About Kat

Growing up in a home bursting with vibrant voices and dynamic personalities, I was often the observer. My family, a tapestry of energy and expression, filled every corner, leaving me to think their was little room for my own voice. It was within this environment that I learned to shrink, to listen rather than speak, and in that silence, I nurtured a garden of insecurities. I began to believe the whispers of doubt: “You’re not smart enough. You have nothing interesting to say.”

Yet, the heart has a way of seeking expression. To prove my worth, I pursued extraordinary feats, climbing mountains, traveling the world, tackling extreme sporting feats, even completing a full Ironman. I was the quintessential good girl, striving tirelessly to be noticed, to earn my place in a world that felt so vast. I buried myself in books, searching for validation within pages, hoping to find evidence that I, too, could contribute something meaningful.

But the weight of striving took its toll. My relentless pursuit of perfection led to a breaking point. My vice of road cycling, which I believed to be healthy, turned toxic. I found myself running on empty, my body screaming for rest, while my spirit sank into a chasm of burnout. With that came chronic fatigue. Cycling had become a single joy and once that sanctuary, was stripped away, isolating me from the community, I found myself in darkness.

In that place, I grappled with existential questions that echoed in the silence: Who am I? Why am I here? What’s the point? The shadows of depression, anxiety, and panic attacks enveloped me, weaving a narrative of social isolation that felt insurmountable.