“I left when this place wasn’t ready for me. I came back because I’m ready for it.”

I grew up in Pictou County, a rural stretch of Nova Scotia where the air is salty, the winters are long, and the culture isn’t always kind to difference. It’s a place where being visibly Indigenous, non-binary, and queer didin’t just make you stand out — it came with consequences.

I learned early how to blend in — how to laugh off racist jokes, quiet my queerness, and disconnect from parts of my identity that made others uncomfortable.

I learned that being visible often meant being vulnerable.

But I also learned something else: that in the right spaces, visibility can become resistance.

Eventually, I left Pictou County — not because I wanted to abandon home, but because I needed to breathe.

In bigger, more inclusive communities, I experienced what it felt like to be fully seen. It made me realize how much of myself I had set aside just to survive — and how much I wanted to build something better for the people who want to stay, and the ones who may never have the chance to leave.

I’ve lived what exclusion feels like — and I know what real inclusion can look like when it’s done with care, community, and honesty.

My work is about helping organizations take that step: to look closely at how their systems function, who they serve, and who they may be leaving out.

I left when this place wasn’t ready for me.
I came back because now, I’m ready for it.

I’ve spent over a decade working with marginalized groups in shelters, schools, and organizations. 

I’ve also held leadership roles, serving as Vice President of Sexual Health Nova Scotia and Diversity & Inclusion Coordinator at the Pictou County Centre for Sexual Health.

Growing up in rural Nova Scotia also gives me a firsthand understanding of how community dynamics, relationships, and local culture shape how change actually happens.

These experiences gave me a deeper insight into how organizations function — both within their systems and within the communities they serve.

This work allows me to support organizations in rural communities where change has to be thoughtful, relational, and grounded in the realities of the people they serve.

I care about rural communities.

I care about the safety, joy, and futures of the people who live in them — especially those who feel like the only way to live as themselves is to leave the place they grew up.

And I care about the people who did leave. I want them to know they can come back — and that when they do, their communities will be ready for them.

Do Better didn’t begin as a business.

It started much more personal — with me simply existing and with all the parts of myself I was told to hide.

I know what it feels like to have to leave to survive.
I also know what it feels like to return on your own terms — with purpose.

Ready to examine the gaps.
Ready to name the harm.
and ready to help change the systems that allow it to continue.

Because real inclusion isn’t about statements or good intentions.
It’s about whether the systems that shape people’s lives actually work for the communities they serve.

Change isn’t optional anymore.
It’s demanded.

Because the next generation is watching, and they are keeping receipts.