At 37 years old, I stand not just as a community advocate but as someone who has walked through fire and come out softer, stronger, and more committed to human connection than ever before. I was born and raised in Marinette, Wisconsin, a place stitched into the fabric of who I am. My family is known here, not for fortune or fame, but for kindness, integrity, and a steadfast presence in the community. I grew up surrounded by stories that carried wisdom, coffee that carried comfort, and a truth that stuck with me—that when someone in your community is hurting, you don’t look away, you show up. That belief never left me.

At just sixteen, my world cracked wide open. A devastating, traumatic brain injury tore through my life, silencing dreams and throwing me into a darkness I never could have imagined. Recovery wasn't just hard—it was raw, disorienting, and, at times, cruel. There were nights I questioned if I’d ever feel whole again. I learned what it meant to grieve the life you thought you'd have while clawing toward the one still waiting to be written. But in the silence of those lonely moments, I also learned how healing begins—with one small gesture, one voice saying, “I’m here.” Through that pain, I uncovered a fierce truth: connection is medicine. And love—especially the quiet, ordinary kind—is the greatest force we have.

Fueled by that truth, I went on to earn my Bachelor of Science in Psychology and Human Development from the University of Wisconsin–Green Bay. I dove deep into the complexities of the human spirit—its fragility, its resilience, its constant yearning for meaning. During college, I volunteered in hospice care. I sat beside people in their final days, where words didn’t always matter, but presence did. I held hands, shared stories, and realized something sacred: we don’t need to fix people—we need to see them. We need to sit with them, break bread with them, and remind them they are not alone.

Throughout my career, no matter the job title, one mission has guided me—to help people feel connected, valued, and seen. Time and again, I noticed a heartbreaking gap: older adults, individuals living alone, and others quietly slipping through the cracks of our fast-paced world. Meals were delivered, medications managed—but where was the warmth? The laughter? The simple joy of being asked, “How was your day?”

That’s when I knew it was time to build something of my own. With the support of my family and community, I founded Meals With A Friend—a business built on the belief that no one should have to eat alone unless they choose to. At its core, it’s about so much more than meals. It’s about presence. About showing up with a warm plate and an open heart. It’s about creating a sacred pause in someone’s day where loneliness is replaced with laughter, silence gives way to storytelling, and ordinary moments—like playing cards, flipping through photo albums, baking cookies, watching the Green Bay Packers, Milwaukee Brewers, listening to music, or tending to a garden—become extraordinary through connection. Whatever brings joy, MWAF is there, ready to share in it, playing cards, because time spent together is time well spent. It’s about creating a sacred pause in someone’s day where loneliness is replaced with laughter, and silence gives way to storytelling.

Meals With A Friend is my way of stitching hope back into the seams of our communities. It’s about reminding people—especially those so often overlooked—that their stories matter, their lives matter, and that connection can be just as nourishing as food.

As this mission grows, I carry with me the same fire that kept me going through those darkest days: a longing to bring light, warmth, and meaning to others. Whether you’re a volunteer, a supporter, or someone in need of a friend, I welcome you. Together, we can build a world where no one feels forgotten, and every shared connection becomes a moment of grace.