What happens when life pushes you to your emotional limit, and instead of snapping—you write a novel? In this deeply moving episode, Brian sits down with Canadian author Mila Maxwell for an honest, soul-searching conversation about identity, vulnerability, and the healing power of storytelling.

Mila opens up about growing up with a sister who has cerebral palsy, navigating emotions she didn’t always feel allowed to express, and how writing fiction gave her permission to tell the truth in a way that finally felt safe. From anxiety in childhood to hypervigilance as a parent, she shares what it's taken to dismantle old emotional patterns—and how her debut novel has not only helped her heal, but helped others feel seen.

What You’ll Learn:

• How writing fiction became a safe space for truth-telling

• Why lowered expectations and high standards can lead to emotional resilience

• How growing up with a neurodivergent sibling shaped Mila’s emotional landscape

• The shift from survival mode to intentional self-regulation

• How parenting, therapy, and creativity can unlock buried emotions

Powerful Quotes:

“Her struggles don’t diminish mine. I’m allowed to feel things.”
“I’ve lowered my expectations, but I’ve raised my standards.”
“I didn’t let it out, because I didn’t know how. But the writing—changed that.”

Highlights:

• Mila’s vulnerable look at emotional armor, self-compassion, and finding balance

• The origin story behind her novel—and the sentence that came to her just before sleep

• How fictionalizing her life gave her more creative freedom (and emotional safety)

• A peek into what it’s like parenting after growing up with complex family dynamics

  
  

  Follow Up with Mila:

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  Mila's Site

In this heartwarming and humorous episode, Brian chats with author and crafter Julie Rowe about how choosing joy, even in the face of life’s toughest moments, can transform not only your day—but others' as well. From caregiving and creativity to surviving wildfires with humor and grace, Julie shares powerful stories that remind us of the profound impact of small kindnesses and the importance of crafting a life of connection.

Whether she’s folding paper into art, teaching communication workshops with homemade muffins, or rescuing a lost pregnant stranger, Julie lives her values out loud. Tune in to hear how ADHD, authorship, and a deep love for humanity all weave into her inspiring story.

What You’ll Learn:

• Why choosing happiness is a decision, not a reaction

• How acts of kindness—even small ones—can ripple out in big ways

• The science and creativity behind Julie’s romantic thrillers

• How crafting and teaching have helped Julie build community and resilience

• What her ADHD diagnosis taught her later in life

• Why food is the universal language of connection

When Brian and Stella reunited for their long-overdue conversation, it wasn’t just a catching-up session; it was a masterclass in vulnerability, lineage, and emotional leadership disguised as a podcast interview.

The episode opened like an old friendship picking up mid-sentence. No awkward preamble. Just immediate warmth.

“Oh my God, it’s been forever,” Brian said, grinning through the mic.

“Ages,” Stella agreed, already laughing.

Brian had recently undergone a major health transformation, sparked by a dietary overhaul he and his wife tackled together. It wasn’t a hero’s journey, he insisted, just two people falling off the wagon occasionally, and always climbing back on. “It’s one of the hardest things to practice consistently,” he admitted. “But we’re doing it. Imperfectly, but together.”

That sense of showing up for something bigger than yourself became the invisible thread of the entire conversation.

What unfolded next was something that couldn’t have been scripted.

Brian, surprised and curious, brought up a social media post Stella had made about a trip back to her homeland—Moldova. He’d never met anyone from there before and asked the kind of question only someone genuinely interested in you would ask: How did returning home change you?

Stella didn’t hold back. She described leaving Moldova during Soviet times, living in Romania, then moving to the UK. But her identity didn’t travel neatly across borders. It got layered, reshaped, tangled.

Her recent return to Moldova wasn’t a nostalgic vacation, it was a reckoning. She had missed weddings, funerals, and entire chapters of her family’s life. So she decided to write her own. Stella organized a family reunion—an event that wasn’t about any one person, but all of them. A tribute to the living, the dead, and the bonds stretched thin by distance and silence.

People were confused at first. “What are we celebrating?” they asked.

“Everyone,” Stella told them. “We’re celebrating everyone.”

She spoke with the kind of conviction that makes people forget they were hesitant. And they came. Cousins she hadn’t seen in 20 years. Aunties. Uncles. Even skeptics. They shared food, photos, and (unexpectedly) deeply buried stories.

One moment she described felt like a scene straight out of a healing parable. Stella had everyone go around the table and build an imaginary story, sentence by sentence. It started as play… and turned into testimony. Childhood memories poured out. Stories of war. Of survival. Of abandonment and reunion. Things no one had ever spoken aloud before.

“You don’t call it a healing event,” Brian said. “But that’s exactly what it was.”

He shared how, in contrast, his own extended family had drifted apart. Generational trauma had bred emotional distance. Holidays were the extent of their connection. “We could’ve had an incredible support network,” he said. “But we’re just… not connected.”

Stella didn’t preach. She didn’t offer easy fixes. But she did offer something else: hope grounded in action. She walked the cemetery rows with her parents. Asked about her ancestors. Found out her great-grandmother was killed in the war, that trauma had migrated silently through her DNA for decades. The nightmares, the visions, the weight—suddenly, they made sense.

Brian nodded, visibly moved.

“Imagine how long someone can carry something until someone finally asks.”

That, they agreed, was the key: Show up. Ask. Be willing to feel awkward or unsure. Be willing to not know what will happen.

Stella’s voice softened:

“It’s underestimated, just showing up. But it can change everything.”

By the end of the conversation, Brian framed it simply:

“Gratitude is the healing side of grief. They’re two sides of the same coin.”

No fancy credentials. No awards. Just two people talking. And in doing so, modeling exactly the kind of healing they were advocating for—one story at a time.

Connect with Stella

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