The Divine Storyteller

"You can turn a phrase into a weapon or a drug." Sara Bareilles' song Brave .

In the story of my healing journey, one of my best friends has been a constant, steady presence, embodying the wisdom that we are the authors of our own stories. She reminds me daily that the characters we play and the narratives we choose to craft are entirely in our hands. It’s a lesson she doesn’t just preach but lives, creating a story for herself that’s rich with love, warmth, and boundless optimism. If there were ever someone perfectly suited to write for Hallmark, it’s her—her life is a testament to finding beauty, humor, and hope, even in the midst of life’s most chaotic chapters.

I vividly recall our first encounter, where she effortlessly commanded the attention of a table of remarkable women. Her words and demeanor immediately drew me in, inspiring admiration and respect. I never imagined she’d want to be my friend, yet there was something magnetic about her—a powerful presence that made you feel seen and heard. But what’s incredible is that our meeting felt destined long before it actually happened. Prior to meeting her, I already knew about her. Because of COVID, she was stuck across the world in South Africa, and the man I was seeing when I first moved to Bermuda would repeatedly tell me, “Wait until you meet my mate’s wife.” I must have heard her name at least 15 times before we actually met. She knew about me from across the world, too. It wasn’t just her and I who felt this connection was meant to be—it was as if others intuitively knew it as well.

There were moments along my path when I was certain she’d give up on me. Times when my anger boiled over, my tears felt endless, and my pain seemed too heavy for anyone to bear. But not her. She met me in those moments with nothing but understanding. She witnessed the very worst of me, yet she saw past it all and held space for my healing. She invited me into her family, wrapping me in a kind of love I had never experienced before—a love that became the medicine my soul had always craved.

It wasn’t always easy to accept that love. I’d sometimes feel guilty for leaning on her, for wanting her comfort, but deep down I knew this connection was destined. My spirit recognized her as the missing piece in my journey toward wholeness. Looking back now, I marvel at the serendipity of it all. There are a million ways my move to Bermuda could have unfolded, but in every version of that story, I believe she and I would have found each other. Like the iconic scene in Step Brothers, it was as if we looked at each other and instantly knew: “Did we just become best friends?” “Yup!”

Together, we didn’t just survive my recovery; we thrived in it. Day by day, we sought each other out to meditate, pull tarot cards, paint, do workouts and dream about the endless possibilities for transforming our lives. It wasn’t just about healing me—it was about cocreating a vision for the greater good of both our lives. Her presence wasn’t just soothing; it was catalytic. She taught me to imagine happier endings, even when everything felt bleak. She empowered me to stay put, and not to run and hide in shame. She gave me a true sense of home and safety.

This wasn’t always intuitive. As Andrew Huberman explains in his podcast, the human brain is hardwired to scan for danger, to anticipate the 101 ways things can go wrong. “Your brain’s first response is always to predict disaster. Overcoming that instinct to imagine a better outcome requires conscious effort and practice.” It takes tremendous effort—and sometimes the gentle, guiding hand of someone who believes in you—to start seeing the paths where things can go right. My best friend was that guiding hand. Through her example, I learned that choosing hope and love in the face of fear isn’t just an act of courage; it’s an act of creation. She co-created with me the most beautiful recovery story I could have ever asked for, one that reminds me every day of the power of love, resilience, and the magic of chosen family.

Her impact on my life extends far beyond friendship. She has played a pivotal role in demonstrating what it means to be a mother in today’s world. Watching her care for and lead her children and everyone she welcomes into her life has been nothing short of transformational. She’s instilled in me the belief that self-knowledge and understanding your effect on the world are the ultimate sources of power. “The loving mother archetype holds the key to compassion: the ability to nurture others while teaching them to stand strong within their own truth,” writes Caroline Myss in The Language of Archetypes.

This was medicine I didn’t know I needed. My own mother wasn’t in my life for very long. She left my abusive father for her cocaine dealer. My childhood memories with her are fragmented and painful: being told I wouldn’t eat because I didn’t wake up on time, or picking clothes out of a car because her boyfriend, Rocky, wouldn’t allow us to keep our things in his camper.

Seeing my best friend mother her children was like watching a real-life episode of Full House. She embraced every soul she met into her family, surrounding her children with adopted uncles, aunts, and a community of love. Her children are deeply aware of their power—especially in how they treat others. She taught them (and me) that kindness and integrity aren’t just values but essential tools for living a meaningful life.

My best friend isn’t just a woman of the earth; she is The Divine Storyteller, weaving tales of empowerment and self-discovery. Her life serves as a testament to the transformative power of words and the boundless possibilities that lie within our own stories. Another profound gift she gave me was the medicine of the Jester archetype. Before my sexual trauma, I loved to laugh, but I had forgotten how vital humor is in pulling people out of their trauma states. As Bessel van der Kolk writes in The Body Keeps the Score, “Laughter restores a sense of safety and connection in the brain, pulling us out of fear and allowing us to see possibilities.” Watching her and her husband navigate even their hardest conversations through humor showed me how laughter could transform conflict into growth.

Until then, my only experience with relationship hardship was abuse. Her relationship with her husband showed me what real love looks like: not a perfect absence of conflict but a constant return to understanding. Yes, they argued, but they also fought for the right things—for each other’s souls, for truth, for integrity. Like Jordan Peterson, she’s unafraid of being an “educated asshole” when the situation calls for it, calling out the bullshit of everyone in her circle (including me!) with a directness that’s equal parts challenging and compassionate.

In every moment, no matter how hard or heavy, she found a way to spin her stories so that humor and understanding could coexist. That, too, was medicine for me. Through her example, I rediscovered my laughter, my strength, and a deeper appreciation for the resilience of the human spirit.

If you are struggling through your healing process, I want to urge you to seek out community. Find the people who can hold space for your current state of mind but also inspire you to chose better for yourself. Depression wants you to sit alone, and is smothered by the love of a community. Friend, you are not alone in this world.