I’ve worn a lot of hats in my life—event planner, restaurant owner, marketing director, podcaster—but the most important ones are mama, writer, and storyteller.

When my daughter, Lorelei, was born with mitochondrial disease, motherhood became nothing like I imagined. Instead of vacations and road trips, my lifelines became hospital hallways and pharmacy runs. I still haven’t slept in years, but I can change a g-tube in my sleep.

These days, when I have the energy, I throw myself into writing, splattering my walls and canvases with colorful art, and planning retreats for caregivers through The Apricity Hope Project, the nonprofit I founded. Because even in the messiest seasons, I believe in apricity—the warmth of the sun in winter—and the magic of community.

I survive on iced peppermint mocha coffee, year round. But nothing soothes my soul quite like a piña colada in hand, warm sunshine on the water, or binge watching The Golden Girls. Whenever I can, I pack up the camper van with my son Benji and hit the road in search of a mini adventure—even if our version of “road trip” looks a little different than most.

I’m still figuring out how “Old Suz” (the fun one who dreamed of empty Key West sandbars) and “New Suz” (the medical mom who faces trauma on the daily) fit together. But maybe that’s the point of all this—learning how to hold both grief and joy, heartbreak and hope, wreckage and wonder, and still keep turning the page.