After a decade living in Paris, immersed in beauty, elegance, and the French art of living well, I came home just before the world shut down. Then, almost all at once, everything I loved disappeared.

The city that had taught me how to live was suddenly thousands of miles away. I found myself in what I now call a suburban slump—disconnected from my body, my joy, and the woman I had been in Paris.

As I searched for my way back to myself, I spent nine months searching for answers about my health before finally being diagnosed with ovarian cancer.

That's when I made a decision that would change my life.

If I couldn't return to the life that made me feel most alive, I would recreate the feeling that life gave me.

So, I began choosing differently.

I chose beauty.
I moved my body.
I danced.
I gathered with women.
I filled my home with flowers.

I stopped waiting for life to feel beautiful again and started practicing it anyway.

I began believing in the woman I was becoming long before I had proof she existed.

Paris had given me the philosophy.
Cancer tested the philosophy.
Sobriety deepened the philosophy.

And somewhere between the chemotherapy chair and the dance floor, I discovered that the most radical thing a woman can do is refuse to stop living beautifully.

Today, I help women remember that:

Joy isn't frivolous.
Beauty isn't superficial.
Movement isn't optional.
Pleasure is nourishment.

They're powerful companions on the journey back to ourselves.