My story

My story started like it did for most writers: writing was never a choice—it was a calling.

The only time I’ve felt completely myself is when writing. I’m wholly consumed by it. Deeply passionate. It feels natural for me—like there’s simply no other way of life I know.

It began when I was an incredibly shy child, and writing became my solace. I couldn’t always get the words out to speak, but when I was penning them, I knew exactly what to say. It felt like a superpower. While other kids raised their hands in class, I was scribbling verse in the margins of my homework.

Along with being a reserved kid, I’ve always felt things deeply—two traits that make a perfect potion for a poet. These emotions have felt so heavy at times, like they might drown me. That’s when I’ve turned to my most trusted friend: the page. With writing, no circumstance is too overwhelming. I can turn bliss into an infinite moment, or transform tragedy into something meaningful and beautiful.

I first felt inspired reading the lyrics in those little booklets that came with CDs (my fellow 90s kids, you remember those?). Particularly, the way Taylor Swift told a story through song was awe-inspiring to middle school me. So, I started by mimicking her, jotting down lyrics, and eventually shifted into poetry through high school and college. I fell in love with free verse—how I could tell a story in exactly my own voice, with all the nuances that made it unmistakably mine.

It’s no surprise I pursued writing professionally, studied journalism in college, and eventually found my place as a copywriter. I’ve always appreciated the integrity of copywriting—whether you’re crafting an article or a flyer, every word is chosen with care, reviewed by sharp minds, and polished to precision. It’s a writer’s dream. Not to mention, working in the pharmaceutical space has given my work a deeper purpose—helping amplify patient stories and promote treatments that are truly making a difference in people’s lives.

I’m grateful every day to do what I love. And that little girl who struggled to speak? She’d be proud of who I’ve become. I’m far more gregarious now—but I still carry that quiet, writerly urge.

Some things never change.