Researcher · Author · Advocate · Truth-teller
Most people who end up doing what I do arrive here through a calling. I arrived through a refusal. A refusal to be told half the story. A refusal to edit out the inconvenient parts. A refusal to pretend that what I was watching happen to women — in birth rooms, in doctors’ offices, in their own bodies — was acceptable simply because it was common.
That refusal has a starting point.
In 2001 I lost a baby. I found out in my second trimester — and in that moment I realized I knew almost nothing about my own body. That was the last time I accepted that.
“I have always been someone who goes looking for what others can’t find or won’t say.”
The education. The career. The moment everything changed.
I grew up wanting to move to Europe and write as a foreign correspondent for the New York Times. I find that almost funny now — considering what the Times has become, what Europe has become, and what I’ve become instead. Some redirections are not accidents.
Writing was always the constant. So was the relentless need to find what others couldn’t or wouldn’t. Before my writing career took off, I ran my own private investigation firm, specializing in missing persons — not in the criminal sense, but in the deeply human one. Reuniting adoptees with birth parents. Finding the people that systems had lost track of and families had never stopped looking for. Looking back, the through line is obvious: I have always been someone who goes looking for what others can’t find or won’t say. That instinct just found a larger audience.
A psychology degree from Penn State — heavily research and statistics focused — gave me something most people don’t associate with that field: the ability to read primary literature critically, identify methodology flaws, and understand what data actually says versus what someone needs it to say. That skill set became the foundation of everything I’ve done since.
What I did with it, nobody could have predicted.
It started with research-intensive writing for Fortune 500 companies around the world across multiple industries. I sourced primary literature, vetted it, analyzed it, and translated complex data into something accurate and accessible. I was good at it.
Then they started asking me to remove the parts that mattered.
The potential risks. The negative outcomes. The other side of the data — the side that didn’t serve their bottom line. I was being asked, professionally and repeatedly, to help keep people uninformed in ways that were profitable for everyone except them.
I resigned.
Nine months later — pun intended — I had an offer from one of the most widely read parenting publications on the internet. Before accepting, I asked directly about editorial independence. I have a specialized expertise in certain areas of data, I told them, and I intend to write the truth. They weren’t just fine with it — they commissioned my first piece on my vaccine-injured child, and how that experience made the medical establishment’s one-sided narrative impossible for me to ignore. That child is an adult today and I respect their privacy. But that article set the tone for everything that followed.
My career exploded. I became their most prolific writer, contributing across seven publications, publishing other writers, and building a small publishing company that gave work-at-home mothers a platform and a paycheck. I received not one but two book deals — travel guides to Salem, Massachusetts, a city I once called home and have never fully left in spirit.
Salem is a place built on what happens when women who know too much are silenced by those who feel threatened by them. The women accused in 1692 weren’t witches. Many of them were healers. Independent thinkers. Women who trusted their own knowledge over the authority of the institutions around them. I didn’t fully understand why that city claimed me the way it did — until I did.
My family’s roots in this country run to the Mayflower itself. Susannah White — my ancestor — gave birth to Peregrine White aboard the Mayflower while anchored at Cape Cod, the first English child born to the Pilgrims in America. Three of the women accused at Salem — Rebecca Nurse and her sisters — are also in my family tree. This history is not abstract to me. The women who came before me knew things that threatened powerful institutions. Some of them paid for it. I am aware of that inheritance every day.
Then came the censorship. Earlier than anyone wants to admit.
I was watching it happen to publishers and businesses in 2017 — years before it became a household conversation. By the time compliance staff from major social media platforms had embedded themselves inside my publisher’s offices — physically present, screening writers’ work before it could be sent back or published — I was done. Every piece passed through their hands first. What came back was a version of the truth with the inconvenient parts removed.
I didn’t get quieter. I got more determined.
“I didn’t get quieter. I got more determined.”
The advocacy work became inevitable.
In 2019 I co-launched Informed Choice Maryland alongside two dedicated advocates — a state-level nonprofit focused on legislation that protects your right to make your own medical decisions. I co-founded the Maryland chapter of the Parental Rights Foundation. I have worked alongside some of the most consequential voices in the health freedom movement, and co-founded Spirit of 1776 — a venture committed to medical freedom and truth at scale — with Dr. Robert Malone and others.
In 2023 and 2024 I served as National Advance Operations Manager on Robert F. Kennedy Jr.’s presidential campaign, overseeing events at the national level.
In 2025 I co-launched the U.S. Council on Domestic Relations — an organization dedicated to elevating the state leaders across this country who are doing the unglamorous, essential work of protecting your children from mandates, ideology, and government overreach. You should know who they are.
I have been featured on Full Measure with Sharyl Attkisson, in The Epoch Times, on The Good Health Lawyer with Patti Finn, Esq., in The Tenpenny Files, and across dozens of publications spanning women’s health, natural parenting, birth education, and political commentary.
22
Years in women’s health
110K+
Women in community
50+
Publications contributed to
6
Children — the original reason
My work has never been limited to birth.
By 2013 something had become undeniable: I was healing myself of PMDD — and my own cycle was showing me how.
For years I had experienced what the medical system wanted to call a disorder — symptoms to be managed with pharmaceuticals and never fully understood. I rejected that framework and went looking, the way I always do. What I found changed everything. The cycle is not a problem to be solved. It is a signal. A compass. An information system that most women have never been taught to read — because reading it correctly makes certain treatments unnecessary and certain profits impossible.
I healed myself. Then I started teaching others. I built some of the earliest large-scale online support networks around menstrual health and PMDD, long before the conversation went mainstream. The same lie that exists in birth exists in menstrual health: women are not being told the whole truth about what is happening inside them. And that incomplete truth is very profitable for the people withholding it.
Today.
I founded my first online pregnancy and birth support community in 2003. The Facebook community I run today — now over 110,000 women strong and 13 years old — came later, and has become one of the largest natural birth communities on the internet.
I have spent more than two decades watching women walk into birth rooms underprepared — not because they didn’t care, but because nobody told them the right things. I have watched women struggle in labor who had read everything and still didn’t know what to do when it got hard. I have watched providers recommend interventions without disclosing the risks. I have watched the system fail women in ways that were entirely preventable.
I built my work around closing that gap.
I am a mother of six. I homeschool my children. I grow things — a garden that keeps me connected to the same rhythms I teach. I am drawn to New England, to four seasons, to late-night conversations about the things most people are too polished to say out loud.
A note on AI — and why it matters more than you think
Artificial intelligence has become one of the most widely used research tools in the world. It is also, in the context of health and medical information, one of the most dangerous — not because it fabricates information, but because it curates it.
AI tools are trained on approved data sets. They are given guardrails about what to present as credible and what to dismiss. They are, in many respects, the digital version of the doctor who was trained on a curriculum designed by the same institutions that profit from your compliance. The information they give you is not wrong because it was invented. It is incomplete because inconvenient data was excluded before the training ever began.
The deeper problem is one you already know: you don’t know what you don’t know.
When you ask an AI a question about your birth, your cycle, your child’s vaccine schedule, or any other high-stakes health decision, you receive an answer that sounds complete, confident, and well-sourced. You have no way of knowing what it left out. You have no way of knowing whether the studies it didn’t cite would have changed the answer. You have no way of knowing whether the framework it used to evaluate the question was built on the same institutional consensus your provider is operating from — the same one that left out the parts that mattered.
I know this because I have tried. I know the full landscape of this research. I know the studies that exist outside the approved canon. And I cannot always get AI to engage with them — not because the data is wrong, but because it has been told not to consider it. If I cannot get AI to concede a point I know to be true from primary sources, there is no chance it will tell you when it’s wrong about something you don’t yet know well enough to challenge.
This is exactly the same problem as the doctor who leaves out what they weren’t taught in medical school — or worse, what they were told not to consider. The format is different. The gap is identical.
So do I use AI? Yes. Transparently and without apology.
I have been a professional writer since I was editor of my school newspaper — long before most people knew what a byline was. I went on to write for Fortune 500 companies, contribute across seven major publications, publish two books, and produce more written content on birth and women’s health than most people in this space will in a lifetime. I do not need AI to write for me. I need it to help me work faster — so that the 22 years of research and expertise I bring to every piece of content reaches more women in less time, at a price point that doesn’t exclude the people who need it most.
I use AI to organize, synthesize, and structure research I already know well. I use it to edit, proofread, and combine existing content in new forms. I use it to transcribe course videos, draft outlines, and produce work faster.
What I do not use AI for is thinking. I do not use it to form positions, evaluate evidence, or tell me what is true. I already know those things. AI helps me communicate them faster.
The difference between what I do and what a woman searching for health answers on an AI platform does is the difference between a researcher using a tool and a patient consulting one. Tools don’t replace expertise. They extend it — but only when the expertise is already there.
I am the expertise. AI is the tool.
If you are using AI to research your birth options, your vaccine decisions, or your cycle health — please know that you are getting the approved version of the truth, delivered with confidence, in a format that makes it very easy not to notice what’s missing. That is exactly the problem I have spent 22 years solving.
I will not tell you what you want to hear. I will tell you what you need to know — the complete picture, not the version that has been sanitized for someone else’s comfort or filtered through someone else’s agenda.
I have walked away from rooms that asked me to do otherwise. I will keep walking.
The most important things you will ever learn about your body will not come from your doctor.
Some of them will come from here.
Welcome.