Mental health doesn't take breaks. You either get right or you end up crashing and falling apart. And that's exactly what happened to me. I had to go through two weeks of psychiatric evaluation. Before I knew it, I was receiving supplemental income and seeing a psychiatrist. It took five years. But those five years were so worth it, because now I spend my time with my own dogs, and other peoples pets for a living. I truly wouldn't have it any different.

For years, my biggest dream was simple on paper and impossible in practice: earn my master's degree, solidify my Instructional II teaching certification, and grow into the kind of educator my students deserved. Twice, I got into graduate programs. And twice, I found out I was pregnant right after. Each time, I chose what felt like the only option: pause the dream and pour everything into being a present mom and a full-time teacher. I watched classmates post graduation photos while I graded papers on my couch, telling myself, "Someday." Eventually "someday" started to sound like "never." When I was accepted into the program where I graduated, I had just given birth to my third child. Logically, it was the worst timing. But something in me shifted. I realized that if I kept waiting for the "perfect" season, my kids would grow up learning that mom's dreams were negotiable. So I enrolled anyway. Nursing a newborn between discussion posts, writing papers in the car during soccer practice, waking up before dawn to finish readings — it was exhausting, imperfect, and exactly right. Coming back to this dream and actually finishing it rewired my confidence. It reminded me that I am not "just" a mom, "just" a teacher, or "just" anything: I am allowed to expand. Earning my master's didn't just advance my career; it sharpened my sense of purpose. Now, when I talk to my students about perseverance, I'm not speaking in cliches. I'm speaking from the middle of it, showing my kids and my classroom that sometimes the bravest thing you can do is pick an old dream back up and decide you're worthy of seeing it through. Next stop: Cynthia Valenti, Ed.D.

In 1988, at 24 years old and a single parent, I bought a one-way ticket to San Jose, California, determined to chase my dream of becoming a published author. But life didn’t take long to start life-ing. Silently, my dream faded into the shadow of survival and struggle, where it stayed hidden for nearly twenty-eight years. As the final years of a successful career in Human Resources approached, my dream of becoming a published author stepped out of the shadows and led me into the next chapter of my life. I immediately began recalling, organizing, and documenting the key moments of my life. Once my story was captured to the best of my ability, God led me to three superwomen: my editor, publisher, and a marketing manager. Three years after retiring, what once lived only as a dream became real. I did it! We did it! I am now the published author of my own book, On Assignment: Supporting Loved Ones Through Addiction and Recovery. The quote that derived from my life’s journey is this: “Dreams don’t always happen while you sleep; sometimes they become your alarm clock saying wake up, it’s time to move forward.” So I did…

When I was in college, I took a freshman writing class. In this class, I learned to write essays and short stories. I believe the class was meant to teach us how to write academic papers, but I don't remember that part of the course. I learned something else. I realized that I enjoyed writing. It was one of the few undergraduate classes I earned an A in, and for a while I thought it might be something to pursue. As the semesters passed, writing slipped quietly into the background. My coursework became heavier, my responsibilities greater. I still created stories in my mind, but I rarely put them on paper. Writing felt like a dream I couldn't afford. I needed to find a major and a career that offered financial security. Four degrees and two careers later, life brought me to a place I never expected. After I sustained a Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI), I started writing again. I wasn't writing as a hobby but as a lifeline. Throughout the healing process, I found myself writing down everything that was happening to me. I wrote about my symptoms, confusing medical advice, and my feelings and emotions about being a patient who is also a bedside nurse. At some point, I realized these writings had formed the foundation of a book. As a woman willing to try anything, I found the courage to turn them into a memoir to help at least one person navigate their own TBI experience. I've completed the first draft and the book proposal. The goal is to be published in 2026. As I have been writing this book, old story ideas have resurfaced, and my imagination has woken from a long rest. I have been writing other stories and noting ideas for future books. Writing didn't just help me heal; it reminded me who I was before life grew busy and practical. Now, I'm working toward making writing my third and final career. It feels bold to put this on paper, but it also feels right. I've learned that dreams don't expire; sometimes they wait for us to catch up. And after all these years, I'm finally stepping into the dream I left behind.

People often ask how I kept going for 45 years as the founder of the Hypoglycemia Support Foundation. The truth is, I didn't set out to be a leader or a fighter. I was simply trying to survive. I spent a decade terribly sick, misdiagnosed, and even subjected to electric shock therapy… only to learn years later that I had severe functional hypoglycemia and that a diet could have spared me so much suffering. When the truth finally came, it broke me open, but it also lit a fire in me. I knew my pain couldn't be for nothing. I felt a deeper purpose pushing me forward, guiding me toward the people, ideas, and strength I needed to build something that would help others avoid the darkness I went through. That purpose has carried me every step of the way. And after all these years, I stand firm in one belief: when you turn your pain into purpose, you don't just change your life, you can change the lives of millions.

When I first went off to college, I just knew I wanted to be a pharmaceutical representative. I pursued my degree and just thirty credits from graduation I did not finish my last two semesters. I did not finish my degree because financially I could not afford it. I did not want to take out anymore student loans, and I was going to school fulltime and working full time. It took me eight years before I would return to college. I remember feeling bad about not finishing and I told myself you can do anything you set your mind to and the next day I enrolled back into college. After returning to college, I excelled in my coursework, and this really helped to boost my confidence. I had a new sense of purpose because I realized I no longer wanted to be a pharmaceutical representative because I was enjoying my career working in healthcare. I was actually helping others to have a better quality of life regardless of their situation and that was important to me. So, I decided to change my career path because my circumstances changed. I realized I had to adapt to my environment and sometimes change can be good.

For a long time, I didn't realize I had put my dream on hold. I thought I was being practical. I had ideas, instincts, and a clear sense that something in the beauty industry was missing, but I didn't yet have the language or the confidence to claim it fully. Instead of forcing it, I kept learning, observing, and refining my point of view. What I was really doing was giving myself time to grow into the person who could build it properly. The inspiration to return came when I recognized that waiting had become a form of self-doubt. The industry was evolving, technology was reshaping how we live, and I could see a gap that wasn't being addressed. I realized that if I didn't act on what I was seeing, someone else eventually would. That moment shifted everything, from hesitation to ownership. Pursuing the dream again required trusting my instincts and allowing my vision to be specific, even if it didn't fit neatly into existing categories. Building Skin & Vine™ wasn't about chasing trends. It was about honoring clarity. I gave myself permission to build slowly, thoughtfully, and on my own terms, rather than rushing toward external validation. Returning to this dream reshaped my confidence in a quiet but profound way. I stopped measuring progress by speed or comparison and started measuring it by alignment. The sense of purpose that followed came from knowing I was building something intentional, something rooted in how we actually live today. Reclaiming my dream didn't feel like starting over. It felt like finally arriving at it, fully prepared.

I left the University of Virginia at nineteen to care for my son. It was my dream school, and walking away was heartbreaking—but I never let go of my goal of earning my degree. Even as life moved forward, that unfinished chapter stayed with me. Over the years, my family grew, and so did my sense of responsibility. I built a career in emergency medical services that demanded resilience, decisiveness, and grit. I completed paramedic school at the top of my class while caring for a newborn, often studying late at night and showing up exhausted but determined. I wanted my children to see that perseverance isn't loud or glamorous—it's choosing to keep going, even when it's hard. When I discovered UVA's School of Continuing and Professional Studies, I knew I had found the path that would allow me to finish what I started. Returning as a nontraditional student wasn't just about fulfilling a long-held dream; it was about modeling persistence and determination for my children and proving that meaningful goals are worth returning to, no matter how long the journey takes. Completing my degree through UVA affirmed what years of balancing family, career, and education had already taught me: I am capable of seeing difficult things through. Returning to this goal strengthened my confidence not because it was easy, but because it required persistence, sacrifice, and resolve. It clarified my sense of purpose—not just to achieve personal milestones, but to live as an example of resilience for my children and to show them that commitment and determination can carry you forward, even when the path is not straightforward.

I set my dream aside during a season when leadership meant carrying responsibility for others (I.e., family, community, and work), often before myself. Like many women, I learned how to lead through service, sacrifice, and resilience. What brought me back was the understanding that legacy is not only what we give, but what we dare to build. Inspired by my mother's journey and the urgent need for greater equity in brain health, I returned to my dream with purpose. Pursuing it again strengthened my confidence because it was no longer about proving anything. It was about honoring where I come from and who I am called to serve. That clarity transformed my leadership from doing the work to leading with intention, impact, and heart.