This Didn’t Happen Overnight

My story began in an orphanage in Port-au-Prince, Haiti. I lived there from a young age, surrounded by children who were just trying to make sense of the world without the steady comfort of parents. Those kids were my first friends. My first community. My first glimpse into the kind of love and loss that shapes you.

When I returned to Chicago, where I was born, everything felt unfamiliar. I missed Haiti so much, and the only way I knew how to cope was to act out. I ended up getting kicked out of school in first grade. My behavior led me to live with different aunts over time. Still, through all the instability, I held on to one promise my mom made: if I behaved, I’d get to go back to Haiti in the summer.

That promise lit a fire in me.

By 5th grade, I went back and while other kids spent the summer playing, I organized a mini summer camp in Haiti. Nothing fancy. Just art, laughter, and fun activities for the kids around me. It was then I realized: I didn’t just want to help people. I wanted to create safe, joyful places where kids could feel seen and loved. Even back then, I knew: a good home is the foundation for everything.

A safe home is where learning begins.
Where traditions are born.
Where you feel like you belong.

When my son passed away (as I’ve shared in earlier blogs), everything changed. My heart turned from working with adults toward helping kids find meaning in their pain.

Miami gave me an opportunity to heal and build. I realized that aging-out housing was desperately needed. I kept asking myself: If a kid turns 18, who wakes them up for school? Who teaches them to drive? Who helps them figure out life? And what about siblings being separated in care—a heartbreak that rarely gets talked about?

That’s when the dream of Genesis Hopeful Haven really took shape.

I bought our first home in the Redlands. It took two years to get licensed, TWO long years filled with advocacy, workshops, home tours, rejections, and the quiet discipline of not giving up. During that time, I focused on growth. I learned how to write grants, understand nonprofit compliance, and, most importantly, surrounded myself with people who believed in the vision.

One of those people was Commissioner Daniella Levine Cava, now our Mayor. She believed in Genesis before it was even real. She taught me the power of community partnerships and the importance of collaboration. Without her, we might still be waiting.

From the first dream to the first door opening, it took six years.
Six years of sowing. Of building. Of becoming.

Now, what once was a vision is alive.

So if you’re reading this and you have a vision that feels far away, I see you. If you’ve been told “no” more times than you can count, I get it. And if you’re building something no one else can yet see, keep going.

This work is not glamorous. And it’s not instant.

Today, we have 8 Genesis Hopeful Haven homes, serving 32 residents, and a village of people who believe in second chances, healing, and legacy. It started with a dream in Haiti, a summer camp in 5th grade, and a whole lot of heartbreak in between. But it was built—and it is the living Genesis.

If this story moved you, we invite you to become part of it. Join the movement! 💛