Some Doors Wait for You. Some You Break Down.

What I learned when life handed me the key I didn’t know I was waiting for.

We love a good door metaphor. Writers, therapists, self-help influencers—we all come back to it like it’s the only poetic structure left. Open a door, close a door, walk through one into your destiny. It’s practically required language at this point.

But for me, the metaphor became a little too real.

In my twenties, I donated eggs anonymously. I was told I’d never know if children came from it. That was the deal. And for years, it was a door I didn’t knock on. I closed it, labeled it “past,” and moved forward.

Then, in 2023, someone turned the key.

I won’t tell the whole story here—not yet—but let’s just say I found myself standing face-to-face with someone who had every reason to stay a stranger… and didn’t. Someone who unlocked something bigger than biology. Someone who changed what I thought I knew about identity, motherhood, and the kind of stories we’re allowed to live.

You spend your life thinking you know what kind of character you are. I was a survivor, a parent, a wife, a writer. I had my categories. And then a single message reframed all of it.

Suddenly, I wasn’t just someone who had a story. I was someone who had become a plot twist in someone else’s.

And weirdly, that’s where fiction started for me. Not the kind on TV. The kind that leaks out of your fingertips because the truth won’t sit quietly in your body anymore.

Since then, I’ve written two speculative fiction novels about identity, biotech, and what happens when we try to control the uncontrollable. But the real origin story? It didn’t start with a book. It started with a locked door. And someone on the other side turning the handle.

I’ll share more soon. But for now, know this:

Some doors take years to open. Some break you before they budge. And some open so suddenly, you spend the rest of your life walking through them again and again.

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(or just hang out here—I’m not done talking about doors)