Mental health doesn't take breaks. You either get right or you end up crashing and falling apart. And that's exactly what happened to me. I had to go through two weeks of psychiatric evaluation. Before I knew it, I was receiving supplemental income and seeing a psychiatrist. It took five years. But those five years were so worth it, because now I spend my time with my own dogs, and other peoples pets for a living. I truly wouldn't have it any different.

For years, my biggest dream was simple on paper and impossible in practice: earn my master's degree, solidify my Instructional II teaching certification, and grow into the kind of educator my students deserved. Twice, I got into graduate programs. And twice, I found out I was pregnant right after. Each time, I chose what felt like the only option: pause the dream and pour everything into being a present mom and a full-time teacher. I watched classmates post graduation photos while I graded papers on my couch, telling myself, "Someday." Eventually "someday" started to sound like "never." When I was accepted into the program where I graduated, I had just given birth to my third child. Logically, it was the worst timing. But something in me shifted. I realized that if I kept waiting for the "perfect" season, my kids would grow up learning that mom's dreams were negotiable. So I enrolled anyway. Nursing a newborn between discussion posts, writing papers in the car during soccer practice, waking up before dawn to finish readings — it was exhausting, imperfect, and exactly right. Coming back to this dream and actually finishing it rewired my confidence. It reminded me that I am not "just" a mom, "just" a teacher, or "just" anything: I am allowed to expand. Earning my master's didn't just advance my career; it sharpened my sense of purpose. Now, when I talk to my students about perseverance, I'm not speaking in cliches. I'm speaking from the middle of it, showing my kids and my classroom that sometimes the bravest thing you can do is pick an old dream back up and decide you're worthy of seeing it through. Next stop: Cynthia Valenti, Ed.D.

In 1988, at 24 years old and a single parent, I bought a one-way ticket to San Jose, California, determined to chase my dream of becoming a published author. But life didn’t take long to start life-ing. Silently, my dream faded into the shadow of survival and struggle, where it stayed hidden for nearly twenty-eight years. As the final years of a successful career in Human Resources approached, my dream of becoming a published author stepped out of the shadows and led me into the next chapter of my life. I immediately began recalling, organizing, and documenting the key moments of my life. Once my story was captured to the best of my ability, God led me to three superwomen: my editor, publisher, and a marketing manager. Three years after retiring, what once lived only as a dream became real. I did it! We did it! I am now the published author of my own book, On Assignment: Supporting Loved Ones Through Addiction and Recovery. The quote that derived from my life’s journey is this: “Dreams don’t always happen while you sleep; sometimes they become your alarm clock saying wake up, it’s time to move forward.” So I did…

When I was in college, I took a freshman writing class. In this class, I learned to write essays and short stories. I believe the class was meant to teach us how to write academic papers, but I don't remember that part of the course. I learned something else. I realized that I enjoyed writing. It was one of the few undergraduate classes I earned an A in, and for a while I thought it might be something to pursue. As the semesters passed, writing slipped quietly into the background. My coursework became heavier, my responsibilities greater. I still created stories in my mind, but I rarely put them on paper. Writing felt like a dream I couldn't afford. I needed to find a major and a career that offered financial security. Four degrees and two careers later, life brought me to a place I never expected. After I sustained a Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI), I started writing again. I wasn't writing as a hobby but as a lifeline. Throughout the healing process, I found myself writing down everything that was happening to me. I wrote about my symptoms, confusing medical advice, and my feelings and emotions about being a patient who is also a bedside nurse. At some point, I realized these writings had formed the foundation of a book. As a woman willing to try anything, I found the courage to turn them into a memoir to help at least one person navigate their own TBI experience. I've completed the first draft and the book proposal. The goal is to be published in 2026. As I have been writing this book, old story ideas have resurfaced, and my imagination has woken from a long rest. I have been writing other stories and noting ideas for future books. Writing didn't just help me heal; it reminded me who I was before life grew busy and practical. Now, I'm working toward making writing my third and final career. It feels bold to put this on paper, but it also feels right. I've learned that dreams don't expire; sometimes they wait for us to catch up. And after all these years, I'm finally stepping into the dream I left behind.

People often ask how I kept going for 45 years as the founder of the Hypoglycemia Support Foundation. The truth is, I didn't set out to be a leader or a fighter. I was simply trying to survive. I spent a decade terribly sick, misdiagnosed, and even subjected to electric shock therapy… only to learn years later that I had severe functional hypoglycemia and that a diet could have spared me so much suffering. When the truth finally came, it broke me open, but it also lit a fire in me. I knew my pain couldn't be for nothing. I felt a deeper purpose pushing me forward, guiding me toward the people, ideas, and strength I needed to build something that would help others avoid the darkness I went through. That purpose has carried me every step of the way. And after all these years, I stand firm in one belief: when you turn your pain into purpose, you don't just change your life, you can change the lives of millions.

When I first went off to college, I just knew I wanted to be a pharmaceutical representative. I pursued my degree and just thirty credits from graduation I did not finish my last two semesters. I did not finish my degree because financially I could not afford it. I did not want to take out anymore student loans, and I was going to school fulltime and working full time. It took me eight years before I would return to college. I remember feeling bad about not finishing and I told myself you can do anything you set your mind to and the next day I enrolled back into college. After returning to college, I excelled in my coursework, and this really helped to boost my confidence. I had a new sense of purpose because I realized I no longer wanted to be a pharmaceutical representative because I was enjoying my career working in healthcare. I was actually helping others to have a better quality of life regardless of their situation and that was important to me. So, I decided to change my career path because my circumstances changed. I realized I had to adapt to my environment and sometimes change can be good.

For a long time, I didn't realize I had put my dream on hold. I thought I was being practical. I had ideas, instincts, and a clear sense that something in the beauty industry was missing, but I didn't yet have the language or the confidence to claim it fully. Instead of forcing it, I kept learning, observing, and refining my point of view. What I was really doing was giving myself time to grow into the person who could build it properly. The inspiration to return came when I recognized that waiting had become a form of self-doubt. The industry was evolving, technology was reshaping how we live, and I could see a gap that wasn't being addressed. I realized that if I didn't act on what I was seeing, someone else eventually would. That moment shifted everything, from hesitation to ownership. Pursuing the dream again required trusting my instincts and allowing my vision to be specific, even if it didn't fit neatly into existing categories. Building Skin & Vine™ wasn't about chasing trends. It was about honoring clarity. I gave myself permission to build slowly, thoughtfully, and on my own terms, rather than rushing toward external validation. Returning to this dream reshaped my confidence in a quiet but profound way. I stopped measuring progress by speed or comparison and started measuring it by alignment. The sense of purpose that followed came from knowing I was building something intentional, something rooted in how we actually live today. Reclaiming my dream didn't feel like starting over. It felt like finally arriving at it, fully prepared.

I left the University of Virginia at nineteen to care for my son. It was my dream school, and walking away was heartbreaking—but I never let go of my goal of earning my degree. Even as life moved forward, that unfinished chapter stayed with me. Over the years, my family grew, and so did my sense of responsibility. I built a career in emergency medical services that demanded resilience, decisiveness, and grit. I completed paramedic school at the top of my class while caring for a newborn, often studying late at night and showing up exhausted but determined. I wanted my children to see that perseverance isn't loud or glamorous—it's choosing to keep going, even when it's hard. When I discovered UVA's School of Continuing and Professional Studies, I knew I had found the path that would allow me to finish what I started. Returning as a nontraditional student wasn't just about fulfilling a long-held dream; it was about modeling persistence and determination for my children and proving that meaningful goals are worth returning to, no matter how long the journey takes. Completing my degree through UVA affirmed what years of balancing family, career, and education had already taught me: I am capable of seeing difficult things through. Returning to this goal strengthened my confidence not because it was easy, but because it required persistence, sacrifice, and resolve. It clarified my sense of purpose—not just to achieve personal milestones, but to live as an example of resilience for my children and to show them that commitment and determination can carry you forward, even when the path is not straightforward.

I set my dream aside during a season when leadership meant carrying responsibility for others (I.e., family, community, and work), often before myself. Like many women, I learned how to lead through service, sacrifice, and resilience. What brought me back was the understanding that legacy is not only what we give, but what we dare to build. Inspired by my mother's journey and the urgent need for greater equity in brain health, I returned to my dream with purpose. Pursuing it again strengthened my confidence because it was no longer about proving anything. It was about honoring where I come from and who I am called to serve. That clarity transformed my leadership from doing the work to leading with intention, impact, and heart.

Some dreams don't die. They wait. They sit quietly on the back shelf of a life interrupted by survival, by shame, by detours that feel permanent while you're living them. This is the story of a woman who once believed her dream had missed its window, only to discover it had been keeping time all along. At 48 years old, she walked back into a classroom, not as a fresh-faced idealist, but as a woman who had lived several lifetimes. She carried no illusions, only intention. Her dream was simple and radical all at once: to become a drug and alcohol counselor. Not to fix people. Not to save anyone. But to sit with others in their darkest hours and say, I know this place. You are not alone. It was a dream she had set aside for years, buried under addiction, self-doubt, and the weight of a life that went off script. For a long time, survival came first. Addiction has a way of shrinking the world down to the next moment, the next escape, the next lie you tell yourself just to get through the day. College brochures and plans don't stand a chance against the daily grind of staying numb. Dreams feel indulgent when you're just trying to make it to tomorrow. There were years when she didn't trust herself with hope. Years when the idea of helping others felt laughable because she couldn't help herself. Years when she believed she had disqualified herself from any meaningful calling simply by surviving as she did. But recovery has a way of clearing the static. With a little over four months sober, she doesn't speak in grand declarations. She lives by something quieter and far more powerful: one day at a time. Sobriety didn't arrive with fireworks or instant clarity. It arrived slowly, humbly, through showing up. Through staying grounded in a Higher Power, she doesn't try to define too tightly. Through a recovery program that reminds her she doesn't have to do this alone. Through rebuilding a relationship with her daughter—one honest moment at a time. Through school, which gave her structure, purpose, and something to reach for beyond her past. Going back to college at 48 wasn't about proving anything. It wasn't a comeback tour or a redemption arc. It was an act of alignment. She returned to the dream because it finally made sense. In recovery, she learned that her story wasn't something to hide; it was something to steward. The years she once labeled as "wasted" became her greatest teachers. She understands relapse not as a statistic, but as a heartbreak. She understands denial, shame, and self-sabotage from the inside out. She understands how terrifying hope can be when you've broken your own promises too many times. And in the classroom, surrounded by students half her age, she found something unexpected: confidence without arrogance. She didn't need to compete. She didn't need to explain herself. She brought lived experience into academic language, wisdom into theory. Every assignment wasn't just coursework; it was confirmation. Pursuing this dream again reshaped her sense of purpose in ways she never anticipated. Confidence, for her, doesn't look loud. It looks grounded. It looks like raising her hand even when her voice shakes. It looks like asking questions without pretending she already knows the answers. It looks like being teachable. Purpose, she's learned, isn't about having it all figured out. It's about staying in motion while staying honest. She doesn't romanticize recovery. She knows the work is daily. Some mornings are strong coffee and steady faith. Others are white-knuckling emotions she used to numb. But she chooses presence over escape. Truth over performance. Humility over ego. What makes her influential isn't perfection; it's integrity. She is unapologetically herself. Honest and real, even when it's uncomfortable. Especially when it's uncomfortable. She doesn't pretend to be healed; she practices being healthy. She doesn't claim enlightenment; she claims willingness. She stays positive without being naïve, open-minded without losing her boundaries, humble without shrinking. Her daughter remains a living reminder of why this work matters; not as motivation through guilt, but as inspiration through love. Being present, being accountable, being someone who keeps showing up has changed the way she sees herself as a mother and a woman. School gave her language. Recovery gave her backbone. Faith gave her grounding. Together, they gave her direction. This dream (becoming a counselor) was never about a title. It was about service. About turning pain into purpose without erasing the pain. About meeting people where they are, not where the world thinks they should be. About sitting across from another woman someday and saying, Your past does not cancel your future. I am proof. At 48, she didn't return to who she used to be. She arrived as who she is.A woman in recovery. A student. A mother. A seeker. A work in progress with a clear heart and steady hands. Her dream waited because she needed to become someone who could hold it. And now, day by day, grounded in faith, recovery, love, and learning, she walks forward; not chasing a dream, but living it.

A young woman with stars in her eyes and big dreams in her heart. The visions of writing and creating art filled her mind, as the techno colors brightly flashed with many scenarios of a bright future lay ahead. As time moved forward and the darkness of her past began to creep in, dulling that vision of light, she was reminded of the deep dark secrets that want to come out and play. Refusing to give into the past she persevered forward deciding on a career less desirable so that she could flee her dysfunctional environment. With hard work and determination, she was quite successful as a medical research secretary. It was in this environment that she met her future husband. That young woman with stars in her eyes was me. When I met my husband, it was love at first sight and we decided to get married soon after we met. We were young and in love and nothing else mattered. We moved to another state, got married and bought a beautiful home together. It was there that we started to raise our family. As a wife and mother, I made the decision to put my career on hold so I could be home to care for our three beautiful children. It was very important for me to be there for them, because my upbringing was riddled with loss, trauma abuse and abandonment. I always knew when I became a mother one day that I would do it all different. My children would receive all the things that I never had as a child and young adult. Along the way I worked various part time jobs, but none of them full-filled my inner desires. I did what I had to do to bring income into our growing household. This is the second time I have put my dreams aside as duty called me in other directions. I accepted that, but there was always an inner spark inside of me screaming to come out. When my kids grew into teenagers, I branched out a bit and took a job as a counselor at a locked down facility for troubled teen girls. It was there that many realities hit me. First of all, I saw my younger self in many of these troubled youth because of my own past, and my desire to help them began to blossom. We worked on DBT skills together, and I taught journal writing, poetry and art therapy. Seeing these young women connect to me and the other staff members in a positive way, opened my eyes to my inner desires. My new game plan was to go back to school to become a therapist, so that I could use all of these amazing skills that I have learned over the years. It is funny how life has other plans… My oldest son had children young in his life and our granddaughter was living in an unsafe environment. So, my husband and I decided it would be best if we raised her. Of course we loved her unconditionally, and in our minds, it was always – Children First! Once again, I had to put my dreams on hold because someone had to be home caring for her, and my husband had to work. He had a full-fledged amazing career, and I was always proud of him. I thought to myself in a couple of years I will go back to school. As time moved forward, we had to take in our grandson because of the same type of situation. Bottom line our beautiful grandchildren needed us, and we rose to the occasion. My husband always said to me that he was thankful for all that I do, because it gave him the opportunity to do what he did, working towards building his career over the years. He was amazing at what he did, and I could not be prouder of him. My joke was always this, "If you look in the dictionary under family man, you will find my Johnny's picture"! He worked tirelessly to make sure our family was safe, sound and secure. On the home front I took care of everything else, making sure everyone was cared for, schedules were followed and the I was the organizer of everything. Anyone who says a homemaker is not a true career; I am here to tell them they are highly mistaken, because it is one of the hardest jobs ever. You are the rock, and center of everyone's universe making sure everything runs smoothly seven days a week and 24 hours a day. Throughout my life time not only did I raise our children, but then did it all over again to raise another generation (which I am still doing today). I would think many times, "When would it be my turn?" When our grandchildren were in school, I began to write. I have always wanted to write my own memoir sharing my life story so that I could help others overcome their past trauma and internal pain. I knew there were people out there sitting in silence feeling lost and isolated, and by sharing my story I would let them know they are not alone. It took me six years, but I completed my book and my dream of becoming an author became a reality. During the process, which was quite difficult at times due to the nature of my story, I would feel like I could not go another step further, but then I would visualize myself already there. That is what fueled me to push forward towards success. Holding my book in my hands for the first time was the most amazing and profound feeling. I cried tears of joy, sorrow for that little girl lost, and excitement that my inner child was finally free to heal. What a moment in time. Everything came full circle. From that moment forward many new adventures have transpired and it brought me into a whole new world. It was there that I found my wings to fly. Not only was I now a published author, but I became a public speaker, child and mental health advocate and a blogger on my own website. I went on to become the Massachusetts National Ambassador for Naasca (National Association of Adult Survivors of Child Abuse) and most recently a CASA Advocate (Court appointed special advocate for youth in the judicial system). I am now a voice for the voiceless. I will never regret putting my life on hold and dreams aside for raising my children and grandchildren, but it has been a long hard journey. When you always feel like you are stuck on the sidelines it can become heavy and discouraging. During those times I did a lot of "self-talk", reminding myself of my tasks at hand, and how nothing stays the same. Life is forever changing and my time to shine will come. I believe my time is now, and I am so proud of all of the work that I am doing. I am a fierce advocate raising my voice for child safety and mental health. Life as a public speaker is so gratifying because I can see people light up as I speak, so this tells me that I am doing what I was always meant to do. I have found my purpose. I will continue to find new adventures forever growing and evolving. Life brings us many challenges and detours, but with a strong mindset anything is possible. My motto "Embrace the Journey"

For years, my dream sat quietly in the background of my life unfinished, unspoken, and postponed. I always knew I wanted to earn my bachelor's degree in psychology. I was fascinated by the human mind, emotional healing, and how people overcome trauma. But life didn't pause so I could pursue it. I was a single parent. I worked long, exhausting 8–12 hour shifts at Goodyear Tire & Rubber. I was surviving, not dreaming. Every day was about getting my kids fed, keeping the lights on, and making sure we made it through one more week. College felt like a luxury I couldn't afford financially or emotionally. So I put my dream on hold, telling myself, "One day, when things slow down." But life doesn't always slow down. Sometimes you have to choose to start anyway. What inspired me to return to school wasn't a sudden break or perfect timing it was exhaustion with settling. I realized I was teaching my children resilience, but I wasn't showing them what it looked like to pursue a calling. I wanted them to see that even when life knocks you down, you can still rise and rebuild. Going back to school as a working single mother was not easy. There were nights I studied after twelve-hour shifts. There were moments I doubted myself. There were days I cried quietly, wondering if I was strong enough to finish what I had started years ago. But I kept going. And when I earned my bachelor's degree in psychology, something inside me shifted. It wasn't just a diploma it was proof that my story didn't end where it once broke. I regained my confidence. I reclaimed my voice. I rediscovered my purpose. Pursuing my dream again reminded me that I am not defined by delays or detours. I am defined by my decision to rise. Now I don't just help others heal. I embody what healing looks like. And that is what it truly means to reclaim a dream.

My success did not come from an easy beginning. It came from resilience forged in adversity, from choosing healing when staying wounded would have been easier, and from transforming pain into purpose. I am a survivor of childhood sexual abuse, narcissistic abuse, and physical abuse. For many years, survival itself was the goal. Like many survivors, I learned early how to be hyper-aware, how to endure, and how to keep going even when safety and stability were absent. Those survival skills kept me alive, but they were never meant to be the destination. Choosing Healing Over Staying Stuck There came a point when surviving was no longer enough. I recognized that unresolved trauma was shaping my relationships, my nervous system, and my sense of self-worth. I could continue functioning, or I could begin healing. I chose healing. That choice was neither quick nor comfortable. Emotional healing required honesty, courage, and accountability. It meant learning how trauma lived in my body, not just my thoughts. It meant unlearning survival patterns that once protected me but no longer served me. Most importantly, it meant reclaiming my sense of agency. Healing did not erase my past, but it changed my relationship to it. Turning Resilience Into Strength What trauma tried to take from me (my voice, my power, my sense of safety) became the very ground from which my resilience grew. The tenacity required to survive abuse became the discipline I applied to my personal growth. The awareness sharpened by trauma became emotional intelligence. The perseverance I learned as a child became a defining strength in adulthood. Instead of allowing my experiences to limit me, I chose to let them inform me. Applying Healing to Business Success As I healed, I discovered something unexpected: emotional regulation, self-trust, and nervous system awareness directly influenced my ability to succeed in business. Trauma had once driven overworking, perfectionism, and burnout. Healing taught me sustainability, clarity, and leadership rooted in self-respect. I applied myself with focus and intention. I learned how to build without self-abandonment, how to lead without fear, and how to succeed without sacrificing my well-being. My business success was not despite my healing—it was because of it. From Personal Healing to Collective Impact Healing naturally led to service. I went on to form a nonprofit dedicated to supporting other survivors—creating spaces where people are believed, supported, and empowered. The mission was simple but profound: to help others move from survival into agency, from silence into voice. My lived experience allows me to meet survivors with deep empathy and credibility. I understand the complexity of trauma, the nonlinear nature of healing, and the courage it takes to begin. This understanding informs everything I do. Becoming a Trauma-Informed Somatic Life Coach My journey eventually led me to become a trauma-informed somatic life coach. Somatic work recognizes what many survivors know intuitively: trauma lives in the body, and healing must involve the nervous system; not just the mind. As a coach, I help others build safety within themselves, reconnect with their bodies, and create lives grounded in choice rather than reaction. This work is not about fixing people. It is about helping them remember their inherent strength. Redefining Success Success, for me, is no longer defined solely by achievements or income. It is defined by alignment, integrity, and impact. It is the ability to live fully in my body, to build meaningful work, and to support others on their healing journeys. I am not successful in spite of what I survived. I am successful because I chose to heal, to grow, and to use my story as a bridge rather than a barrier. A Message to Other Survivors If you are a survivor, know this: your resilience is real. Your coping mechanisms once kept you alive. With healing, they can be transformed into strengths rather than burdens. You are not broken. You are adaptive. And with the right support, your story can become a source of power—for yourself and for others.

When the pandemic hit, I was furloughed and ultimately laid off from the company where I had spent my entire career. Fifteen years were gone in a matter of months. It was devastating in a way I hadn't anticipated. My identity had been so closely tied to my work, and suddenly it was gone. I was incredibly grateful to have a career coach during that time. She asked me a simple question: What do you want to do? For the first time in my career, I had no answer. I had no direction. It was a complete blank slate. She encouraged me to take a week and really think about it. When we met again the following week, the only thing I knew for certain was that I did not want to go back to working for someone else. I wanted control over my career and my future. From there, she helped me evaluate my transferable skills and explore how I could use them in a new way. Ultimately, we landed on virtual assistance and online business management. That clarity became the turning point. Then came the work. Networking, finding clients, and building something from the ground up. This experience has allowed me to grow in ways I never imagined. I have discovered new ways to apply my skills and help clients streamline their processes. I love creating workflows and seeing them come to life, especially when they lead to increased revenue and free entrepreneurs from the minutiae that slow them down. This new venture has also given me something I did not even realize I was missing: presence. I am able to show up fully in my personal life and give my time and attention in ways I could not before. I am deeply grateful for this unexpected shift and for the opportunity to support other entrepreneurs on their own journeys.

There was a time when my dream felt clear, close, and deeply rooted in purpose—and then life required me to set it aside. Like many women, I didn't abandon my dream because I stopped believing in it. I paused it because responsibility, timing, and the needs of others demanded my attention. I chose stability, service, and survival over aspiration, trusting that obedience in one season would eventually lead back to purpose in another. The dream I put on hold was not just about achievement or ambition; it was about impact. I had always felt called to lead, to serve, and to create meaningful change—especially in spaces where voices were often unheard. Yet there were seasons when that calling had to wait. I focused on work, family, and obligations that required consistency and sacrifice. I learned discipline, resilience, and humility in those years, even when I wondered if the dream would ever resurface. What inspired me to return to that dream was not a sudden breakthrough, but a quiet restlessness that would not go away. Over time, I realized that postponing a dream does not erase it—it matures it. The experiences I gained while the dream was on hold shaped me into a stronger, more grounded leader. They sharpened my empathy, strengthened my faith, and clarified my purpose. Returning to the dream required courage. It meant trusting God again with something I had once laid down. It meant believing that it was not too late, that experience was not a liability, and that growth does not expire. Reclaiming the dream also meant redefining success—not as speed, but as obedience; not as perfection, but as perseverance. Pursuing my dream again reshaped my confidence in profound ways. I no longer felt the need to prove myself. I understood who I was, what I stood for, and why the work mattered. That clarity allowed me to lead with intention rather than urgency. It also gave birth to Pnězs Change for Conquering Cancer (PC³), an organization rooted in compassion, advocacy, and the belief that no child should fight alone. PC³ became a living expression of what happens when purpose is revisited with wisdom and conviction. More importantly, reclaiming my dream strengthened my sense of purpose beyond any single role or title. It reminded me that leadership is not linear and that delays are not denials. Dreams placed on hold are often being prepared—both by circumstance and by growth within us. For women who feel their dreams have been deferred by time, responsibility, or fear, I offer this: your dream has not forgotten you. The season you are in now may be equipping you for the one ahead. When the time comes to return, you will do so not as the woman you once were, but as the leader you were becoming all along. Reclaiming my dream was not about going back—it was about moving forward with purpose, faith, and confidence. And that, I have learned, is how lasting leadership is born.