After writing my first blog, I felt something shift inside me.
Not just a release—but a realization. Like I had opened a door I didn’t even know was
locked. And I knew I couldn’t close it again.
The response was overwhelming. So many of you reached out. Some with stories of your
own. Others with simple but powerful words: “Thank you.”
That told me this is more than writing—it’s witnessing. It’s healing. It’s purpose.
So I kept going. And as I sat down to write again, the truth came flooding back in a way I
wasn’t expecting. This time, I want to take you deeper.
The Foundation
Some of you know that I became an entrepreneur by default.
On April 23, 2014, my husband went into cardiac arrest. After 25 years of service as a
fireman and paramedic, he was forced into early retirement. That terrifying day turned out
to be the beginning of something new. Through recovery and redirection, The Crab Stop of
Vero Beach was born.
Exactly six years later, to the day—April 23, 2020—he was diagnosed with colon cancer.
Same date. Different fire. And once again, our lives were turned upside down.
For years, I stood beside him, supporting his dream, helping build something from pain.
Then in 2022, while riding in the car, he turned to me and asked, “What do YOU want to do
that would bring you passion?”
That was the seed of Sweet Desires. A moment that gave me permission to dream for myself.
The Fire
Writing that first blog gave me a new kind of freedom—but with that freedom came fear.
Fear of being too seen. Fear of being misunderstood. Fear that now that I’d opened up, there
was no turning back.
It was like taking off armor that had protected me for years. (Taking off my red lipstick—for those of you who know, that’s always been my signature. My way of hiding the pain behind
the makeup and the bold red lips.)
While the public watched headlines and made assumptions, I was facing something far
heavier. I wasn’t just trying to survive rumors—I was begging God to save my husband.
We didn’t have time to read social media. We were reading scan results, scheduling
treatments, and clinging to faith.
I still had to run the businesses. Still had to smile. Still had to show up. It was pressure
wrapped in pain, all while praying to come through the fire without smelling like smoke.
The Rebuild
And in that fire, I prayed one of the most desperate prayers I’ve ever prayed:
God, send the people.
Not just anyone. Not spectators or bystanders. I needed people who would see the heart
beyond the headlines. Who wouldn’t use my pain against me.
And He answered. They came. One by one. Some with bright smiles. Some with tight hugs.
Some with silent prayers. But all with love.
Even in the fire—I didn’t feel alone.
And every morning before I faced the world, one song played like a divine appointment:
Gracefully Broken.
“God will break you to position you,
He will break you to promote you,
And break you to put you in your right place.
But when He breaks you… He doesn’t destroy you.
He does it with grace.”
That song became my anthem. My covering. My surrender. Because I wasn’t being
punished—I was being positioned. Rebuilt. Refined.
Stripped—not to be shamed, but to be healed.
I kept showing up. I kept praying. I kept putting on that red lipstick—not to pretend, but to
proclaim:
I’m still standing.
The fear didn’t go away. But it doesn’t get to lead.
This journey didn’t begin the way I planned. But it feels like home.