Hello, I’m Molly

I studied psychology in college, and to help pay my way, I worked as a manicurist. Week after week. Year after year. The same women sat across from me, hands in mine, sharing their lives.

We laughed. We cried. We celebrated. We showed up for hard things together.

Those early years taught me something I carry into everything I do today: healing happens in safe spaces—when we’re seen, heard, and allowed to be vulnerable. Community matters. Tenderness matters. Having a soft place to land matters.

Later, I worked with individuals with developmental disabilities. That experience shaped one of my core philosophies: If you want to make meaningful change, you break it down into small, doable steps. And when progress happens? You celebrate it. You dance. You sing. You high-five. You eat the ice cream. So many women move from goal to goal without ever pausing to acknowledge how far they’ve come. I believe celebrating the wins, both big and small, is not optional. It’s how we build confidence, resilience, and joy.

Then I became a wife. And a mother. I learned how to juggle the balls (sometimes), how to offer myself grace when I dropped them, and how perfectionism quietly drains the soul. I learned how to fight fair, repair quickly, love big, and keep showing up—even when it was messy, and exhausting.

Motherhood and partnership taught me this truth: choosing love over and over again is the greatest blessing in life. And the best teacher too!

Somewhere in the middle of all that life, I opened a retail store and later developed a product line that I sold to shops across the country. It was hard work and required risk and sacrifice. It was also pure creative expression—a path to freedom, self-trust, and deep joy.

That chapter reminded me that creativity isn’t just about art. It’s about choosing a life that feels true.

When I look back over all these chapters—listening to women’s stories, breaking big goals into small steps, learning grace through motherhood, and reclaiming myself through creativity—a few truths rise to the surface again and again.

We don’t need fixing. We need remembering. We need safe places to land. We need permission to go slowly. We need practices that bring us back into our bodies, our hearts, and reignite our sense of wonder. And we need to celebrate ourselves far more than we’ve been taught to. No more shrinking or dimming our light.

I’ve learned that meaningful change doesn’t come from pushing harder or striving for perfection. It comes from tiny, intentional moments practiced over time.

That understanding is the bridge between my story and this work. It’s the moment where lived experience becomes an offering—where everything I’ve learned turns outward, in service of other women who feel the same quiet longing I once did.

Everything I’ve lived has taught me this:
Joy isn’t something we chase—it’s something we practice, together, one small choice at a time. We don’t need another system to fix ourselves. We need spaces that help us remember who we are. Spaces rooted in community, creativity, self-care, and gentle practices that bring us back to joy—again and again.

The Radical Joy Project exists because so many of us are tired. Not just physically—but soul‑tired. We’re navigating a world that feels loud, fractured, and uncertain, while quietly longing for something more kind, more connected, more alive.

From everything I’ve lived and learned, one truth keeps rising to the surface:

We need both refuge and catalyst.

A safe harbor for the soul. A place to rest, exhale, and remember who we are. A gentle but powerful invitation to live differently, dream boldly, and help shape the new world being born. That’s what The Radical Joy Project is meant to be. A place to restore your spirit through community, creativity, self‑care, and gentle spiritual practice. A place to practice joy not as escapism, but as medicine. As remembrance. As quiet resistance to burnout, fear, and disconnection.

Here, we honor tiny steps and celebrate real wins. We choose presence over perfection. We remember that joy isn’t superficial—it’s foundational.

If these words stir something inside you, trust it. You’re not imagining the longing. You’re not late. You’re not alone. You’re in the right place. You’re part of something bigger. And you belong here.