My name is Shanda Lynne Kaus (Serafin). I was born in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada and currently reside 1.5 hours northwest of my home town on an acreage with my partner in crime, Matthew. I have been a city kid for the most part of my life and have recognized that country living is the life for me. The peace is pure bliss, the rolling land, and sunrise in my backyard with a picturesque pasture, trees, barbed wire fences and cattle in the distance make my heart sing.

I have made a life for myself, one that I am proud of. One that brings me peace and happiness despite any deficit that attempts to plague my centre of wellbeing.

I work at the local hospital in town and it is my greatest joy and cup filling legacy. My coworking peers are my family and biggest fans; whom I respect beyond measure.

My life is humble.

My life is blessed.

My life is amazing.

I haven’t always felt this grateful or expressed as much joy. Life was hard for a while. I found myself at the bottom of a barrel, pawing at the sides trying to escape from a self made prison.

An important person once said to me “life is what you make it”. A profound statement that I tried to dissect for years. I was trapped in a world of hurt, clouded by childhood trauma, ruled by fundamental flaws, and blinded by selfishness.

It wasn’t like I wanted to be selfish but without God in your heart, all a person can truly think about is themselves.

I sought unconditional love, but in seeking I found something better. I found an unconditional love that is pure, true, perfect and eternal. That love has taught me patience, understanding, honesty, integrity, compassion and faith.

My story doesn’t begin with “I had a hard childhood” anymore, it starts with “I have learned a lot from all of the experiences I have been blessed with.” I am grateful for every blessing and struggle that I have encountered. Without them I would not exist as I am and I like me, wholeheartedly.

I’ve lived many lives in one— my start didn’t begin easy; it began with generational addiction, trauma, and a deep sense of not belonging. I was born into a lineage where pain passed hands like tradition, and like those before me, I lost myself in the darkness before I ever had a chance to discover who I truly was.

For years, I’ve carried a deep urge to share my truth. Not for attention—but for understanding, healing, connection, and peace. I’ve spent much of my life feeling isolated and disconnected, often believing I had to silence my story just to be accepted.

But I’ve learned something vital: if I want a life filled with authenticity, love, and clarity, I have to take responsibility for removing what stands in the way—even if that means confronting fear, shame, or old beliefs that no longer serve me. This is me choosing to move forward instead of staying stuck.

This is my act of courage…

I’ve started this journey many times—only to stop when the voice in my head whispered, “Say less. Share less. Be smaller. The less they know, the less they can judge.” That voice has kept me quiet for too long. I’ve been judged in ways that scarred my spirit and punished in ways that disconnected me from one of the deepest loves in my life—my children.

Let them judge—it’s usually just guilt in disguise, wearing confidence like a costume

The fear is still real. But my need for connection is stronger. My desire to heal is louder. And my right to be fully seen is worth the risk.

Those quickest to judge often guard the heaviest secrets—

I’m here now—imperfect, evolving, and choosing to speak, to grow, to connect. And if my story resonates with you, I hope you’ll stay a while. Maybe we’ll find what we’ve both been looking for.

Self-destructive patterns and emotional turbulence carved trenches in my life. My childhood was unstable, unsafe, and often unexplainably lonely. I didn’t just inherit wounds—I absorbed them, lived them, and for many years, unknowingly passed them on. I became the very thing I swore I never would, and that is a pain I live with daily—especially as a mother whose children have been alienated from her life. That loss is indescribable, but I am learning to carry it with grace, accountability, and deep love.

This is a story about waking up—sometimes abruptly, sometimes slowly—to who I really am beneath all the layers of survival. It’s taken me 44 years to uncover the truth buried under shame, fear, and silence. What I’ve found is this: I am not my pain. I am not my past. I am not the worst things I’ve done or the worst things that have been done to me.

I am love. I am growth.

I am fire and tenderness wrapped in one.

Today, I walk a path of radical self-awareness, compassion, and purpose. I still struggle. I still overthink. I still feel grief in my bones some days. But I no longer walk blind. I understand where my pain comes from, and that understanding has given me power. Power to choose differently. Power to heal. Power to live without judgment—for myself or others.

I crave connection with real, authentic souls—people who know life is messy and hard but show up anyway. People who’ve fallen, broken, rebuilt, and still believe in the power of kindness. If that’s you, then you’re my kind of people.

Truth is my compass. 

Healing is my mission.

And if my story helps even one person feel seen, then every struggle has been worth it.