Many people talk about living with no regrets, but I’ve come to realize something different: living with intention brings far more meaning and depth.
At just 28, I was diagnosed with an unfamiliar condition called lymphangioleiomyomatosis (LAM). One moment, I felt like my whole future was wide open — and the next, doctors were calmly telling me, “You have a rare lung disease… pregnancy is dangerous… there’s no cure… your life expectancy is 5–10 years.” Those words anchored themselves in my memory forever.
As I write this, I can still feel how my chest tightened and my pulse pounded. I tried to stand, but my knees gave out under the weight of the news. I wanted to scream, yet all that came were silent tears streaming down my face. I felt terrified, devastated, and deeply, painfully alone.
In the months that followed, I spiraled. I buried myself in food, alcohol, sex, travel, shopping — anything to numb the truth that this was my life now. My diagnosis soon became an excuse to live recklessly and impulsively, convincing myself I deserved whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. My mantra became simple: live now, regret nothing.
I stayed in that mindset for years — until I met the man who would become my husband. Marriage had never seemed realistic after my diagnosis. When I told him everything, he responded gently, “Anyone could get hit by a bus tomorrow.” It wasn’t dismissive; it grounded me. He reminded me that uncertainty belongs to everyone. When we talked about having children, he immediately suggested adoption without hesitation, as if it were the most natural solution in the world.
As my health stabilized, I closed the chapter on emergency medicine and experimented with a creative life — acting, producing, casting, and ultimately writing. I enjoyed each experience, yet none felt purposeful. My husband often asked about my dreams, and although I humored the question, I couldn’t articulate anything real. I was still clinging to the idea of staying unattached, convinced it protected me — not realizing it was actually holding me back.
Everything shifted when I became a mother at 38. Adoption brought layers of emotions I never expected: love, grief, awe, and gratitude all intertwined. My heart stretched beyond what I thought possible — aching and overflowing all at once. Suddenly, purpose had a name and a face. My daughters became my universe, and motherhood became the most exhausting, beautiful, and rewarding adventure of my life.
Being “all in,” however, awakened new fear. I finally had something precious to lose. My children had already endured loss, and every imperfect moment felt heavy — what if it were my last chance to get things right?
In March 2017, when my girls were 1 and 3, everything changed again. I landed in the hospital with unbearable pain, surrounded by machines, bright lights, and worried doctors. I drifted in and out before slipping unconscious. Two emergency surgeries followed. An extremely rare intestinal twist nearly killed me — surprisingly, not my lung condition.
During two long weeks in intensive care, regret finally confronted me. I saw clearly how my “no regrets” philosophy had actually left me directionless. It broke my heart, yet it wasn’t too late. I chose to redefine how I lived — not just free of regrets, but full of purpose. That shift became my new guiding light.
Recovery took nearly a year. With the patient wisdom of my coach and friend, Rich Litvin, I processed my anger and grief. Slowly, I accepted LAM — and even recognized how it had opened doors I never expected. Gratitude found its way back into my life.
Choosing intention changed everything. My fear of motherhood eased. I finally published the children’s book I’d struggled to finish, and I launched an empowerment coaching practice to help others design meaningful lives. Because none of us need a rare illness or near-death experience to pivot. We always have the power to choose differently.
In 2019, our family moved from Los Angeles to the French countryside — a dream we had always talked about but never fully believed could happen. Once our intention became clear, doors opened. The move was risky, but deeply right.
Adapting to a new culture — especially through a pandemic — stretched us in painful ways. It was lonely, overwhelming, and exhausting at times. Yet every hardship carried seeds of growth. Over the past few years, our creativity has bloomed, and our daughters have flourished in ways we never imagined. They now dream boldly — and I wouldn’t change that for anything.
Every day, I remind myself: life is full of possibility. We may not control everything, but intention gives us direction. When we act courageously — even without certainty — the world opens. And I’m grateful to be living proof that when we choose purpose over fear, an entirely new life can unfold right in front of us.
