Where It All Began: A Story of Birth, Oceans, and Change

Our stories don’t begin when we take our first breath; they start long before. They’re shaped by the lives of those who bring us into this world, the choices they make, the struggles they endure, and even the prayers whispered into the wind.

For me, my story begins with my mom. I was her third child, conceived during a time of heartbreak and resilience. She had already faced struggles to bring my older siblings into the world, relying on fertility pills for both pregnancies. But when it came to me, something was different. She received the prescription but never filled it. Somehow, I was already on my way.

My mom was navigating the complexities of raising three children with a husband who was often absent—gone on trade shows, caught up in the demands of work. She knew about his infidelities but wasn’t ready to let go. When she was five months pregnant with me, life took her to Hawaii for a work trip with him.

Standing where the sand meets the ocean, she prayed. She prayed for strength, for her children, for herself, and for the little life growing inside her. She planted her feet firmly in the sand and spoke her hopes into the waves, letting them carry her prayers far beyond the horizon.

Years later, I found myself standing on that same beach. It was a moment of transition for me, leaving one life and stepping uncertainly into another. The sunset that evening was breathtaking—colors so vivid they seemed to sing. I stood there alone, letting the ocean’s rhythm steady my heart.

A stranger approached me, a woman I had never met. “Let me take a picture of you,” she said, her voice kind. “You are gorgeous in this light.” I handed her my camera. She took the photo and then walked away, pausing just long enough to say, “You’ll be glad you have that picture one day.”

She was right. As I write this today, I look back on that moment and treasure it deeply. It wasn’t just a picture; it was a reminder of where I came from and where I was going.

My birth was by C-section, and my father didn’t meet me until I was two weeks old. My mom, ever the survivor, moved from Manitoba to Brooks, Alberta, to keep our family together after my dad was transferred. It wasn’t an easy life, but it was one rooted in a mothers love, hope, and an unyielding desire for something better.

From those beginnings, I learned to love the ocean, the sand, and the promise of change. Moving has been a constant in my life—seeking new places, new opportunities, and, ultimately, a sense of home. My mom’s prayers on that Hawaiian beach and her courage to keep going have been a quiet, steady presence, guiding me through each transition and reminding me that no matter where I am, I have the strength to keep moving forward.

And so, here I am today, carrying forward the lessons learned from her, ready for whatever comes next.