Behind the Name: A Dragonfly's Dream
The name A Dragonfly’s Dream carries a deeply personal meaning—a tribute to my grandmother’s final wish and a reflection of the transformation that guides this mission. Behind it lies a story of love, loss, and becoming—and the dream to create a space where others, too, can rise from the depths, find connection, and rediscover their wings.
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In her final days, my grandmother shared her dream for me—that I would overcome my eating disorder and find joy, love, and a life beyond my illness.​ I know she would be so proud to see how far I've come and the life I've built—one rooted in purpose, connection, peace, and joy. Her dream continues to ripple outward, carrying the spirit of hope into the lives of others. After she passed, dragonflies began to appear. At first, I barely noticed them: hovering near ponds, gliding across trails, pausing just long enough to catch my eye. Over time, I realized they always showed up when I needed her most.​ The dragonfly became a symbol of her strength, presence, and love—a reminder that even in long seasons of darkness, change and renewal are possible.
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Dragonflies spend most of their lives beneath the surface, unseen, before breaking through the water and learning to fly toward the light. Their journey mirrors recovery itself—the slow, courageous emergence into freedom and self-trust. A Dragonfly’s Dream carries forward her wish and my own: to create a safe harbor for those living with long-term or recurring eating disorders—for those still healing, still dreaming, and still becoming.
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The Vision
​​​​​I carry this dream close to my heart as I nurture an unwavering desire to create a different kind of care for those who, like me, are still a work in progress—a peer-led space grounded in harm reduction that offers gentle support, creativity, and mind-body-spirit connection through yoga, meditation, art, and hopefully one day aqua integration. A place that reminds us that change is always possible, no matter how many times the tide pulls us under.
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I dream of offering scholarships, hosting community events to educate and inspire, and creating both virtual and in-person communities where people can feel seen, supported, and understood. And perhaps one day, a podcast—sharing voices from this journey, exploring what it means to heal, to return, and the many ways we find our way back to ourselves. In time, I hope to build a peer-led day program that honors autonomy and spirit for long-term navigators of recovery—the program I needed, yet the one that didn’t exist.
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Each piece of this dream has grown from what was once missing—the buoys in a shared harbor, guiding me toward what I was meant to build.
