Though in the back of my mind, maybe it was.

I was always the girl who dressed her best, no matter the occasion. Something inside of me was drawn to it. I treasured every little detail—the way a perfectly tailored outfit could change my entire mood, how certain fabrics made me feel confident, and how I could express myself through what I wore. I wanted to live in that feeling every day.

But life happens. You grow up, and some things seem like they will only ever be dreams. I never really thought I could live my life "playing dress-up," so I moved on to other interests.

But God had other plans.

Let Me Start from the Beginning…

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As I kid, dressing up wasn’t just about looking nice—it was about expression. I had an eye for style even then. I knew what I liked, and I wore it with confidence. Some days, that meant overalls with a cute twist. Other days, it was a perfectly styled dress with little bows that made me feel elegant, or a twirly skirt that I’d spin around in just because I loved how it moved. I had a thing for details—lace, ruffles, and, above all else, the perfect shade of Pink!!

But I wasn’t just about bows and frills. I did have a tomboy streak, too. Some days, I ditched the dresses for camo pants, oversized hoodies, and sneakers, running around like I was on some kind of adventure. One day, I was playful and girly; the next, I was rough and ready to take on the world.

And honestly? I loved both. And for a while, I lived in that freedom.  

Then, middle school happened.  

That’s when I first felt it—that shift, that subtle but undeniable weight of being watched. The stares. The whispers. The quiet judgment that made me second-guess things I had never thought twice about before. It wasn’t just my clothes. It was everything.  

• The way I carried myself.  

• The things I loved.  

• Even my smile.  

Most of the girls had long, flowing hair—the kind that fit neatly into the mold of what was considered beautiful. I didn’t. My short hair set me apart, and that alone made me different. And different? That wasn’t exactly celebrated.  

At first, I didn’t understand why I felt so out of place. I was still me, but suddenly, the things that I had truly enjoyed now made me feel isolated. Like somehow, without changing at all, I was suddenly doing something wrong.  

So, I did what so many kids do—I tried to fix it.  

• I grew my hair out.    

• I wore the clothes that blended in.  

• I tried to shape myself into what I thought I was supposed to be.

  
  

And for a while, it worked.  

• The stares stopped.  

• The comments faded.  

• I fit in.  

Sort of....  

Because even when I tried to blend in, I couldn’t.  

That sparkle refused to be hidden. I still smiled big, laughed loudly, and loved connecting with people. I was kind, I was goofy—I was me. Even when my outfits weren’t as bold, that energy never left. No matter how hard I tried to blend in, it couldn’t be erased.

And deep down, I knew I wasn’t Me this way.

And I liked Me. The real me.

I wanted to be the girl with the short hair who sang at church, who had her own unique style, who dressed up even when everyone else wore jeans and hoodies. I didn’t care if people thought I was overdressed or too much. So, I stopped trying to fit in and embraced it.

By high school, I had fully stepped into who I was meant to be. I owned my love for fashion, my confidence in being different, and the way I lit up when I expressed myself.

Junior year arrived, and that’s when vintage found me. The first time I slipped into a timeless piece something clicked. It wasn’t just about the clothes—it was about me. The modern trends—sweatpants, crop tops, fast fashion—didn’t resonate with me. Vintage, on the other hand, wasn’t just style; it was confidence, grace, and presence. It was effortless, bold, and powerful.

I was drawn to things with history, things with soul. While the other kids chased trends, I gravitated toward silhouettes, fabrics, and details that felt like they belonged to another time. I had just started to really learn about Audrey Hepburn and that era. I felt the quiet elegance of her kind of style and that time period. I just knew that when I wore those outfits, I felt right.

Once that door opened, I knew there was no turning back.

As for pink? It was still Everywhere. But it wasn’t just a color—it was me.

Then, Life Changed.

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End of Junior Year to Senior year of high school was a whirlwind. As the end of high school and graduation crept closer, everyone had an opinion about what I should do next.

• “Go to college for music.”

• “Get a degree—you won’t make it in life without one.”

• “Follow the safe path.”

But I wasn’t sure. At that point in my journey, I didn’t know much about modeling, but I did find myself daydreaming about "dressing up" and imagining what it would be like. It was something fun to think about, but it never seemed like a real possibility. (Or so I thought.)

I loved music! But did I want to go straight from school… back to school? Just because it was what everyone else was doing?

The idea of being judged based on whether I got a degree frustrated me. I wanted to do something different.

I had been working in a gym since my freshman year of high school, and over time, I found myself learning more than I ever expected. At first, it was just a job—something to do, a way to stay active—but the longer I was there, the more I absorbed. I had always been into fitness, but lifting weights? That was something new. It wasn’t just about staying in shape; it was about pushing limits, both physically and mentally.

Before I knew it, I had fallen in love with it. Lifting became more than just exercise; it became my therapy, my challenge, my proof that I was capable of more than I ever imagined. Every rep, every extra plate on the bar, every time I showed up—even when I didn’t feel like it—was a reminder of my own resilience. It wasn’t just about building muscle; it was about breaking barriers, silencing doubt, and proving to myself that I was stronger than I thought. Strength and grace weren’t opposites—they were what made me unstoppable.

So when I started thinking about my future, the military seemed like a natural option. Physical discipline was something I already understood. I thrived on challenge, on structure, on proving what I was made of. My older brother had joined a few years earlier, and the idea stuck with me. Maybe this was my path too.

It made sense. It would push me beyond my limits, give me time to figure out what I truly wanted, and—if I’m honest—I liked that it defied expectations. People assumed I’d take the “safe” route, so maybe proving them wrong was part of the appeal. But deeper than that, I’d always felt drawn to Serving, to Leading, and Protecting. Maybe this was how I was meant to do it.

So, that became my plan.

(Or at least, I thought it was.)

But God Had Other Plans.

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Looking back, I know the military could have been a really good path for me. But I see now that a part of me wanted it more for the challenge—for the chance to prove something—than out of true passion.

And then, out of nowhere, another door opened. One I never saw coming.

The opportunity to start a business with my family.

At the time, it felt like a sudden shift, almost random. But now, I see how perfectly it aligned. It gave me exactly what I needed— a way to serve, to lead, to grow and learn, and a stepping stone that led me to places I never could have imagined. If I hadn’t taken that leap, I wouldn’t have made the choices, taken the risks, or discovered the parts of myself that brought me here today.

I didn’t understand it then. But now? I see it so clearly.

From Business to Modeling—What I’ve Gained

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The story of how the business started is one for another time, but what I gained from building something from the ground up? That changed me in ways I never expected.

Starting a business isn’t just about the work itself. It’s about who you become in the process. It forces you to take risks, trust yourself when no one else has the answers, and push forward when things get tough. It teaches you resilience, patience, adaptability—because when you're building something from nothing, you have to figure it out. No one hands you a roadmap. You create it as you go.

In those early days, I realized something important about myself: I was a natural at leading, networking, and finding solutions. I thrived in those moments where others might hesitate, where decisions had to be made with little information. I learned that I had a real gift for business—not just as a creator, but as a strategist, a problem solver, and a leader. I realized I wasn’t just surviving the entrepreneurial journey; I was excelling at it.

And I Love that challenge!

I still run the business, still pour my heart into it, still learn from it every day. But in the early days, it was everything. I gave up almost every other part of my life to focus on it. There wasn’t time for anything else. And while that level of commitment taught me discipline, it also did something else—it stripped everything down to the core, revealing a version of myself that was stronger, more confident, and ready for whatever came next.

The Next Chapter

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When you take everything else away, you start to see what truly matters. At first, it was just a thought—a quiet whisper in the back of my mind, reminding me of the parts of myself I had set aside. And then, unexpectedly, that whisper turned into something real.

A Photoshoot.

It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t something I had been actively pursuing. But in that moment—dressing up, stepping in front of the camera, and expressing myself through movement and style—I felt something shift.

That Spark.

It was the same feeling I had as a kid when I would put on an outfit that made me feel alive. The creativity, the storytelling, the way fashion and presence could capture a mood, a message, an identity. When I stood in front of the mirror, the outfit wasn’t just a look—it was a statement. Each piece, each color, each accessory spoke something about who I was or who I wanted to be. The power of clothes to transform, to tell a story without saying a word, was always something that fascinated me. It was a way to express myself, to channel emotions, dreams, and even a little bit of magic.

And in that moment, when I stepped in front of the camera for the first time in this new chapter, I realized how much I had been missing that. I had poured everything into building my business—my heart, my energy, my focus—and in the process, I’d left behind the part of me that thrives on creativity. The part that loves to feel alive through self-expression. But in that moment, it all clicked. Modeling wasn’t just about being in front of a camera—it was about feeling the rush of doing something I hadn’t realized I was missing until then.

So I didn’t treat it like just a fun one-off. It wasn’t something I would let fade into the background. What I realized, standing there in front of the camera, was that modeling wasn’t just a random moment—it was something I had always loved. Maybe it had been buried under all the business hustle, but that spark was always there. I could finally play dress-up again, but this time with Purpose.

The same drive that helped me build a business from scratch kicked in, and I saw modeling for what it truly was—another challenge, another craft to master. Something I could build, just like I did with the business. With discipline. With strategy. With that same fierce belief in myself that had gotten me this far.

I took everything I had already learned—the hard work, the hustle, how to market myself, how to take risks—and threw it into this. I wasn’t just waiting for things to happen. I was making them happen. And honestly? It was terrifying at times. I was stepping into unknown territory, putting myself out there in a way I’d never done before. There were days I felt like a total fraud, wondering if I was good enough, if I was doing the right thing. I questioned myself constantly.

And let me tell you—this path hasn’t been easy. It wasn’t then, and it’s still not now. There’s no secret formula, no magic trick, no overnight success. There have been plenty of closed doors, endless rejection, moments where I felt invisible, like I was giving everything and getting nothing in return. There were days I wanted to throw in the towel, days where the doubts and fears were louder than my belief in myself. But here's the thing: I kept going. I had to. Because when you’re building something that matters, even when it feels like it’s not enough, you can’t give up. You don’t give up.

It takes work. It takes patience. It takes putting yourself out there, day after day, even when you’re unsure, even when it hurts. The struggle? It’s real. But I’ve learned it’s not about avoiding the struggle—it’s about how you keep showing up, no matter how tough it gets.

And despite all of it—the challenges, the hard moments, the setbacks—I love it. I love this journey. I love both the business I’ve built and the path I’m walking now. They’re not separate stories—they’re parts of me. And through it all, my faith has been the constant. It’s what’s kept me going when the road got tough.

The business taught me discipline, resilience, and courage. Modeling is teaching me to embrace the unknown, to trust God’s timing, and to step fully into the gifts He placed in me.

And so… here we are.

This brings me to wonder—has modeling always been part of the plan?

Even when I didn’t know it, God knew what He was doing. It’s easy to look back and see the way everything has fallen into place, as if the pieces of the puzzle were always there, waiting to fit together. I didn’t see it at the time, but I see it now. Modeling wasn’t something I actively pursued, but I was always drawn to creativity, self-expression, and the art of storytelling. And in a way, those things were always part of me, even when I didn’t have the words or the direction to name them.

As much as I’ve worked hard to build a business, there was always a part of me that longed for that creative outlet. And now, looking at how everything has aligned, it’s clear that modeling was part of the plan all along—just waiting for the right moment to unfold.