to do this. I could barely be a mom—how could I be a special needs mom?

Those first few years felt like drowning. I was just trying to keep my head above water, carrying the weight of fear, guilt, and deep loneliness. I felt like I was failing at everything.

But slowly, things began to shift.

I learned how to be a mother.
I learned how to advocate.
I learned how to grow up—while raising a child at the same time.

Still, I didn’t have a village.

I became determined to build some kind of stability for us. In my mind, homeownership meant safety. It meant my son would never have to sleep on someone else’s couch again. So I worked relentlessly—climbing the corporate ladder, pushing myself harder and harder, until I was finally able to buy a home.

On paper, it was perfect. A big, beautiful new construction house in a subdivision. My realtor told me it was a great fit. I thought that once I moved in, I would finally feel relief… like I had made it.

But I didn’t.

I just felt alone in a bigger house.

That’s when I realized I had been chasing the wrong things. A house alone doesn’t create a home. Success on paper doesn’t heal loneliness. What I was missing wasn’t square footage—it was connection.

Since then, my life has transformed in ways I never could have planned.

I met my soulmate, and together we’ve built a beautiful blended family—two boys and two girls. We traded in the big house for a tiny old house with a big back yard that feels perfectly like home. It doesn’t look like the life I once imagined… it’s better.

Last year, I began facilitating women’s circles, and it felt like finding something I didn’t even have words for before. In those circles, I saw women—especially mothers—who felt just like I once did. Overwhelmed. Isolated. Carrying everything on their own.

But now… they didn’t have to.

They had a circle.
They had community.
They had a village.

The Wild Women Society is, in many ways, the younger version of myself. It’s my way of creating the support, connection, and belonging I so deeply needed—so that other women don’t have to walk through life feeling as alone as I once did.

Because we were never meant to do this alone.