I spent years performing a well-crafted life: married, kids, career, a perfectly organized Tupperware drawer. I tried hard to be Good with a capital G—good wife, good mother, good daughter, good at pretending my body didn’t have opinions.

Inside, a whole other story was unfolding.

Quiet choices slowly rewired my life. My decision to use pleasure as a compass began guiding me into unexpected terrain: tantra, ecstatic dance, polyamory, inconvenient truths, uncomfortable awakenings, and a kind of spirituality that rose through my body in direct contrast to my Christian Science upbringing.

For years, all of this unfolded behind the scenes. Hidden from most of my friends and family. It was neatly compartmentalized, exactly how a self-respecting Good Girl prefers it.

Then I did the most feral thing of all: I wrote it down.

My upcoming memoir, The Feral Way Home, gives readers a front-row seat to everything I once kept tucked away: the confusion, the courage, the erotic missteps, the spiritual pivots, the slow-motion unraveling of a life that looked perfect from the outside.

The memoir offers my story—sensual, awkward, sacred, human—as a reminder that coming home to yourself can begin with the smallest, quietest yes and still transform everything.