My alter ego “Maddie” came from my daughter.
One day, when she was six years old, she looked at me with that curious, knowing gaze only children have and said,
“Daddy? You’re not really a daddy.”
“Oh no?” I replied, caught off guard.
“No,” she said. “You’re a *Maddy*, because you’re a mommy *and* a daddy.”
It’s hard not to smile and tear up while I write this.
She named something that had been growing inside me for years—the merging of two sacred roles.
Mommy: the source of deep, compassionate, unconditional love. Gentle. Nurturing. Affectionate.
Daddy: strong, warm, safe. The boundary-setter. The firm voice. The protector and guide.
There are many versions of the mother and father—both in archetype and in practice. What I’m describing is the healthiest version of both, integrated over time. Not as performance, but as presence. As something lived and earned.
I’m not perfect in how I live it. I miss the mark. I forget. I collapse or get rigid. But Maddie has become a kind of internal compass for me—something to aspire to every day for the rest of my life.
And that’s what I bring to my guide work.
I’m not trying to be the expert at the front of the room, telling people how to fix themselves. I’m the one walking beside you—with the full range of presence: soft and fierce, tender and clear, receptive and rooted.That’s Maddie.
That’s me.
That’s the energy I hold when I guide people home to themselves.