It’s Okay, I’ll Remember follows a woman through a life shaped by abandonment, sexual abuse, military culture, motherhood, grief, therapy, and relationships that challenge her understanding of love. When did the idea of “remembering” become the central framework for Lia’s journey?

The concept of remembering became the core framework the moment I realized Lia’s story wasn’t just about surviving adversity; it was about truth-telling. When you grow up through trauma, abandonment, sexual abuse, and high-pressure environments like military culture, your survival instinct tells you to adapt, hide, or forget in order to protect yourself. But true healing requires the opposite. For Lia, “remembering” is the key that unlocks her liberation. It’s not just about recalling events; it’s about shedding the masks, stepping out of past abuse, and remembering who she was before the world told her who she had to be to survive.

How did you develop the spiritual framework surrounding the Lattice?

The concept of the lattice grew out of a desire to visualize how our experiences, connections, and spiritual histories are actually structured. When we go through deep trauma or loss, life feels fragmented, like broken glass. But when you step back and look at it through a spiritual lens, you begin to see that nothing was random.

The lattice is essentially the blueprint of our soul’s interconnections. It’s the invisible web that connects us to our past lives, to the people we make soul contracts with, and to the continuous thread of source energy moving through us. I developed that framework to give Lia and the readers a way to see that even in her darkest moments, she was never truly lost or isolated. She was simply navigating a complex grid of learning, seeking, and ultimately reclaiming per her place in that divine structure.

The book explores reincarnation, soul connections, divine guidance, and spiritual identity through Lia’s perspective. How did you decide how to translate those beliefs and experiences into fiction?

Translating deep spiritual concepts like reincarnation and soul connections into fiction came down to one principle: keeping it grounded in emotional truth. High-concept ideas can easily feel abstract or detached if they aren’t tied directly to human experience. Fiction became the ultimate bridge. It allowed me to take multi-dimensional truths, like past-life recognition, divine guidance, and spiritual identity, and anchor them in raw, relatable moments: the sudden weight of an unexplainable bond, the visceral ache of grief, or the quiet moment a pattern finally breaks. By telling it through Lia’s perspective, the reader isn’t just learning about these concepts; they are feeling them unfold in real-time, watching how spiritual awakening directly heals earthly wounds.

How has writing Lia’s journey affected your own understanding of the experiences that inspired it?

Writing Lia’s journey was a profoundly integrative and healing process. When you live through intense experiences, they can feel loud, fragmented, and often so isolating that you feel as if you are in a hole so deep the entrance is as far away as the light from a star. But when you sit down to transcribe those experiences into a story, you’re forced to step back and look at the whole map. The inner work you do bringing yourself back to wholeness and, in doing so, climb your way out of that hole.

Putting it on the page gave me a lens of deep compassion, not just for Lia, but for the real-life resilience that inspired her. It shifted my understanding from “how did I survive that?” to “look at how much wisdom was gained from that.” Writing her story didn’t change what happened, but it permanently transformed my relationship to it. It validated that the pain was never a punishment-it was preparation for my life’s purpose: guiding and helping others to heal. And that ultimately, my soul knew everything would be okay… because I remembered.

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