1. How has writing this memoir changed the way you view that day and yourself?
Before I found the strength to write about that day, I carried immense shame, rage, grief, and disbelief about how far my mental health had unraveled. For a long time, putting the moment into words felt impossible—it lived inside me as something unspeakable.
It wasn’t until I began working with psychedelics that I could start to loosen the fear and self-judgment that kept me from facing that memory. Guided experiences with psilocybin and MDMA helped me access the deeper layers of that moment—not just what happened, but why it happened. They allowed me to look at it without dissociating or collapsing under the weight of it.
Writing about it from that place of understanding has been transformative. I no longer see that moment as a sign of weakness, but as a final, desperate cry for help when nothing else had worked. Through the writing, I’ve found meaning, context, and above all, a level of compassion for myself I never thought possible.
2. Did you find the writing process healing, or was it emotionally exhausting—or both?
For me, writing has always been one of my superpowers—a place where I can finally make sense of things that once felt too big, too messy, or too painful to hold. So yes, the process has been deeply healing. It has given shape to the trauma and helped me find language for experiences I once carried in silence.
At the same time, it’s required me to revisit moments I spent years trying to forget. That emotional excavation can be exhausting. But it’s also where the real healing began. Each time I’ve written into those darker corners, I’ve come away with more understanding, more softness, and a stronger connection to myself.
So yes—it’s both. Healing and exhausting. But in the best way.
3. How does it feel to know that actors will be embodying your most vulnerable moment in front of an audience?
I feel deeply honored that my work will be brought to life on stage, but because this is the first time my story is being shared publicly, parts of me also feel raw, exposed, and vulnerable. There’s also something powerful in allowing the story to live outside of me, to be witnessed and held. It’s terrifying. And it’s also a kind of freedom.
4. Your husband played a life-saving role in your story. How has that moment shaped your bond since then?
It’s definitely been a journey for both of us, together and individually. In the aftermath, we had to face a lot of truth, a lot of pain, and begin the process of rebuilding. But ultimately, it brought deep healing. I feel incredibly grateful he was there that day. His presence and steadiness saved my life.
5. Was winning the showcase a moment of validation for you—as a writer, or as someone who survived something so heavy?
Winning the showcase was absolutely a moment of validation as a writer and as someone who survived something most people never speak of out loud. But more than that, it affirmed the power of telling the truth. I’ve learned that when we share the darkest, rawest parts of ourselves, those are often the moments that connect us the most.
6. Are you working on any new writing projects now, or thinking about what you’d like to explore next?
I’m currently writing a memoir about my journey and transformation through guided psychedelic therapy. Less than a year after nearly taking my life, I began working with psilocybin and MDMA—and those experiences profoundly changed me.
My story isn’t just about what I survived, it’s about what I found on the other side: deep healing, integration, and a kind of freedom in my body and mind I didn’t know was possible. My hope is that by sharing it, I can help reduce the fear and stigma around psychedelics, support the movement for safe and supported access, and contribute to how we approach trauma and healing. I hope it gives others a sense of possibility—that their own version of freedom exists, too.