My story, out loud: why I started the No Rain, No Flowers podcast

For a long time, I told my story in colors.

When I couldn't find the sentences, I'd paint them instead. Something was too heavy to say out loud, so it went into a swirl of storm blue. Something was beginning to heal, so it came out in soft pink petals. If you know my work, you already know the hardest parts of my life — you've just seen them instead of heard them.

Saying it out loud

Starting the podcast was one of the scariest things I've ever done, and I've stood in front of rooms full of strangers with a paintbrush in my hand. There's something about speaking a story into a microphone that feels different than painting it. A painting invites you to feel something. A story tells you exactly what happened — and once it's out there, it's out there.

I recorded the first episode more times than I can count. I'd get halfway through, hear my own voice say the vulnerable part out loud, and stop. Delete. Try again tomorrow. What finally got me to hit publish was realizing something: every time someone else had told me their honest, messy story, it had made me feel less alone. Maybe mine could do that for somebody else too.

Why "No Rain, No Flowers"

The podcast shares its name with this whole workshop line, because they come from the same place. I went through a season that felt like nothing but rain — and what I learned in it is that the rain and the blooming aren't two separate chapters. They happen at the same time. That's the whole story of my healing, and it's the thread running through every episode.

On the podcast, I share pieces of my life story more in depth than I do anywhere else: painful, personal, raw and honest stories of how I learned to heal by growing through what I've gone through. Some episodes are about the hard stuff. Some are about the practices and rituals that carried me. All of them are true, and none of them are the tidy, highlight-reel version.

What I hope you take from it

If you're in your own rainy season right now, here's what I want you to know: you are not behind, you are not broken, and you are not the only one pretending to be okay at the kitchen table. Healing out loud is just healing with witnesses — and there's real strength in it.

You can listen wherever you get your podcasts — the show is on Spotify, linked in the footer of this site. And if a story of mine ever makes you feel a little less alone, tell me. That's the whole reason I press record.

Rooted in rain, reaching for the moon — thanks for being here.