Honoring My Story, Elevating the Power of Storytelling, and Reimagining Wellness in Museums

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From a young age, I was drawn to storytelling. I wanted to understand people, what shaped them, what influenced their choices, and how their environments molded their identities. That curiosity wasn’t random; it came from my own story.

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I have known about my adoption for as long as I can remember. My parents created an environment filled with love, openness, and respect. They spoke highly of my birth family, even though they had never met them. That taught me something profound at an early age: multiple truths can exist at once. You can belong to more than one story. You can be shaped by people you’ve never met. You can hold love for the family who raised you and gratitude for the family who gave you life.

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Growing up, I became deeply aware of how environments shape us; where we live, who is in our home, how people nurture us, and the stories we are told about ourselves. That awareness sharpened my empathy. I learned to pay attention. I learned to listen and I learned that people often know what is best for themselves and the challenges they face. My role was never to tell others what choices to make but to help them see their options clearly.

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Honoring My Story and the Power of Storytelling

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As I honored my own story — my adoption, my identity, my layered truths — I began to understand the transformative power of storytelling. Stories help us see ourselves. They help us understand others. They help us make sense of our experiences and imagine new possibilities.

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Honoring my story made it impossible to ignore how many people move through life without spaces that allow them to do the same.

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That realization became the foundation of my work.

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Why Museums Became a Natural Home for My Work

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Museums are storytelling institutions. They hold history, identity, memory, and imagination all at once. They allow people to see various perspectives, challenge assumptions, and discover parts of themselves they didn’t know existed. I realized that museums weren’t just places to preserve stories; they were places to heal through them. But I also saw something else: the people who create these spaces — educators, curators, facilitators, museum staff — need nurturing too.

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They carry the emotional weight of the stories they present. They hold space for visitors’ reactions, questions, and emotions. They navigate complex histories and community expectations. Museum wellness must include them.

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The Birth of Hand Made Dreams

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Hand Made Dreams was born from the intersection of all these truths:

 

• my adoption story

• my lifelong relationship with storytelling

• my empathy for human experience

• my understanding of identity and belonging

• my work across local, state, and federal systems

• my passion for museums as wellness-centered cultural spaces

• my commitment to nurturing the people who create these environments

 

My adoption taught me that identity, belonging, and emotional safety are not luxuries; they are foundations. It taught me that people deserve environments where their stories are honored, where they are given choices, and where they are supported in defining their own path.

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Hand Made Dreams exists because everyone is not given an opportunity, an option to shape their own story. I wanted to build something that did. Today, Hand Made Dreams helps organizations create emotionally safe, values‑aligned environments where people feel seen, supported, and empowered. My work is rooted in the belief that when people are given space to understand themselves, they can transform their lives, their communities, and the institutions around them.