"There is a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in."

~Leonard Cohen

My words organically emerged in the world at my toddler son’s bedside in an ICU burn unit. 


I was 36 weeks pregnant with a baby who had a life-threatening birth defect needing surgery, and a four-year-old at home who had been standing beside her brother when a pot of boiling water came crashing down. 


A scared mom of almost three, contractions were pulling hard at my body and resolve, threatening an onset of labor that would make the situation even worse. As a distraction from this reality, I started writing. Those words became an email I sent to friends asking for support in a situation I couldn't handle alone. Then I crawled into the hospital bed to snuggle my boy in his morphine induced sleep, for I was helpless to do anything else but show up with love. 

Vulnerability is the birthplace of growth.


My vulnerable cry for help was met with an outpouring of support so vast, I eventually created a blog simply to keep well-wishers in the loop. Through a month-long ordeal, I wrote about the daily struggle of managing a toddler’s pain, and my concern about the baby in my womb being monitored for induction at any moment. Those entries laced with truth about the fear, sadness, and frustration I felt alongside the abundant blessings and joy I actively sought in hardship carried me to the miracle we all prayed for: I remained pregnant through the two surgeries that saved my boy’s life, and the baby was born not needing immediate surgery. 


My intention was to carry on in the aftermath of a hard experience with nothing short of the gratitude I felt for our best-case scenario outcome. But I was postpartum with an infant facing surgeries, and a toddler burn survivor needing constant care. My oldest was lost somewhere in that shuffle, desperate for more attention than I could give her. An accident in the heart of our home had shaken me to the core, making the ordinary task of cooking a challenge. When I wasn’t trying to shield and protect my family from the minefield of danger that haunted me, I was warding off comments about the “disgusting” nature of burn scars, while dodging judgments as a mom who had failed at the very basic task of keeping her kid safe. 


Desperate to right the wrong, to hide the pain, to be “safe” and go back to “normal” again, I stopped writing and set out to fix it. But that quest was swiftly defeated by a doctor’s insistence that, “Scars are ugly.” He told me I was lucky my boy was alive, and there was nothing more I could do for him. Instead, I needed to accept his scars along with the negative societal view of flaws.


So ensued my downward spiral of despair within our perfectionistic society. Hopeless, I wallowed in the darkness of shame until the day my boy asked me to take his “ouchies” away. 

Scars are beautiful.


That little voice with a big request was striking, because through the surgeries and general discomfort that comes with burn injuries, there was rarely a complaint. He accepted treats for the suffocating compression garment he wore 23 hours of the day and quietly watched his favorite shows as I massaged his tender skin. While every fiber of my maternal being wanted to wave a magic wand and make it better, I couldn't numb the pain with another vanilla ice cream cone, so I said, “I'm sorry I can’t take your ouchies away. But your scars mean you were brave once, and brave is beautiful.” 


Those words slipped out of my mouth before I could censor the boldness of my claim, and his immediate relief illuminated the new path I was suddenly on. With the promise that his scars were beautiful came the realization that I needed to believe the same of own scars, the ones I could continue hiding within the depths of my soul. 


For the boy I couldn’t “fix” who had to face the world with scars we so deeply believe are ugly, I made it my mission to write my story brave and every scar I carry beautiful. 


Courage is gathered.

My healing journey began when I picked up a pen and let my words flow as ugly as I felt. Then I wrote it all again, in search of moments I was "strong enough" in a plot I was powerless to define. Each new draft was a just little brighter than the last, and eventually, I began sharing...

...about surrendering my performing career for the sake of happiness.

...about the complicated nature of wellbeing in our modern world, and how we can grow through adversity. 


...about postpartum anxiety, pregnancy losses, and the overwhelming joy of being a mom.


...about the whirlwind experience of expat life in Asia with little kids, and the time we lived among the majestic Tetons in Wyoming. 


...about finding wholeness through my journey to become a mom of five, and how an intention to make it sacred brings everyday magic. 


I blogged, shared on social media, published articles, and leaned into the discomfort of writing so openly with the hope that my words could help just one. Ultimately, I felt my healing come full circle with every connection I made by owning my story per the work of Brené Brown. Indeed, loving myself through that process is the bravest thing I've ever done.  


Word-by-word, or “Bird by bird,” as Anne Lamott’s literary wisdom assured me through countless bad first drafts and many years, I wrote scars beautiful with a narrative of resilience and became a storyteller of hope.  

We can create hope. 

My purpose is to reflect your inherent strength, the possibility of hope in every moment, and pathways from struggle to wholeness.


You can read on about the process of creating hope in my Journal, where I weave modern psychological science and ancient spiritual wisdom into my stories on resilience, motherhood, and adventure. 


I am yet to uncover

the depth of my strength. 


Alicia Assad, MAPP, is a writer on the process of creating hope. A mom of five, her stories on resilience, motherhood, and adventure reflect a pathway from struggle to wholeness through the healing art of storytelling. 

Her holistic approach to wellbeing is a synergy of a devoted spiritual practice, her experience as a professional dancer, and studies of the science of happiness at University of Pennsylvania, where she was one of the first 100 students to earn a Master of Applied Positive Psychology.

As Miss New Jersey, Alicia was the youngest contestant in the Miss America 2002 Pageant and recipient of the Overall Elegance & Lifestyle award. A former Radio City Rockette & Wilhelmina Fitness Model, she earned a BS in Arts Administration and Dance Minor at Wagner College. She is certified in Pilates, Health Coaching, Reiki & and Colour Therapy. A two-time runner of the NYC Marathon, she is a practitioner of yoga, meditation, and various energy healing traditions.

After moving from New York to Hong Kong to Jackson Hole, Wyoming, and back to New York again, Alicia feels blessed to live at La Suvera Farm, where she cultivates land to nurture others alongside her husband, children, rescue dogs, and farm animals. 



“‪If you are seeking someone to guide you in your quest for purpose, balance, ritual or simply exploring the many roles you play as a woman - Alicia is your dream weaver and coach.”

-Kristin Gregory Meek, Founder & CEO WYLD Leadership 

“‪In my mind’s eye, Alicia, is one of the leading voices around motherhood, a Goddess.”

-Elaine O'Brien, PhD

“Alicia's posts are like sacred script. I hang on every word. And they ring as true now as I mother my older children as they do for those in the newborn stage.

Astounding, profound, inspiring.”

-Tracey Clark, Author, Photographer, Teacher

“‪Alicia is the Prose Laureate of Motherhood.”

-Eleanor Chin, MAPP, CEO Clarity Partners Coaching & Consulting