The Envelope Was Addressed to God

A Heroine’s Journey Through Dreams, Illness, and Divine Partnership

I woke up with the kind of clarity that only arrives after years of dreams, decades of pain, and one long, slow awakening. This isn’t a clinical story. It’s not even a tidy one. This is a personal journey — one stitched together through illness, dreams, resilience, and a rediscovery of joy.

Years ago, I had a dream. I lived in a San Francisco rowhouse — the same city where my husband and I honeymooned. In the basement was a rocketship. I’d found it long before, broken and dusty, and spent years quietly repairing it. As I completed the repairs and said my goodbyes to those I love, I knew it was time to board. I climbed in, looked out the window at the city below and thought of Howard and the girls, and I grieved. I loved them. I still do. But I knew that if I stayed, I would not survive. So I pushed the throttle forward. And I soared into the Universe.

It’s not fear that holds us back. It’s erosion. The kind that wears you down grain by grain in a NeuroDivergent family where the NeuroTypical is expected to carry the emotional weight. Add narcissism to the mix, and it becomes suffocation. Like the sand on the beach I now live beside — beautiful, warm, and hiding sneaker waves, glass shards, and deadly bacteria. That’s what I lived with. For years. For decades. And it nearly killed me.

Ironically, I became physically sick from parasites — Giardia and blastocystis. Very fitting. Parasites aren’t just biological. They’re relational, emotional, energetic. And when you finally fight back, your whole system revolts. My neighbors’ contaminated runoff flooded my property, infected my dog, and forced me into battle. I built French drains, cleaned everything, upgraded our water — and eventually hired an attorney. I fought. And then, I collapsed.

Colitis took over. I spent weeks in and out of the ER, unable to eat, barely awake. Yet even in the fog, something came through. A dream. A directive. “Make a video game,” it said. And so I began building Radiant Empathy — a game about heartbreak and healing in NeuroDivergent relationships. I’d never made a game in my life, but I wrote day and night. I even went to the 2025 Games for Change Festival in New York, despite the illness. And yes — I ended up in urgent care again. But I made contacts. I learned about the industry. And I left with an idea for a kid version of the game, University of NeuroDiversity – Radiant Empathy Campus.

And then, another dream. I was clinging to the outside of a roller coaster car, screaming. Inside, God sat calmly, laughing. “You’ll be OK,” He said. “You won’t die.” When the ride ended, and still in the dream, I found myself in an arena. Lights rose. Applause. Bewildered, I climbed to the nosebleed seats in shame. But my friends were there — waiting to celebrate me. God handed me a linen-textured envelope. Inside: a letter. ‘I am your partner.’ The envelope was addressed to GOD. Because I am God’s partner. And God is mine.

A small keychain fell out of the envelope — empty, waiting. In real life, I now have that keychain. And over time, I’ve filled it:

• A key from a dresser drawer as I packed to leave Portland.
• A tag from a general store in Neskowin that says ‘Keys to MY Dream House.’
• A beaded ring Phoebe made when she was little, spelling out my name, flanked by soccer balls — her passion, my pride.
• A pewter heart that reminds me of Bianca (the artist) and our trip to Paul Revere’s house in Boston.
• A medallion from Ireland honoring St. Brigid — a goddess who once gave her father’s sword to the poor.
• A playful leprechaun, because my joy — my mischievousness — is coming back.
• A brass compass engraved with the words of Captain KIM from Radiant Empathy: ‘Your compass never lies.’

That compass reminds me to follow my resonance — not a direction, not a map, but an inner truth. And it hangs on my keychain now, beside all the rest.

I’m not just flying anymore. I’m still rebuilding and remodeling the rocketship I launched from. That rocketship is me. And the arena, and the beach, and the dream house — they’re all me, too. My daughters are adopted. My mother was autistic. Howard is autistic. Bianca, too. In trying to help her, I found my career. But in helping others, I nearly forgot myself. Not anymore.

This isn’t just a story about dreams or illness or neighbors who wouldn’t fix a drain pipe. It’s for anyone who feels lost, sick, eroded, or invisible. I want you to know: you will find your envelope. You will find your keys. You are already God’s partner.

Einstein said, ‘God doesn’t play dice with the Universe.’ I believe God wrote your name on that envelope. And inside was a message you were always meant to receive: You are the key.

If this story resonates, visit drkathylearningcenter.thinkific.com to learn more about the upcoming video game Radiant Empathy: A Journey of Heartbreak and Healing for NeuroDivergent Relationships. You’ll also find access to live discussions and support communities there.