Finding My Voice in a World Full of Noise

I keep having this dream. It’s the kind that sticks with you, lingering long after you wake up, like the smell of rain after a storm. I’m standing alone at the end of a pier, staring out at the ocean, which stretches endlessly in front of me. The storm is relentless—wind shrieking, waves crashing, rain pelting down like cold needles. It’s chaotic, loud and overwhelming. The ocean feels alive, angry almost, flexing its strength in merciless waves. I try to find the horizon, that comforting thin line where the ocean kisses the sky, but it’s impossible. My vision blurs as I squint against the rain, and I feel small, powerless, lost in this mess of sound and fury. 

So, I do what anyone would do. I start yelling. I cry out to the ocean, to the wind, to something —anything. Maybe for help, maybe for acknowledgement. Maybe just to prove to myself that I exist in all this madness. But no matter how loud I yell, my voice gets whisked away by the storm, swallowed whole by the roaring waves and screaming wind. Even my own ears can’t hear me. I feel invisible, like my very existence is being unraveled by the chaos around me. 

When I told my therapist about this dream, I laughed, half-joking that it’d make a killer piece of modern art. But the more I explained it, the more my own words caught me off guard. Somewhere between describing the endless pelting rain and the sound of my muted voice, a different question surfaced: “Why am I not being heard?”  

That simple question stopped me in my tracks. It hit me that this dream wasn’t coming out of nowhere. It was expressing something I’ve wrestled with my entire life: the struggle to not just have  a voice, but to make that voice matter. To be truly heard. To feel seen. And when I think about it, this idea—this yearning—has shaped me more than almost anything else. 

As a kid, I was the smallest person in every room. Every classroom, every family gathering, every game of kickball. I lived in the shadows of bigger bodies and louder voices, ones that always seemed to take up all the oxygen in the room. My default response was silence. Yet, in smaller settings—family dinners, afternoons with close friends—I would blossom. I was thoughtful, funny, and imaginative, a kid who practically lived in a world of LEGO cities and big, colorful dreams. In those quiet, safe spaces, I felt vibrant and alive, because there I could be heard.  And you know what? It felt amazing. 

But life doesn’t stay small forever. It grows, and the noise grows with it. Adolescence brought me a stronger physical presence and a louder voice to match. I found myself jumping into debates at school, holding court during dinner with friends, sharing ideas with confidence and curiosity. It wasn’t about being the center of attention or always being right. It was about something deeper: the connection that comes from knowing someone is listening. It was in those moments I finally saw the connection between being heard and being confident, compassionate, and whole. My voice mattered. I mattered. 

And then post-college life hit, with all the grace of a piano falling out of a fifth-story window. Suddenly, the familiar, structured rhythm of academics was replaced with a loud, chaotic mess called “the real world.” My first job smacked me right into the deep end: telemarketing. Yep, I sold insurance over the phone, the zenith of the dreaded "cold call" era. From the moment I walked in the door, I was stripped of my voice. Everything I said was scripted, dictated, approved by someone else. There was no room for me—only numbers, goals, and quotas. My ideas, my instincts, my thoughts? Not part of the equation. 

It didn’t last long. One day, I decided to channel my frustration into absurdity, delivering a pitch in full-on Jerky Boys  parody, voices and all. It was glorious. My coworkers found it hilarious. Management? Not so much. The following day, I was summoned into an office to listen to my performance, played back one cringe-filled second at a time. They fired me on the spot, of course. And as I walked out the door that day, I wasn’t even angry. Honestly? I was relieved. That job wasn’t for me. The culture, the values, the way my voice didn’t matter at all—it didn’t align with who I was or what I wanted to be. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was starting to understand the importance of alignment—how crucial it is to find spaces where my voice can breathe. 

Over the years, I’ve dabbled in a little bit of everything: big corporations, small businesses, freelance gigs, creative projects. Some jobs were fine; others downright sucked. But in every role, one thing stood out: I was happiest, most driven, and most successful when I felt heard.  Not just humored, not just acknowledged, but truly heard—when my ideas, contributions, and perspectives were valued. Conversely, when I wasn’t? The exhaustion, the frustration, the disconnection crept in.  

So, what does it actually  mean to be heard? For me, it’s about more than just having someone nod politely while you're talking. Being heard means having someone lean in—physically or emotionally—because they genuinely want  to understand you. It’s about feeling seen, valued, and connected. It’s about the spaces we create where mutual respect, curiosity, and understanding allow every voice to matter. 

My recurring dream, chaotic as it is, continues to visit me, reminding me of what I’ve learned and what I still strive for. I keep coming back to the thought that being heard isn’t a privilege—it’s a necessity. It shapes who we are, how we grow, and how we connect with the world. And much like the loyal, earnest, loving dog that never leaves your side, the idea of being heard is something I carry with me every day—a reminder to listen better, speak clearer, and always advocate for spaces where voices—all voices —can rise above the noise.

A Reawakening: My Journey to Fulfillment and Helping Others Find Theirs

For over a decade, I flourished in the fine wine and spirits industry, building a career as a sales professional and Certified Sommelier. I had the distinct privilege of collaborating with world-class chefs, sommeliers, and hospitality leaders, while visiting iconic restaurants, hotels, and venues both nationally and internationally. As a passionate foodie, I reveled in the opportunity to connect with incredibly talented people in an industry that so many admire. From intimate wine dinners to strolling vineyards in Tuscany, the perks of the job often felt surreal. Friends and colleagues reminded me how “lucky” I was, and for a while, I believed it too. 

But beneath the surface of what seemed like an enviable career, I felt a growing restlessness, a quiet dissatisfaction I couldn’t ignore. While I genuinely loved aspects of the work—building relationships, learning from incredible professionals, and being part of the hospitality community—the relentless grind of sales began to take its toll. The nonstop cycle of quotas, goals, and deadlines became an unshakable burden. Evenings, weekends, holidays, and vacations were no longer sacred—the job was always there, demanding more. Texts, phone calls, and emails blurred every boundary, leaving little room for anything else. Over time, my career stopped feeling like an opportunity and became something far more insidious: my entire identity. 

I told myself it was all “part of the gig.” I lived by the belief that if I just worked harder, achieved more, and pushed through the stress, I’d feel fulfilled. But despite professional accomplishments and outward success, the reality was far different. My weight fluctuated, my relationships suffered, and my mental and physical stamina began to fray. Even my loyal dog, ever-patient and attentive, seemed to sense my exhaustion as I collapsed on the couch at the end of long days, too drained to walk him. My personal life had become an afterthought, reduced to hurried pauses before jumping back into the grind. I was surviving, but I wasn’t thriving. 

Then I got what I thought was my golden ticket: a coveted opportunity to represent one of the world’s most prestigious wine portfolios. It was my "dream job," and for the first time in years, I felt reinvigorated. But six months later, as the pandemic swept across the globe, I was furloughed. My career—the one I had sacrificed so much for—was gone in an instant. At first, I was devastated. The questions came in waves: Would I ever get hired back? Did I even want to go back? Was this really the life I’d worked so hard to build?  

As the world slowed to a halt in 2020, so did I. For the first time in years, I had space to think—to truly reflect. It was a moment of reckoning, a rare and necessary pause that forced me to take stock of my life. I realized that while parts of my career had been rewarding, the cost had been far too high. The constant intrusion of work into every corner of my life, the burnout, and the neglect of my own well-being had to end. This was my reawakening. 

For the first time, I allowed myself to imagine a different kind of future: one that respected my boundaries, prioritized my mental and physical health, and gave me the autonomy I had long craved. I decided to craft a path that aligned with my values, brought me true fulfillment, and honored what mattered most to me. It wasn’t easy, but it was worth every step. 

Today, I am energized, fulfilled, and deeply passionate about helping others navigate similar transformations. My mission is to support high-achievers, professionals, and anyone feeling stuck or burned out as they rediscover their purpose and reclaim their lives. I understand the fear and uncertainty that comes with making a change, but I also know how profoundly life can improve once you do. There is no better time to realign your life than now. 

This reawakening has been the most empowering chapter of my journey, and I am living proof that balance, fulfillment, and autonomy are within reach. It’s my privilege to share this wisdom with others and help them build lives and careers that truly align with their passions and priorities. It might seem daunting, but it’s absolutely possible. As I like to say, the proof is in the Patrick! 

My Journey

From Hollywood to high-end wine sales to helping people reclaim their lives after burnout — my path hasn’t followed a straight line. But every twist, every pivot, and every so-called “detour” has led me exactly where I’m meant to be.

My journey began in Pennsylvania after graduating from Penn State with a degree in Communications. Determined to build a career in TV and film, I landed my first job on the set of  “The Sixth Sense”  as a Production Assistant. That early opportunity catapulted me across the country to Los Angeles, where I spent the next several years working on large-scale film and television productions. It was exciting in theory — but the reality was grueling hours, constant hustle, low pay, and a toxic work culture that left me physically and emotionally drained. The glamour quickly faded.

Eventually, I stepped away and returned to what I thought would be a temporary job— bartending, something I had leaned on between freelance gigs. That “temporary” step became the starting point of a new passion. I began working at Fleming’s Prime Steakhouse and Wine Bar, where I was suddenly surrounded by 200 wines by the glass... and utterly unprepared. Intrigued, I sought out the most knowledgeable colleagues and committed myself to learning everything I could. That spark turned into a fire. Before long, I was diving into certifications, starting with the Court of Master Sommeliers, and building an 18-year career in the wine and spirits industry.

On the surface, I had found success. I worked for major companies, traveled to wine regions around the world — including Italy — and built a respected career on the sales side. But beneath it all, a familiar pattern had returned: burnout, toxicity, hollow victories, and a version of success that felt deeply unfulfilling. My creativity was buried. My joy was gone. And once again, I found myself asking the question: Is this really it?

My Turning Point

Then COVID hit — and like many, I was laid off from a “secure” job at a prestigious global company that had repeatedly assured me my position was safe. I later learned I was little more than a name on a paycheck protection loan. That betrayal shook me. I felt disillusioned — not just with the industry but with the way I had continued to abandon myself in pursuit of external expectations and arbitrary definitions of success.

It was in that stillness — without a title, a paycheck, or anyone else’s approval — that I finally came home to myself.

I took a long, honest look at my life and saw the pattern for what it was: I had been recycling safe, secure, familiar roles not because they fulfilled me, but because they allowed me to make others comfortable — to keep my family proud, my partner relieved, and society nodding along. But inside, I was quietly eroding.

That awareness changed everything.

Looking back, I remembered a time in my youth when I felt truly fulfilled — lifeguarding and teaching kids how to swim. I loved knowing that I was protecting others, being of service, and making an impact that mattered. When I really thought about it, the through-line was clear: I’ve always been a protector. A defender. A helper of humans. That, I realized, is my true superpower.

So I asked myself: If I’m not here to chase empty “success,” what AM I here to do?

I explored possibilities. I considered grad school in psychology. I reflected on how deeply my own therapists had helped me over the years, and wondered if I could follow a similar path. But the time, cost, and structure didn’t feel realistic in a post-pandemic world. That’s when the idea of coaching entered the picture — and when I really started to explore it, something clicked.

With encouragement from my therapist, I dove into the world of professional coaching. I researched programs, certifications, and niches. And before I knew it, I was enrolled, in training — and completely lit up with purpose.

All the parts of me that felt buried — my empathy, my intuition, my curiosity, my ability to hold safe space and ask deep questions — suddenly had room to breathe.

What I once saw as detours, I now see as downloads: 18 years in sales gave me remarkable communication and listening skills. Film taught me how to think on my feet. Lifeguarding taught me how to be calm in crisis. Coaching ties it all together. It’s not just where I want to be — it’s where I’m meant to be.

Where I Am Now

Today, I proudly serve high-achieving professionals, creatives, and entrepreneurs who find themselves stuck at a crossroads — burned out, unsettled, and wondering if the life they’ve built is as good as it gets. (Spoiler: it’s not.)

Many of my clients come to me deep in the “shoulds” — unsure if they should stay in their career, leave it all behind, or whether there’s another way forward entirely. And together, in a co-creative space built on trust and truth, we uncover what’s keeping them stuck — while helping them build a life and career that finally feel aligned from the inside out.

The best part? Every answer they need is already within them. I’m just here to help them access it with clarity, courage, and compassion.

So, if you’ve landed here, chances are you’re not just curious — you’re ready. That feeling in your chest? It’s your own inner wisdom nudging you forward. And I would be absolutely honored to be your coach and co-pilot on that journey.

Let’s go!