After sitting with the diagnosis and talking through medication options with my neurologist, I left the office with a handful of pamphlets—each outlining medications, each with a list of side effects. Some were safe for pregnancy, others weren’t. At the time, I was only a few weeks into a relationship with the man who would become my husband, and the idea of choosing something that could affect future motherhood weighed heavily on me.
My body held the hesitation. My voice cracked with uncertainty. I had watched my father navigate a lifetime of illness, and I knew the toll those medications could take. I didn’t want to silence my symptoms at the expense of my body’s inner wisdom. It wasn’t denial—it was discernment. I had a choice, and though we didn’t know how quickly the disease might progress, I felt called to try another way.
That choice—one small, quiet moment of refusal—became the seed of something much bigger.
I began clearing the chemicals from my life. At first, I had no idea how much harm I was inviting in daily—through products I’d trusted, routines I never questioned. Fragrances in my body care, cleaning sprays, laundry detergents, air fresheners. All of it. I started learning, slowly, carefully. I turned to essential oils. Frankincense was the one that changed everything. I applied it to my skin. I diffused it by my bed. Within days, the symptoms I had lived with for months... were gone. The doctors couldn’t explain it. The scans showed improvement.
And I believed.
That small bottle shifted something in me. What began as skepticism turned into fascination. I leaned into the plants. I hosted make-and-take gatherings, filling homes with handmade oil blends and plant-based care. I tried my hand at creating products—scrubs, bath salts, balms—and Loil Life was born. It wasn’t polished in the beginning. Far from it. But it had heart. I poured everything into those early days, hosting in-home parties, blending in my kitchen, and showing up to markets with whatever I had created.
Still, something was missing. I wasn’t just curious—I was hungry for understanding. That’s what led me to herbalism. I signed up for courses, started studying, and eventually earned my certification as a Master Herbalist. The education fed my spirit. I wanted to craft responsibly, to understand the energetics and contraindications of each herb, and to create with intention.
That same reverence led me to formulate skincare. My own skin had been reactive for years—I was allergic to nearly everything. Essential oils and herbal infusions became a healing combination. For the first time, I could build a routine I trusted, one that supported both my skin and my nervous system.
In the years that followed, I finished my degree in biology, got married, became a mother, and expanded Loil Life. I stocked shelves in local shops, spent weekends at markets, and eventually became a certified skincare formulator. Then came another baby. Then a retail shop. Momentum was building.
But as with every season of life, change came again. With small children and a growing family, I made the hard decision to close the retail space. Sales slowed, and I grieved the loss of something I had nurtured into being.
Still, I wasn’t done. During the time our shop was open, we had invited estheticians to offer facials using our products. I saw how deeply those experiences impacted people. I realized—I didn’t need to bring someone else in to carry that part of the work. I could do it myself. I could add even more intention and knowledge to what Loil Life offered.
So I did.
Every night for seven months, I dropped my kids off with my mom and headed to night school. I was exhausted, but determined. I absorbed everything I could, studied hard, and earned my esthetics license. I set up a small space and felt ready to return to this work in a new way—grounded, trained, and aligned.
Then, life shifted again. We were blessed with another baby, and I was called home. That familiar tug-of-war between motherhood and entrepreneurship resurfaced, but this time, I didn’t resist it. I honored it. I gave myself space.
A year later, I found myself back at the hospital in a management role. It was a familiar rhythm—but I was a different woman. I was now a wife, a mother of three (almost four), and a business owner with deeper roots. I brought that energy into my new role, determined to lead with care and purpose.
And then, the bottom fell out.
We lost our baby boy. The words still feel too fragile to say aloud. That grief lives in me now. It changed everything. I left the hospital and returned home—to my babies, to my healing, and to the work that had always felt like my soul’s assignment.
Loil Life is that work. It is the thread that’s remained through every season—loss, birth, change, and growth. It’s no longer just a business. It’s a living ritual, one I share with every person who chooses to walk this path with me.
Since returning to this work, we've welcomed our fourth baby girl into our family. Her presence, like each of my children, reminds me why this matters—why tending to beauty, to wellness, to the quiet rituals of care is sacred work.
I don’t know exactly where this journey leads, but I know this: I’m not questioning it anymore. I am here, exactly where I’m meant to be.
