I'm turning 40. It's not just a number—it's a milestone that feels like both a reckoning and a reclamation. A moment to pause, reflect, and ask: Am I living a life that reflects who I am and what I believe in?
For me, the answer is finally—yes. But getting here wasn't easy, simple, or linear. It was filled with caregiving, career pivots, grief, motherhood, burnout, purpose, and an unshakable belief that women deserve to live lives of impact—on their own terms.
A Career Rooted in Care I began my professional journey as a Recreation Therapist, working in long-term care, brain injury rehabilitation, and later in management roles.
I've always been drawn to people in moments of vulnerability—whether it's a resident rediscovering joy in a long-forgotten memory, a caregiver desperate for support, or a family saying goodbye.
When I pursued motherhood, like many women, I recalibrated my career. I transitioned back into a frontline role in a secure dementia unit—choosing stability and flexibility so my husband could pursue his career goals, and I could keep things flowing at home.
It's a scenario that so many women find themselves in: making sacrifices in our professional lives to hold the center for our families. The work was deeply rewarding, and I wouldn't trade motherhood for anything. But in that season, I began to see the cracks—not just in our healthcare system, but in our culture.
Women were burning out. Staff were under-resourced. The people doing the hardest, most compassionate work weren't truly being supported. It became clear that something had to change. And maybe, just maybe, that something had to start with me.
Choosing Myself I took a leap and started an online business selling leggings and lifestyle items for women. I was scared and excited. The goal was simple: replace my income so I could leave the job that no longer aligned with my spirit. It worked. I matched and then surpassed my income. I learned to build a brand, market products, and connect with women online.
But at the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, despite the success, I felt something missing: human connection. I missed the people. I missed purpose. I missed the stories and shared moments that made life feel real.
So, I returned to the field in a new way—working as a Program Manager with Meals on Wheels and offering 1:1 private Recreation Therapy. The work was fulfilling, and it brought me closer to the community I loved. But night after night, one thing kept me awake: watching families struggle to stay connected with their loved ones—especially those living in long-term care with dementia. Geographic distance, time constraints, and the cognitive hurdles of dementia created heartbreaking barriers to connection.
I started asking myself: What if there's a better way for families to stay connected? What if I already hold the solution? I could see both the problem and the potential path forward as clear as day. But no one else seemed to be doing it. Why not?
At Meals on Wheels, I constantly saw older adults desperate for meaningful connection and volunteers who genuinely wanted to offer it. But the system in my city wasn't built to support those moments. Too many meals, too little time, visits were often rushed, transactional, and left both sides wanting more.
This isn't just anecdotal. Recent data reveals that 41% of Canadians aged 50 and older are at risk of social isolation, and up to 58% have experienced loneliness. In Ontario, 25% of older adults report being lonely, a condition linked to various health issues, including depression and cognitive decline.
These statistics aren't just numbers—they represent real people, like the seniors I served, who yearn for connection but are hindered by systemic limitations. Recognizing this profound need, I felt compelled to act. That's when I knew: we don't just need more services—we need better, deeper ones. We need solutions designed from the heart, for real life.
That question became my compass. And it led to the creation of Remember MEdia, a secure platform that allows families to send photos, videos, and love notes to loved ones living in care.
Through a simple QR code worn on a walker, wheelchair, or lanyard, those with dementia can experience connection, familiarity, and comfort at any time by the support of any caregiver, friend or family coming into their proximity by simply scanning the QR code. For families separated by distance, time, or life's demands, it offers peace of mind and a digital hug that transcends limitations.
We are proudly partnered with Niagara College's Healthy Aging and Wellness Innovation Centre and Brock University, and we're building this with care, empathy, and evidence. There are over 750,000 Canadians currently living with dementia, and the majority of Ontario long-term care residents have dementia diagnoses or cognitive impairment to some degree. These numbers are growing and so is the need for compassionate, human-centered technology.
In addition to leading Remember MEdia, I also work at United Mennonite Home in Vineland, a non-profit senior living campus and one of just 40 like it in Ontario.
As the Program and Community Engagement Coordinator, I plan events, build meaningful connections, and ensure the campus is more than just a place to live—it's a place to thrive. This dual role—entrepreneur and frontline innovator—is no accident. I'm committed to changing elder care from both the inside and the outside.
Turning 40 is emotional for me. It marks survival. It marks growth. It marks letting go of who I thought I had to be and stepping into who I am.
For too long, women have been taught to wait: wait until the kids are older; wait until the timing is right; wait until they feel "ready." But working in palliative care has taught me one sobering truth: Most people don't regret the mistakes they made. They regret the chances they didn't take.
I was eight when my mom died. My dad kept me involved in sports so I could be surrounded by strong female mentors. That decision shaped my life. Today, I give back by volunteering with Port Colborne Wave Girls Hockey, the association my daughter plays for.
It's my way of showing her and all the young girls that confidence, teamwork, and leadership can be built both on and off the ice. That yes, you can be both soft and strong. By surrounding them with female role models, they are receiving a roadmap. A sense that, "If she can do it, I can too."
And it doesn't stop with the women. The men who support these girls, as coaches, volunteers, and fans, are equally powerful allies. They're not only empowering the girls they're also teaching young boys to uplift and respect strong women. Our whole family believes in this message.
We're proud supporters of the Professional Women's Hockey League (PWHL), my husband, my 13-year-old daughter, 10-year-old son, and I all cheer together because we know representation matters, and change starts at home.
