Memoirs of a Lash Artist

I completed a book over the weekend—160K words, 55 chapters, and roughly 500 pages. I wrote it in six to seven months (not counting my downtime for recovery, of course). And I was just as stunned as you are. 

The disbelief is long gone. This is who I am now, this is what I do—what I was meant to do. Write. The natural flow, the effortless structure—that’s just how it comes out of me. That’s just how it is.

Never have I ever enjoyed anything as much as I do the art of putting my words together.

I started this book to help people who have had, or are facing, open-heart surgery. But a few chapters in, something else happened.

My pain, my trauma, my PTSD started spilling onto the pages. What I thought would be a guide turned into a memoir.

From front to back, my memoir is about breaking the silence. Survival. Speaking up. Using your voice. Finding peace.

The shift of the book wasn’t my plan. It was the plan. It’s what was meant to be written—page by page, word for word.

When I woke up from my second surgery, I didn’t feel the same anymore. At all.

I had crossed a threshold in my healing journey, two years of peeling back the layers.

The tough girl who had shielded and protected me my entire life—through survival mode—was gone.

When they cracked my chest open for the second time, whatever pain was left inside me—the scraps, the dregs—was vaporized.

Burned away. She was gone. And all that was left was me.

I am no longer carrying pain. I am walking with the wisdom it gave me—its truth, its lessons, its fire.

This book gave me a huge sense of accomplishment, of completion. It played a major role in my healing.

I know people look at the trips and the posts and think—“Yea, she’s good—living the life.” I make everything look so fucking easy, eh? Like I’ve got it all under control. Yea, I’m good at that.

Those bursts of positivity? They’re real. They live in me. But don’t get it twisted—you have no idea what it took to get ready for a few of those posts. Physically. Mentally. Aesthetically.

I’d never put myself out there like that before. Back when confidence was missing, I stayed quiet, behind the scenes. That component is no longer missing.

The things I’ve seen—the things I’ve learned through this journey—I’ve got a lot of shit to say. Wisdom to kick. And it’s not the kind meant to be held in.

We only grow through wisdom and experience—ours and others’.

This isn’t the end of my story. I’m just getting started. It’s the beginning of the voice I was always meant to use.

And if anyone feels “roasted” in these pages? That’s on you. Every word is truth. It’s how I was made to feel—good or bad.

Be grateful, because there’s a lot more I could’ve written. A lot more I could’ve exposed if I was out to “roast” or “slam” anyone.

This book isn’t about you. It isn’t about them. It’s about me. About the roles people played in my life—whether they held me up or push me down.

I’m already working on the next book—two coming after that. They’re all about the journey I’ve been on these past two years.

They may not be of any interest to you, but I know there’s people out there that need to hear and know the things I’ve learned—physically, mentally, emotionally, psychologically, and spiritually.

What I’m building isn’t just a stack of books—it’s a library of truth.

They Saved My Heart, I Saved the Rest— My heart journey—everything people should know before having heart surgery, the shit they don’t tell you.

Raised to Swallow, Forced to Spit— Focuses on Gen X and PTSD—breaking the silence.

Open Heart Awakening—Tells the story of the awakening I went through—the spiritual side of my journey.

This first book came straight from my experiences, and the next ones will follow the same truth.

They’re being sent out into the world for others who’ve faced the same shit, the same setbacks I have. To give them a clearer picture of what’s really going on, and to remind them that’s all they are—setbacks. You can rise again.

It’s the shit nobody wants to talk about. The shit people drag around like a noose on their neck.

Oh, I’ll be talking about it alright—in these books, on the Truth Serum—Raw Stories podcast, and on any platform I can get my hands on.

Stuffing shit down, pretending things didn’t happen—wounds that have affected you, scars that have shaped you, blows that have kicked your soul. That shit doesn’t belong festering inside you. 

Your silence is their protection. They need to be spoken about. They need to be released so that you can live in peace, free from pain, from shame and live the life you were always meant to live.

Fuck, I almost died—and here I sit, starting over yet again at ground zero—mentally, financially, emotionally. But this time’s different.

I got a redo—as a writer. This time, I get to live my life worry-free and in peace. And that’s good enough for me.

That’s the goal here, folks—peace.

I’m quite certain the people who need these books—oh, they’ll find them. No doubt about it.

Memoirs of a Lash Artist drops next month. I’ll announce the exact date soon and let you know where to get it.

To everyone who’s supported me, listened, had the patience to hear me out, followed along, and had the compassion to try to understand—your support means more than you’ll ever know.

I told you at the start of all this that it was going to be something—well, this is something alright.

If you know anyone who’s struggling, suffering in silence—send them this, right here. Copy the link. Drop it in their hands. Do your part, because silence keeps them safe, not us.