I was born to two human beings with strengths and weaknesses. 

My dad dropped out of high school because of drug use and moved across the country to Nashville, Tennessee, where he hung out in the rock-n-roll scene and played a mean guitar. When I was little, he would play songs for me at night, like “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,” and “Sweet Melissa,” by the Allman Brothers. When my parents got married, and then pregnant two years later, the whole family rejoiced, “Eddy is finally saved!” His saving grace seemingly came in the form of a tiny baby girl who everyone had waited for. It was me. Him settling down, getting married, and having a child meant maybe he was going to be okay after all, and everyone’s prayers were answered. 

When I was 12, he was diagnosed with cancer.

The surgeon told my father, “It’s everywhere. I’ve never seen cancer spread this much over a man’s body.” The oncologist said, “There is no point in chemo or radiation. But even if there were, your body is so frail from all the drugs you’ve done, one treatment would likely kill you.” He died three months after his diagnosis.  

Some of the lyrics to Sweet Melissa, though meant to be about a man and his romantic love, actually describe Daddy’s heart and mine so well: “Crossroads, will you ever let him go? Lord, Lord. Or, will you hide the dead man’s ghost? Or, will his spirit float away? But, I know that he won’t stay without Melisa. Yes, I know that he won’t stay, without Melisa.” But, I guess he has to stay away, after all.

But, what about my mom? 

Let me back up. My mom was one of four raised in a home full of the darkest secrets a home can hold. My mom was tortured by her father, my grandpa, nearly every day of her childhood and most days of her adulthood too.  Somehow, she managed to apply herself to earn a college degree and became a nurse in the early 70s.  She wanted so badly to have a family, but every boyfriend she had never worked out until she met my dad. She told me that he proposed multiple times but she kept waiting for one of those times to be when he was sober so she knew he really meant it. Despite how bleak this all sounds, they really loved each other. And somehow, he was her hope. When I was born, I was also my mother’s saving grace. All she had ever wanted and waited for, came in the form of a tiny baby girl, born right on their wedding anniversary, with magical snow falling just outside as a sign of God’s blessing.  My mom resolved in that moment to do everything she could to give me the life she never had, and to be the very best she could be for me. Unfortunately, life had a different idea.

She had a sign over the sink in our kitchen, which said, “Wonder Woman Works Here.”  The pressure of trying to deny and ignore all she had endured throughout her life piled on top of her until one day, she came home from work with a debilitating headache… and that headache never, ever, went away. It became clear she wouldn’t be returning to work and went on disability. Every morning, she would go see our doctor up the street in our little town and he would give her a shot of narcotics, and we wouldn’t see her again until the next morning. She was there, but not really, somehow managing to make most of the meals. But, I no longer felt connected to my mother. I was 8 years old when my mom had bags packed, and sobbing, told me she was going to a pain rehab. I kept trying to comfort her in my little 8 year old way. “Everything is going to be okay, Mommy, everything will be okay.” And she looked into my eyes and said, “I don’t know if it will be, Melisa.” The next day, my dad told me that he would be filing for divorce. He was heavy with the burden of her physical condition (and I found out later, with the burden of an affair…).  The other day, my mom found the Wonder Woman sign and asked me if I wanted it. Without thinking, I balked, “NO!!! I mean, no thank you, mom.”  

She never did fully recover from the affair, the divorce, her headaches, or her childhood trauma.

I didn't speak to my mom for 5 years of my adolescence. Only now is she fully beginning to realize that the world and I never needed her to be perfect, we only needed her to be her. 

After my dad died, I moved in with my aunt and uncle on their ranch.

At one point, there were 14 of us living in that house and eating around that table. Cousins, cousins’ girlfriends, babies, another darling auntie, me, that one sweet lady from Italy that my uncle wanted to help, not to mention some 15 chickens, and rabbits, goats and another 20 or so cows. We were full, which made for a lot of good distraction from the emptiness and utter shattering that I felt inside from having lost my family.  

During high school, I found meaning and fulfillment in performing. I thought if I denied my feelings and proved to as many people as possible that I was “doing great!” maybe that would make it so. I sat in the front of all my classes and worked the hardest. I was a “teacher's pet,” unless everyone didn't like that teacher. Then I was the class hero sharing my answers with everyone who asked. I was president of as many clubs as possible. I was away from home as much as possible showing everyone how great I was. I got ready for hours every morning and developed an eating disorder to help numb the feelings. I ran for and won Miss Fallon and competed in Miss Nevada in the Miss America program. I have so much compassion for my sweet teenage self. If I had stopped for even just a moment to hear God’s voice, I would have heard, “You are wonderful without ANY of this Melisa. You are enough just as you are.”   

I met my husband in my second year of college.

He was a returned missionary and the entire university campus seemed to be abuzz with this handsome, shiny new boy. We married just 8 short months after meeting. I always felt so comfortable around him, like I could just be myself.  But I was still super shiny, too, and now, I had met my shiny match. On our wedding day, we both thought, “This is it! This is the finish line! We have both performed our way to this point and now, everything will be golden. We have arrived!”  We got pregnant right away, living in the University Married Student Housing.  But as soon as I had that little girl, the overwhelming burden of all the pain I never processed came flooding back to me and I could not fake it. Now I knew what my mom felt like when she crashed, except my crash came at 20 years old. I was still a baby.  I started seeing a therapist, but part of me blamed my husband for my unhappiness, which didn’t leave much room for personal growth. I thought we were supposed to be happy, and he seemed happy, but I wasn’t happy at all! Where was the deep connection we used to experience? Where was my shiny returned missionary when I needed him most? Was I crazy? Was he? Was I broken? Or, was he? I couldn’t go on like this.

So, with three children, ages 4, 2, and a newborn, I demanded that he move out.

I could not handle any more lies about his behaviors and I was in full judgment that he was probably the most filthy and horrible human being on the planet. The only way I had learned to survive was through trying to prove to the world that I am perfect, which meant that my family needed to be perfect. There was no damned space for a massive humiliating weakness like this. Plus, as long as he was in the wrong, I wouldn’t have to face the GLARING eating disorder that seemed obvious to everyone but me. As there was no food going into my body, I literally could not make milk for my third baby. I was experiencing more stress than I could bear. I call that 6 month separation, “The 6 months that I cried on my bathroom floor.” I was diagnosed with PTSD.  

Once, during this time, I became so enraged with dark emotion, I took scissors and cut my long hair to no longer than 4 inches all over my head (it was my Britney Spears moment)! I had done everything to have the perfect family and it was now crumbling before my eyes. I was enraged, full of shame, and so confused. And what did these sweet children do to deserve this? Would they even remember what it was like when their mommy and daddy loved each other?

I also call that 6-month period, “the birthplace to my true self, my spiritual awakening.” It felt like God dried my tear-stained cheeks, picked me up from my puddle, and said, “There you are. Now I can finally show you who you really are.”

I immersed myself in every healing practice I could find. I was going to therapy, couples therapy, and support group meetings working with a sponsor. I went to conferences for separated women, I learned energy healing modalities. I became certified as a yoga teacher doing a 200-hour teacher training. I got to this place where I had to say, “No matter what my husband chooses to do or not, I am pursuing my own happiness with or without him.” Thank goodness I stopped depending on him for my happiness. And we have been so blessed, he also came around and decided to fight for our marriage as well. These experiences shaped the core of who we are now; in life, in family, and even in business. We both brought our greatest vulnerabilities to the table to be seen and witnessed.

The day we decided it was time for him to move back in, again we thought we had crossed some finish line.

But really, that was just the beginning. He went through ups and downs, and phases of blaming me for all his problems (and I blamed him for all mine). We were both like ticking time bombs.  

During that time of trying to come back together, we went a full year without having any sex at all.

I had my own trauma with men to navigate, and the trust issues that had leached into our own marriage. He was trying to learn to build real connection. We set a goal with sexual intimacy to have “connection above all else.” I had always been the kind of wife who submitted to my husband's every desire and gave him whatever he wanted, resenting him while my insides twisted. And, he had no idea I felt that way. That is no formula for connection. So we became brave and fierce, willing to do whatever it took to create the connection we were seeking. 

At first, we just wanted to go back to the way we felt during dating and on our wedding day.

But the deeper we went, the more we realized there was no going back, ever.  I grieved that fiercely, until I started to realize we were creating something so much deeper. We basically had to form a completely new marriage, but with the same people. 

We both agree that it was probably harder to do this, and heal all the trauma together, and wade through all the hurt together, than it would have been to just find new partners. But we would have been sidestepping life if we had done that. Everything in our hearts knew that fighting for this marriage, and this family we had already established, was what we wanted. Even though most days, we seriously questioned that resolve.

One of the major turning points in our marriage was when my mother-in-law, trying to help us save our marriage, kept our kids for an entire day while CJ and I spent 9 hours sitting together, sharing with each other every hurtful thing we had ever done to each other, the feelings behind why we did what we did, and what we really wanted. It stung so good. I finally saw this man remove his shiny armor. Part of me still wanted to keep my armor up, go at him fighting like I would have normally, but I was too enraptured in his beautiful soul to let that take over (this time). It hit me: “He actually feels things, he sees me, he deeply cares, he’s owning his weaknesses, right before my very eyes.” 

Finally coming to terms with the truth of my eating disorder was both laden with shame, and oddly freeing… and it opened the door to layers of myself that I had never understood. I began working with a highly recommended therapist in the field and immediately felt drawn to her.  She often wore feathers in her hair and seemed like such a free spirit.  She introduced me to my inner child, and to the voice of my eating disorder. Twice a month, I sat in her all-white, incense-filled office, facing an empty chair where the therapist pretended my eating disorder was sitting. She would crouch behind the chair, making her voice sound like a creepy gremlin, and encouraged me to talk directly to my eating disorder. She put a voice to the thoughts that I NEVER KNEW ANYONE ELSE HAD, about how fat, ugly, stupid, and not enough I am. Every time I walked away wondering how this was going to help me start eating and stop judging every bite that passed my lips. But eventually, it did. The more I got to know that scary voice, the more I got to know this sweet little girl whom I had shoved away so long ago. She was so scared, she felt like she had to do everything all alone, and she was so, so tired from having to prove herself and perform.  But I loved on her, I had compassion for her. And I freed her from a job she was never meant to do: manage my life. I told her that I needed her to play, dig her toes into the sand, and look up and admire the stars (all my therapist’s words, until they truly became my own.)  And I told her I would start listening to her and would not let the mean old eating disorder come between us ever again. At first, she didn’t trust me.  It surprised me the first time I heard her talk because I did not believe in all this, “woo-woo crap.” But she said simply, “Thank you. I will take all the love I can get.”  Because she really didn't trust that my love and attention for her would last. In other words, I thought my trust issues were with my husband, but they were really with MYSELF.  

Working with my inner child softened me.

It allowed me to feel, in ways I had never felt before. I stopped running from my past because SHE was my past, and she was glorious.  

It had been three years since the birth of our third child.

After three years of grueling work, we both finally began to feel that we were home, in each other. We moved into a new house. We called it, “A New Beginning,” even though deep down my fear was running wild. “If we call this a new beginning and act like we have reached some kind of finish line, it is only setting us up for failure! Just like it did on our wedding day! Just like it did when CJ moved back in three years ago!” But I took the risk anyway.  

Things started to feel really beautiful to the point that we decided, after all this turmoil, we wanted to bring another child into our home. It was around this time that I started to become obsessed with understanding what it means to be a woman. Back on the ranch, when I did something my uncle liked, he would slap me on the back with a full palm and say in a deep powerful voice, “Good Man!” I believed that being a woman meant I was weak. I believed that being a woman meant I probably wouldn’t survive. I realized to my great surprise, that since I could remember, I had tried to be a boy! I had kept the pink, the makeup, and the flirtiness. But I ditched anything that made me soft, vulnerable, silly, warm, tender, any of that crap needed to go. I bought a dozen different books on motherhood and womanhood, and kept asking in meditation, “Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?” until I started getting answers and started to feel connected to this deep wisdom within me as a woman, my own divine femininity.  Doing all this work allowed me to uncover the truth, that there is wisdom in being a woman. We named our fourth child after Mother Eve, and after my own mother. Symbolizing that a woman is so many things, and in her light, and her shadow. In her strengths and her weaknesses, she is whole and radiant.  

We call this period of time our second honeymoon. 

We began to rejoice constantly at the gift of intimacy and connection we had been given. And it didn't just mean intimacy in the bedroom, or even intimacy just with each other. Intimacy had become our way of being. Being close, naked, and intimate with every single aspect of our beautiful, crazy lives. And it was around this time I started to feel a stirring to share what we have with the world.  We are experiencing a connection that we didn't even know was possible! What if every couple could experience THIS kind of being? THIS kind of joy? THIS kind of humility?  And this is where my journey into coaching was born.

I Served women and couples for 5 years… and then entered publishing…

Getting to hold sacred space for women and couples was such a tremendous honor. In my 5 year career solely as an Intimacy Coach, I did so many amazing things!! CJ and I even had the opportunity to host a couples retreat at Lake Tahoe, I ran a high-ticket 3-month mastermind for Sovereign Goddess Embodiment, and I ran 3 different groups about opening your heart, using your voice, and letting yourself be seen and known.

I realized the work I loved MOST of all was seeing people step into a new perspective about who they really are. I saw again and again that when a man or woman was able to - even momentarily - drop all the societal BS they had been carrying about themselves and step into relationship from THAT PLACE, from the reality of their divine nature…

… they were enamored with their partner.

… they were enamored with their business.

.. they were enamored with their whole life.

And I found more and more that what really brought that out in people was when they had the chance to share their story with new insights they hadn’t had before…

I could give them coaching tools and energy healing and all the works, but what shifted things most, was when they owned their story and I was simply there to witness and validate it.

It awakened what I now call healing story codes within them and they were changed.

I too was being changed as I publically got braver and braver sharing my story.

That is when I knew I had to help people in a bigger way by sharing their stories.

Hence, The Heart Open Publishing Enterprise was born.

It is SUCH an honor and delight to reawaken the power of story codes on the planet, especially knowing that by these courageous individuals taking these steps to be published, it is allowing their whole lives, relationships, and world to blossom as they claim to the whole wide world who they really are.

“I hope you will go out and let stories… happen to you, and that you will work with these stories... water them with your blood and tears and your laughter till they bloom, till you yourself burst into bloom.”

―Clarissa Pinkola Estés, Women Who Run With the Wolves