After Four Years, I'm Back—This Time On My Own Terms

This is a post I’ve dreamed about writing for a long time.
Four years, to be exact.

For over a decade, I was part of one of the biggest ghost tour companies in Gettysburg. I led hundreds of tours, met thousands of curious guests, and told stories that blended history with heart, hauntings, and humanity. I loved it—deeply. I gave it everything. I researched, I trained, I walked the streets in all weather, all seasons. I even invested in a historically accurate gown because I believed the story deserved to be told right.

Then, in 2021, something changed.

That June, I led a tour wearing my usual Civil War-style dress—this time with a rainbow Pride cuffs and skirt band. It was subtle. Intentional. A way of acknowledging that queer people have always existed, even if their stories were hidden, erased, or punished. To me, it was a gesture of respect. Of truth. Of presence.

But within days, I was removed from the schedule. No warning. No conversation.

Just gone.

I was told I had made a “political statement.” Never mind the fact that political memorabilia—including deeply partisan merchandise—was being sold right inside their gift shop. Apparently, my existence was too loud. Too much.

I was heartbroken. I had spent years building something within that company, something I thought was mine, too. But I realized in that moment: it was never really mine. I was a guest in someone else's story—and I had finally stepped outside the lines they'd drawn for me.

So I stepped away. But I didn’t stop.

For the past four years, I’ve been researching on my own. Digging deep into the stories that don’t make it into most Gettysburg tours—stories of enslaved people, of women erased from the record, of queer lives lived in shadows. I walked the streets quietly, taking notes, feeling the shifts in the air. Listening. Waiting.

I’ve waited long enough.

Today, I can finally say: I’m offering my own ghost tours in Gettysburg.

These tours are the result of four years of dreaming, grieving, rebuilding, and reclaiming. They are deeply haunted—and deeply human. I believe in telling the truth, even when it’s uncomfortable. I believe history is political, because people’s lives are political. And I believe the ghosts of this town deserve to be remembered in all their complexity.

These tours are about the past—but they’re also about now.

About what we carry.
About what we hide.
About what still lingers.

We’ll walk about a mile together. It’s an outdoor experience, rain or shine. There will be ghost stories, yes—but also lost histories, uneasy truths, and maybe even a message or two from the other side.

If you’re looking for something sanitized or safe, this isn’t that.

But if you’re looking for a tour that makes you feel something—that brings you into connection with place, with presence, and with people both living and dead—then this is exactly where you need to be.

This isn’t just a job for me. It’s a calling. It’s a reclamation. It’s a chance to finally say:
This is my voice. My story. My tour.

And I can’t wait to walk with you.

Let’s awaken the dead. Together.