Ghostwriting Portfolio
Story 1: Why I Left the Corporate World for Healing
I had the corner office, the title, the six-figure salary. And I walked away from it all.
I spent 12 years climbing the corporate ladder, chasing success and status.
But one day, after yet another 12-hour workday, I realized something:
I was helping build businesses, but I wasn’t building anything that felt real to me.
So, I left.
I didn’t have a plan—I just knew I wanted to help people in a deeper way.
That’s how I became a coach.
And while the transition wasn’t easy, it taught me something invaluable:
Sometimes, walking away from what’s “safe” is the first step toward finding what’s true to you.
If you’re feeling the pull to do something bigger, listen to it.
Your story doesn’t end when you make a change—it’s just a new chapter and a new beginning.
What’s one bold step you’ve taken toward a more authentic life?
Story 2: The Power of Slowing Down
Burnout isn’t a badge of honor—it’s a warning sign.
For years, I believed that the more I worked, the more valuable I was.
But all it got me was exhaustion.
It wasn’t until I started prioritizing rest and reflection that I found the clarity I’d been chasing.
In wellness, we talk about balance—but how often do we live it?
Slowing down isn’t weakness—it’s wisdom.
It’s what allows us to show up fully for the people we serve.
If you’ve been feeling like you have to keep pushing, I want to remind you: rest is part of the work.
How do you create balance in your life?
Share one thing that’s helped you.
Story 3: The Bridge Between Us
I didn’t know how to reach her, so I stopped trying. That was my mistake.
There was a client I worked with years ago who reminded me of myself.
She was quiet, guarded, hesitant to open up.
I tried everything I could—guidance, encouragement, even gentle pushes—but she remained closed off.
I started to think maybe I wasn’t the right person to help her.
Then one day, something shifted.
Instead of trying to guide her forward, I told her a story about a time when I felt stuck, too—a time when I didn’t know how to ask for help or even admit that I needed it.
I didn’t expect much.
But as I spoke, I saw her posture soften.
She didn’t say much that day, but when she came back the next week, she began to tell her story.
Sometimes, connection doesn’t happen through fixing or guiding.
It happens through being.
Through showing up as human, vulnerable, real.
It’s not about leading someone to the other side—it’s about building a bridge and walking across it together.
What bridge can you build today by simply sharing a piece of yourself?
Story 4: Finding Light in the Shadows
I used to be afraid of my shadows. Now, I see them as guides.
For a long time, I thought healing meant eliminating the dark parts of myself—the fear, the doubt, the pain.
I thought light was the only goal.
But the more I tried to push away my shadows, the more they seemed to grow.
It wasn’t until I turned toward them, invited them in, and listened to what they had to say that I began to truly heal.
Our shadows aren’t here to harm us.
They’re here to teach us.
They show us where we need compassion, where we need care, where we need to grow.
Healing isn’t about living in perpetual light.
It’s about finding balance—honoring both the light and the shadows, knowing they each have something valuable to offer.
What shadow have you been avoiding in your life might be trying to guide you toward healing?
Story 5: The Day I Learned to Listen
The day I learned to listen.
Sometimes, silence is the most powerful response.
I used to think that as a healer, my job was to have the right words—to say something profound, comforting, or wise in every session.
But there was one moment that changed everything for me.
A client sat across from me, tears streaming down her face.
She didn’t say a word.
I didn’t know what to say either, so I just sat with her in the silence.
Minutes passed.
Slowly, she began to speak—not because I prompted her, but because she felt ready.
That day, I learned that listening isn’t just about hearing words—it’s about holding space.
It’s about being present, without judgment, without the need to fill the void.
Sometimes, silence says more than words ever could.
How can you hold space for someone today, without the need to fix or fill?
Story 6: The Courage to Begin Again
Ending something isn’t failure. Sometimes, it’s the bravest thing you can do.
A few years ago, I shut down a wellness practice I had poured my heart into.
It wasn’t because I didn’t care or because it wasn’t helping people—it was because it was no longer helping me.
Walking away felt like giving up, and I wrestled with shame for a long time.
But over time, I realized that endings aren’t failures.
They’re chapters.
And sometimes, closing one chapter is the only way to open another.
After that experience, I started a new practice—one that aligned more with who I had become, not who I used to be.
It wasn’t about starting over; it was about beginning again, with more clarity, more courage, and more compassion for myself.
Endings don’t diminish what came before.
They honor it by making space for what’s next.
What’s one chapter you might need to close so you can begin again?
Story 7: Mistakes Keep Me Up At Night
When I make mistakes, even if they're little ones, they keep me up all night.
I'm writing this post 3 hours after I wanted to be asleep.
Tossing & turning.
Letting my mind run wild with insecurity.
"What if they're mad at me..."
"I shouldn't have done that..."
"Ugh, I wish I could undo it."
I wish I could say I haven't always been this way, but that would be a lie.
Losing my daughter has heightened my restless nights.
Mistakes + anxiety + an early bed time + longing for the weight of a tiny baby on my chest = a recipe for a restless night.
I can't show you how much I miss her.
I can tell you.
Missing my baby girl is waking up in the middle of the night -
When your knees, your calves, your ankles, your toes ache and burn and long to run, but where would they run?
Missing her is a constant feeling of getting punched between the eyes -
A jarring thunk rips through my skill and scatters through my lungs, my heart.
Shock waves ripple through my limbs.
My fingertips ache, go numb.
Missing her is a constant feeling of weightlessness -
Falling backward, a tree branch breaking under my feet, a thought running through my head as I free fall:
"Shouldn't I have hit the ground already?"
And then SMASH.
The ground meets my body.
Missing my sweet girl is a constant state of disbelief -
"This isn't real."
"This can't be real."
"I'm going to wake up tomorrow and she's going to be alive."
"I have to call the hospital to check on her - oh."
Missing my baby is drowning -
Only, my water is oxygen, and every breath drags me further underneath the surface of the waves.
I used to think: "I can't survive the next 60+ years without her."
I used to think: "I'm too young for this."
I used to think: "Is my life destined for tragedy?"
The reality is:
Tragedy can befall anyone.
At any time.
What we do with it is what defines us.
My daughter drives me on.
I stopped thinking about how long I have to be 'without' her.
I started focusing on how I could see her with me.
Even though it doesn't feel the same -
I don't get to hold her in my arms.
Touch her tiny fingertips.
Kiss her perfect face.
Smooth her silky hair.
Dress her in the most adorable 'mini me' outfits.
I don't get to have someone chasing me around the house screaming at the top of their lungs.
Unless you count my cat.
But, even then, he's still not my baby girl.
No one prepares you for this.
But maybe I can help someone like me.
Maybe I can show someone else that there's still life.
Maybe I can be someone's light.
Maybe I can teach others that mistakes don't have to take up so much space in your mind.
Mistakes don't have to control or define us.
But we can learn from them.
We can grow.
And we are growing.
Everyday.
How have you learned from mistakes?
What do you do when you can’t sleep?
What drives you on?