Growing up, I craved to be seen, heard, and valued.
I often searched for belonging and connection in the wrong places.
I wanted, no, I needed validation. I had little to no self-esteem.
After my divorce, I felt even more alone, like a failure. I remember saying I just needed a win.
I rushed to publish my first poetry book, and I did the same with my novels.
But my need to be in the spotlight ran deeper.
When I created the first Her Story event (Feb 2025), the entire show was about me. I was the only performer. I shared poetry and my story about my emotionally abusive relationship with my ex-husband. It was therapeutic.
I had many reasons to host the event again. This time, other women would have their moment in front of an audience, tell their truth, and hopefully find a little healing, as I did.
Her Story was scheduled for September 24, 2025, five years to the day since I decided to leave my ex-husband. As performers signed up, I was excited to hear their stories, but I couldn’t wait to tell mine.
The event was still a chance for me to be in the spotlight.
To my surprise, that night had an even larger impact. The entire experience left me inspired. Seven women took the stage, many for the first time, and told their stories. They all shared a common theme: the need for connection and belonging. At the end of the event, they hugged and cried together. They had been strangers, but in that room, they connected and asked for another event.
So, I created another one (March 2026), for them, for the audience, and for me. This would be another opportunity to stand in front of an audience. I planned to open, close, and emcee the show.
Yes, I recognized Her Story was about the women and the connection they made with each other and the audience, but this little part of me still needed to be seen.
As I started planning Her Story for the third time (October 2026), I noticed I was stepping back. I didn’t need to be in the spotlight.
I searched for an emcee and was lucky to have found one. I didn’t need a time slot. I only needed to open the show, introduce the emcee, and have a seat.
As I organized and promoted the event, it became quite clear how much these women supported each other, and many of them hadn’t even met yet. It was beautiful.
The night before Her Story, I was telling my best friend about it and how my need to be in the spotlight faded. I realized I didn’t need that validation. I was so confident in the event I had created.
She said, “Theresa, you created a community.”
On Saturday, I hosted the third Her Story event. I opened the show and sat in the back. I listened to each woman share their truth. I cried and laughed with them.
Many people thanked me for putting on the event, for creating the space. Normally, those comments would have been proof I did something right. I would have needed their words and praise. Yet, I was the grateful one.
They again inspired me.
When it was time to wrap up the show, I only planned to say thank you and let the audience know the show would continue in April.
Yet, I started with “I posted a Google Form, wondering if anyone would sign up…” Then I told an impromptu story about spending my whole life searching for community and how grateful I was that I didn’t just find it; I created it.
Emotions shot through me, and I pulled them in. I wanted to cry right then and there, but I was still in professional mode and needed to get to my daughter’s softball game.
The rest of the day was hectic, and I didn’t have time to process the magic in that room. When I had a moment, I scrolled Facebook and read everyone’s posts.
Her Story was another successful event. More stories were shared, more connections were built, and slowly more women started healing.
The next morning, as I drove my daughter to her softball game, we listened to Pandora. My favorite song, New Edition's “I’m Still in Love with You,” came on. I turned it up and sang like I always do.
Yet, this time, I kept picturing a younger version of me performing this song in my bedroom. Another song came on, and the same thing happened. There I was singing to my teddy bears, all alone, wishing, wanting to be in front of an audience, people cheering for me.
This went on for a few more songs, and oh man, I couldn’t hold back the emotions.
I kept thinking about that little girl who desired connection and validation; the young woman who didn’t love herself.
Ne-Yo’s “Sexy Love” came on next. I continued to sing along. Usually, I’m wishing someone would sing the song to me, but this time I was singing it to myself. I saw my reflection in the mirror, along with flashbacks of being in front of the room, laughing, and crying with others. A montage of my life (the pain and the joy).
I had never felt more seen, more confident, or sexier than in that moment.
I cried! I couldn’t hold back my tears anymore. My younger self would be so proud of the woman I am today. She didn’t think we’d ever get here, but we did.
She wanted so desperately to be seen. She didn’t realize that the one who needed to see her was herself.
She was already enough.
As I continue through my professional journey, writing books, hosting Her Story, and sharing my truth with audiences, I won’t do it for the spotlight or the validation, but for the message: we all have a story to tell, and we all need connection.
As I navigate my personal life, raise my children, help individuals earn an education, and hang out with my friends, I will appreciate the solo moments without feeling alone.
My confidence didn’t just happen because of Her Story. Many moments and experiences led me to this beautiful chapter. But surrounding myself with these incredible women helped.
I learned I am enough. I belong in rooms with other phenomenal, powerful women. I have so much love to give, and for once I am giving it to me too.
That young woman who sang to her teddy bears and dreamed of being a best-selling author, she’s still inside of me, encouraging me to keep going, but this time she doesn’t feel alone.
