New Chapter

A Puff Piece

I didn’t think I would have the time

or energy to write this week. After all my end-of-winter travails, I’m stepping into a brand-new chapter — and I am genuinely excited about it.

I’m currently sitting in an Irish restaurant inside a Best Western Premier. I just finished a swim after a full day of training, and now it’s time to eat, reflect, and apparently… write.

Because this week, I’m becoming a Certified Peer Specialist.

This role requires certification through the Pennsylvania board, and for the most part, my week-long training is like a paid vacation, minus the paycheck. Even typing that fills me with hope. This isn’t just a class — it feels like the beginning of something real.

So what does that mean?

As a Peer Specialist, I’ll be helping people who experience mental health challenges navigate the obstacles of life. And as someone who is, without question, “mental” — with the prescriptions to prove it — I’m uniquely qualified as a peer.

For the first time, it feels like I’ve found work that allows me to use everything I’ve lived through — the hard parts, the messy parts, the “what the hell is happening” parts — and turn them into something meaningful… and yes, financially beneficial.

Finally, a job where my lived experience is not a liability — it’s the entire point.

So what was I doing before?

Whenever I answer this question, it sounds vague and slightly unbelievable, but here goes:

I’ve been working primarily as a Psychic Advisor, Medium, Coach, podcaster, and writer. Over the past year, I made most of my income as an Ayurvedic Marma Touch and energy practitioner.

Which is basically therapeutic bodywork — gloves on, clothes on — considered medical treatment, but not covered by insurance. Which probably explains why I was paid so poorly.

I loved the work. Truly.

But love alone doesn’t build a future.

It barely paid the bills, and it didn’t allow me to expand my education, prepare for rainy days, or even receive treatment myself. I was also effectively tied to one doctor — which meant my livelihood depended on her health, schedule, and decisions.

So I spent a year figuring some shit out.

And now… I’m here.

This week, I’ve been learning about the history of mental health care — and it’s both sobering and inspiring. In the 1700s, anyone considered “mentally defective” — or even physically different — was often hidden away in institutions and subjected to horrific treatment for life.

If I had been born back then —

rich and white, I likely would have been tucked away in a “disappointments room” if we were poor, I would have wound up in a dungeon like in the movie Shutter Island. Lord knows what would have happened I were Black and crazy in those days.

What’s remarkable is that the progress we see today didn’t just happen.

It was fought for.

Mental health patients and their families wrote, organized, advocated, and demanded change. Their courage created policies, protections, and entirely new ways of thinking. I am a direct beneficiary of their sacrifices and struggles.

Because of them, I can’t be hidden away.

I’m being trained.
I’m being hired.
I’m being empowered to help others.

And maybe most importantly — I’m still building something of my own.

T-shirts, books, workshops, retreats… cults — the possibilities are endless.

If you had told me years ago that I would one day be grateful for my mental health struggles, I would have suggested we trade places immediately.

But today, I see it differently.

What once felt like chaos now feels like initiation.

What once felt like limitation now feels like purpose.

What once felt like survival now feels like direction.

Nothing short of magic — and a lot of hard work — has lifted me toward an empowered and radiant future.

A future where I help others and build something meaningful.

To #LiveInLightened
And stay #SpiritualAF