I didn’t become a coach because of some master plan.
My original plan was to become a professor by day and an opera singer by night—a life where performance, teaching, and service were meant to coexist. Respectable. Sustainable. Fulfilled by both artistic and academic success.
But it didn’t go as planned.
When life began to unravel and I couldn’t even land a traditional “Plan B” job—at least not one that would pay enough to stay in Los Angeles—I found myself turning toward a different “Plan C”: Coaching.
At first, it felt like a practical pivot. A natural extension of the voice teaching and mentoring I was already doing. A way to keep making a living by helping people I cared about.
What started as a backup plan became the blueprint for everything I teach now: voice, value, and structure.
Because I struggled even more. Not because I lacked skill, but because I was still carrying the same patterns I had as a performing artist: undercharging, over-efforting, and quietly hoping someone else would validate my worth.
I’d spent years trying to build a life the “right” way—through degrees, performance, teaching, and helping others succeed. And in many ways, I did.
But what I didn’t know then is what I teach now:
Your income doesn’t reflect your talent. It reflects your internal permission to ask, receive, and own your value.
I had spent years contorting myself to fit systems that reward sacrifice over self-worth. I undercharged. I waited. I over-delivered. I kept chasing security that never actually arrived.
Eventually, I realized the real work wasn’t just about confidence—it was about clarity.
Earning power doesn’t come from trying harder.
It comes from thinking differently.
This work didn’t start with a business plan. It started with a question I couldn’t ignore:
What if your voice could be the very thing that raises your income—not something you need to protect from it?
That question came from lived experience.
As a classical singer and voice teacher, I spent years teaching people to find their voices—technically, artistically, and expressively. But what struck me most wasn’t how they sounded. It was how they thought, how they carried themselves, and how deeply they underestimated their true value.
Over time, I saw the same pattern in entrepreneurs: brilliant, capable, passionate people quietly shrinking around their pricing, their presence, and their permission to earn.
It wasn’t a branding problem.
It was a value problem.
A disconnect between how powerfully they could speak—and how much they believed they were allowed to receive.
That’s when my work shifted.
I don’t just work with people on presenting, messaging, or sales. I facilitate the chance to recalibrate the internal structure behind how they speak, price, and earn—so their business starts to reflect their true value, not just their effort.
Because when your voice gets clearer, your business grows stronger—and your income finally starts to rise on your terms.
