When I was about twelve or thirteen, I was certain I’d grow up to be a lawyer. Harvard-bound, no less. I wasn’t a registered Native American yet, but I dreamed that maybe through the Cherokee Nation I could secure funding and make it happen. I called numbers, asked questions, and mapped out a future I didn’t yet understand — but believed in wholeheartedly. Looking back, that level of determination at such a young age was equal parts adorable and admirable.

The irony is that I sit in a law office today — not as a lawyer, but working alongside them. And honestly? I’m glad life took a different turn. Environments like this thrive on hierarchy. For someone accustomed to contributing widely, it’s difficult to operate where the full range of what I have to offer isn’t needed. I never understood what being “overqualified” meant until I lived it. Now, I understand it all too well.

By seventeen, my focus had already shifted again — this time toward the military. I wanted to serve, to belong to something structured and purposeful. I took the ASVAB and qualified for military police, even dreamed of becoming an officer one day. But I was overweight — something I’ve battled most of my life — and at that time, I wasn’t ready to make the physical changes that path required. Still, the experience taught me about discipline and dedication, lessons that would stay with me long after that dream passed.

I wasn’t just dreaming about Harvard around that time — I was also pretty sure I was going to be a rock star. My dad was a musician, and music ran through our family like blood. I was already performing by then, chasing lights and applause with all the confidence a kid can muster. For a while, I genuinely thought I might be famous one day — maybe even balancing the courtroom by day and the stage by night.

That is, until one unforgettable stage fright incident took me out of the spotlight for good. I was mid-song, nerves churning, when I suddenly got sick and dry-heaved right into the mic. Mortified doesn’t begin to describe it. I can laugh about it now, but at the time, I thought my performing days were over. Still, it taught me something I didn’t expect — that even when your voice shakes (or, in my case, rebels entirely), there’s courage in showing up.

As I got older, my heart turned toward nursing. Like most things I do, I threw myself into it with full force. I became a nurse aide and later a medication manager, working long hours — sometimes 24-hour shifts — because helping people filled me with purpose. I loved it, and I was good at it. So good, in fact, that I started dreaming of becoming a doctor.

Now, this part makes me laugh — my last name was Fisher at the time, and one of my best friends’ last name was Price. We used to joke about getting married so I could become Dr. Fisher-Price. A pediatrician with a sense of humor, right? It was never serious, but the dream of becoming a doctor stayed with me.

Eventually, I made it all the way to graduate school, learning how to conduct real research and assist in publications that found their way into peer-reviewed journals. But when real estate started paying the bills and school required more years of unpaid dedication, I had to make a hard choice. Education filled my soul, but work paid the rent.

Funny how life comes full circle, though. The discipline I once sought in uniform found its way into my everyday life. Today, I’m just eleven pounds away from a 100-pound total loss. I’ve learned discipline in a different form — through mindful nutrition, hydration, and a pace of life that allows reflection.

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And that brings me here — to CherryCoBiz.

CherryCoBiz started as a way to make money — and honestly, why not? I had a lot to offer. But somewhere along the way, it became something far more meaningful than I ever expected. What began as a business idea grew into a lifeline, a reflection of who I am and what I care about most. I didn’t realize, at first, how many people would connect with my words or find value in what I shared.

I don’t do this for clicks or likes anymore. I do it for you — and for me. It’s for us. It’s about community, honesty, and a genuine desire to help others in the best way I can. Yes, I’d love to work on CherryCoBiz full-time someday; my heart and soul live here. But even as I balance work, motherhood, fitness, and everything else life brings, this space remains my home. It’s evolved into a living extension of love and truth — a place for anyone and everyone who seeks connection, care, and a moment to breathe.

CherryCoBiz became the vessel that carried all my “almosts” into one meaningful purpose. The lawyer, the soldier, the nurse, the teacher, the writer, the advocate — all found a home here. What started as a wellness hub has become a living legacy, a reflection of every path I’ve walked. I often say I’m a “jack of all trades, master of none,” but truthfully, I think I’ve mastered something after all — compassion, resilience, and the art of showing up.

Working in a law office today, I still study people and spaces, quietly observing how environment shapes behavior — something my background in Industrial/Organizational Psychology always tunes me into. It’s fascinating and frustrating in equal measure. Hierarchies can inspire excellence or stifle creativity depending on how they’re managed. I’ve seen both sides.

Maybe that’s why CherryCoBiz feels like home. It’s my space to build freely — to blend intellect with heart, structure with soul, and work with wellness. Every career path I ever considered somehow converged here. And that, I think, is exactly how it was meant to unfold.