My story and why I do what I do…

The swing creaked beneath me as I leaned back, stretching my legs toward the sky. I was just a child, but I felt it—the infinite, unnameable connection to something far beyond myself. Blue sky above, air rushing past my ears, the universe cradling me in its vastness. I was free. I was part of everything.

Then came the voice.

"Carol, come inside!"

In an instant, I fell back into the reality of my life. The sacred silence shattered, replaced by the ever-present demand to be dutiful, obedient, perfect. That was my role in the world. A role I never auditioned for but played to survive.

I grew up in a house built with care but filled with fear. Perfectionism wasn’t praised—it was expected. My six siblings and I walked on eggshells, bracing ourselves for the next outburst or critique. Love, if it existed, came cloaked in control. Shame, guilt, and criticism were the tools of the trade.

My father nicknamed me “Little Lulu”—"always in and out of trouble, but mostly always in." It was meant playfully, but it stuck like a tattoo on my self-worth. I felt like I was never quite right, never quite enough. A B+ on my report card brought disappointment. A smudge of lipstick playfully experimented with during recess in fourth grade brought punishment.

As a sensitive child, I couldn’t make sense of the harshness. I learned to censor myself early. I put on a mask and adapted like a chameleon—surviving, but not thriving. The truth is, I didn’t know who I was.

That confusion echoed through my teens and twenties. I followed the path that was laid out for me: college, marriage, motherhood. I became a wife at twenty, a mother of two by twenty-five. We moved three times in nine years, and each time I gave up pieces of myself—career, friendships, identity. I thought that’s what being good meant.

But deep inside, the whisper remained.

• The whisper that remembered the sky.

• The whisper that knew there was more.

I didn’t leave my marriage for 22 years. I didn’t think I had permission. After all, he wasn’t abusive. He didn’t cheat. But he also didn’t see me. We were strangers occupying the same space.

Eventually, my body started to shut down. I numbed the confusion and sadness with sugar and flour until I was hypoglycemic and nearly diabetic. That’s when the whisper roared.

Recovery brought me back to life. In a 12-step program, I cried through my first meeting. I felt seen for the first time in my life. That space of unconditional acceptance gave me the clarity to start seeing myself.

From there, my path unfolded. I found mentors, spiritual teachers, new modalities. Some helped me grow. Others mirrored the same toxic dynamics I had known all my life. It was painful—and perfect. Because I was learning discernment. I was learning to listen to my inner truth.

When my kids were grown, I leapt. I left my marriage. I moved to New York City with a promise of a new life as an administrative intern at The Juilliard School, no plan except to do the next thing that unfolded before me—and a deep knowing that it was finally “my” time—time for me to discover who I really am. I temped, cater-waited, acted, auditioned. I rode the subways, buses, and trains exploring NYC with my soul wide open. I felt more alive than I ever had.

I didn’t have all the answers. But I had something better: the courage to start asking new questions.

• Who am I when I’m not performing for love?

• Who am I when I say no?

• What happens if I trust myself?

Over the years, I worked with incredible teachers—and survived manipulative ones. I made mistakes. I got lost. I got found. I began to understand that the search for healing wasn’t about finding someone to fix me.

It was about remembering who I already was.

Eventually, I discovered hypnotherapy, PSYCH-K, and past life regression. These tools transformed me. They moved me forward faster and deeper than decades of other work. It was like finding an elevator after years of taking the stairs.

I’ve released generations of inherited beliefs. I’ve reprogrammed the subconscious patterns that kept me small. I’ve stopped searching outside myself for answers I’ve had all along.

Today, I live in Kentucky. I’ve stepped fully into my role as an energy healing practitioner and intuitive spiritual coach. I help others uncover the truth of who they are—just as I uncovered mine. I continue to learn, evolve, and grow.

• I’ve learned that I don’t need to be perfect to be loved.

• I’ve learned that gentleness is a strength, not a weakness.

• I’ve learned that discernment is sacred.

• I’ve learned that I am my own authority.

The swing is still inside me—the child who saw the universe in the sky is still here. But now, I don’t have to wait for quiet moments to feel that connection. I carry it within me.

And now, I help others do the same.

If you’re reading this and recognizing parts of yourself in my story—know this:

You are not alone. You are not broken. You are not behind.

You are simply being called back home to yourself.

And I would be honored to walk that path with you.