There’s a First Time for Everything

"What do you do?"

Without any hesitation or the mental scramble for the right words or the dear of feeling like an imposter, I said:

"I'm a mixed media artist and creativity facilitator."

The words came out whole, confident, grounded.

We were walking in Ilene’s living room, having just seen her studio, surrounded by decades of her oil paintings … poetry in motion, canvases layered with the kind of colors and texture that comes from years of finessing one’s craft. I was in awe. And this felt like stepping into a gallery of greats.

Ilene’s Studio

Ilene is seventy-five, petite with thick glasses—owner of some of the most eclectic, bright, delightfully odd-shaped frames you can imagine— and an East Coast accent that makes every statement sound like punctuation. When she talks, the air feels electric.

“What does that mean?” she asked, pausing as we toured her house.

“Well, I help women feel more empowered by rejecting the old narratives that say creativity belongs only to a chosen few."

Her face lit up. "Do you do workshops? Tell me more.”

“I do!” I said with a smile and went on to tell her about The RIPPLE Practice™ and how I’ve finally found the language to articulate my approach to any creative act—be it writing, art-making, or cooking.

She asked me the meaning of each letter and then said something that made my heart skip:

"I love what you’re doing. It's not like one of those template workshops and retreats where people promise transformation. I’ve been to those. I’ve paid thousands of dollars. This stuff doesn’t happen overnight."

She got it.

She understood that this work—this practice I’ve been building mostly in whispers, shrouded in doubt—requires patience. Safety. The willingness to trust the slow process of rediscovering what we’ve been holding back.

Over sushi and samosas, prosecco catching light from her gallery-like walls, somewhere between her stories of sixty-three-years of love and the sweet contrast of peach salad against salty soy sauce, I had goosebumps.

The irony wasn’t lost on me. For years, I’ve been the one encouraging you to claim your creativity, to trust your voice, to stop shrinking.

People have told me my work is inspirational. They’ve told me I help them find confidence they didn’t know they had. In fact, it was this community that came up with the title of “creativity facilitator” for me … a role I now embrace with confidence.

But what you might not realize is how much you’ve been helping me in return.

Every person who shows up in The Ripple Room, every comment left on a video, every email you’ve opened and read—you've been quietly building the foundation of my own confidence.

This has never been a one-way street.

While I've been showing up raw, unfiltered and imperfect, you've been offering me grace and love but also proof that this work matters.

Living that truth for myself has been the hardest part.

I’ve seen many workshop participants bloom with confidence, their courage becoming my biggest validator. Yet somehow, when it came to my own identity, I still hesitated. Still made myself smaller.

Until last evening.

This was the first time I'd introduced myself to an accomplished artist—someone with gallery showings and social standing in the art world—without any of that familiar shrinking.

“I love what you’re doing,” she'd said. As if what I do matters. As if the work I've been building is not just valuable but necessary.

“I am a mixed media artist and creativity facilitator.”

I said it. I meant it. And for the first time, I believed it—completely.

In Ilene's living room, surrounded by evidence of a lifetime spent creating, I realized that what I had been teaching others for years had finally landed in my own body.

The practice I'd created to help you trust yourself had quietly been working on me, too.

You might not know the gift you've given me through your participation, your courage to show up, your willingness to trust this process. Every time you've taken a risk in The Ripple Room, every vulnerable email you’ve sent me, every step you've taken toward claiming your own creativity—you've been showing me the way.

What I've been encouraging in you—the courage to trust your voice, to stop waiting for validation—has finally found its home in me. And I couldn't have gotten here without witnessing your transformation or the quiet reciprocity of this work we've been doing together.

The ripples start with the courage to say it out loud—without hesitation, without apology, without waiting for the world to anoint you first.

Thank you for helping me own my truth.