from trauma to triumph

From a childhood marked by trauma and abuse to achieving my dream of studying fashion design, I believed I had created the perfect life—married in Scottsdale, Arizona, living a dream I had built from the ground up. But life had other plans. A late miscarriage sent me into fertility treatments that led to a life-threatening stroke, shattering my dreams and altering my future.

After being told I could never conceive, my marriage fell apart, and I found myself back in Calgary, lost in a toxic mindset. Yet, against all odds, I miraculously conceived—a pregnancy deemed high-risk that I carried to full term. The catch? The father was someone from my past—a well-known gangster—and I soon became trapped in a cycle of abuse, both physical and emotional, for nearly a decade. Completely dependent, with no support system, I endured countless hospital visits, near-stroke episodes, and hidden suffering.

When my daughter turned eight, I finally broke free, but my challenges were far from over. As the world shut down due to COVID, I found myself single, raising a child, handling a home, and trying to survive financially while mourning the loss of the only family I had left. My aunt—my mother figure—lost her battle with cancer. My father passed shortly after. I was left responsible for his estate, buried in a legal battle with my ex, and drowning in grief.

Trying to hold everything together, I spiraled—turning to unhealthy coping mechanisms, believing I had control until I hit rock bottom. My breaking point landed me in the Rockyview psych ward, diagnosed with depressive psychosis. It wasn’t my first encounter with the brink of death—I had previously attempted to end my life during my abusive relationship—but this time, I had nothing left to lose. And yet, somehow, I survived.

What followed was more loss—my last father figure, my uncle, passed suddenly, and my relationship with my brother dissolved. I had lost everyone. Then, in my most vulnerable state, I was drugged and raped, triggering buried memories of childhood sexual abuse. I became reckless—burning through money, living in unsafe conditions, and eventually, homeless at 43, with my belongings scattered across the city.

And then, I surrendered. I turned to faith, let go of the need to control, and found strength in something greater than myself. Today, I stand in my own apartment, with my mind, my belongings, and my life slowly piecing back together. I have cut the chains of dependency, faced the pain, and walked through the fire. For that, I am proud.