The Moment I Became Lunova

Mirror & Medicine: The Soul Shelter Journal

There wasn’t one single day where I woke up and said, “I am Lunova now.”
It didn’t feel like a rebrand.
It felt like a remembering.

For most of my life, I moved like a builder — strong hands, sharp mind, strategic heart.
I built for my family, my clients, my community, my future.
But somewhere inside all of that construction, creation, and caretaking…
my soul was whispering that it, too, had something to build.

Not a subdivision.
Not a home plan.
Not a proforma.
But a voice.
A story.
A sound.

I had been carrying melodies the way other people carry secrets — quietly, privately, tucked in notebooks and notes apps and the back of my throat.
And every time life cracked me open, the melodies grew louder.
Every time I healed something hard, the lyrics sharpened.
Every time I lost something, my voice found something.

But I didn’t become Lunova in a studio.
I didn’t become her on stage.
I became her in one of those in-between moments — where life humbles you into truth.

I was sitting alone, in silence that didn’t feel peaceful.
You know the kind — the silence that exposes you.
The kind that asks, “Who are you without the roles? Without the responsibilities? Without the mask?”

And there, in that stillness, something in me unraveled.
The version of me that survived by being strong cracked just enough for the version of me that needed softness to slip through.

That’s when I heard it clearly:
You’re allowed to be more than the builder.
You’re allowed to be the feeler.
You’re allowed to be the artist.
You’re allowed to be both.

Luna — the moon, the quiet light.
Nova — the explosion, the new star.
Together: Lunova.
The part of me that shines in darkness and rises from dust.
The part of me that is equal parts reflection and fire.
The part of me that doesn’t just build structures — she builds soundscapes, meaning, healing, release.

The moment I became Lunova was the moment I stopped surviving my emotions and started expressing them.
It was the moment I realized my voice had its own work to do — separate from my business, my titles, my strength.

It was the moment I let myself create for me.
Not for approval.
Not for outcome.
Not for applause.

Just expression.
Just truth.
Just breath.

Becoming Lunova wasn’t a transformation.
It was a liberation.
It was the moment my soul finally introduced itself and said, “I’m ready to be seen now.”

And I said yes.
I said yes to the melody.
Yes to the message.
Yes to the moonlight and the mess.
Yes to the art and the ache.
Yes to the woman I could be if I stopped minimizing my own voice.

That’s the moment I became Lunova:
When I stopped hiding my light
and started honoring my truth
— on a treble clef,
wrapped in melody,
held by meaning,
guided by the moon.