Life on the New Jersey Heavy Metal Scene Through the Eyes of Metal Rose – Part 3 - Finding My Place Again

It’s been a while since I’ve written about this, and a lot has changed.

For the past five years I’ve poured a great deal of my creative energy into projects that mattered to me — including social-media work and promotion around Jon Schaffer’s Sons of Liberty and Iced Earth-related releases. That chapter taught me a lot about showing up consistently, protecting something you believe in, and the cost of public judgment. I’ve been responsible for the Sons of Liberty social media for the past year, helped set up music-video premieres, and developed a deep sense of gratitude for the work itself. I feel genuinely appreciated in that role, and that appreciation has meant more to me than I expected. But that is only one part of the story.

Looking back, the hardest chapters of my time in the New Jersey metal scene — losing Orbynot, the toxic dynamics, the friendships that collapsed, the personal losses that left me feeling hollow — were the same experiences that eventually opened my eyes. Living through isolation, judgment, and the sudden turning of people I once trusted helped me understand more clearly what public abandonment feels like. I can take accountability for being reactive and emotional. I still do. It’s still hard to be dismissed for it.

I’ve recently read The Practicing Stoic by Ward Farnsworth. That book shifted how I move through the world. I barely reacted when a tractor-trailer nearly killed me this past year. The old patterns of outrage and despair no longer run the show the way they once did.

I used to think the chaos with Orbynot, the constant tension inside the band, and the way even small opportunities could be treated like threats were just “metal drama.” Now I see them as part of a larger pattern. The same environment that once made me feel like a pawn also taught me what it costs to keep showing up for something you love when the people around you stop seeing your value. Those losses stripped away a lot of illusions. They hurt. Some of them still do. But they also cleared space for something truer.

One of the hardest parts was realizing how few people actually stood by me when things fell apart. Friendships that had felt solid disappeared almost overnight. People I had shared stages, late nights, and real vulnerability with simply looked the other way or chose the safer side. That kind of quiet abandonment cuts deeper than open conflict. It leaves you questioning your own worth and wondering who, if anyone, will still be there when the noise dies down.

Going through that helped me understand, in a much more personal way, what Jon has faced — the sudden distance from people who once claimed loyalty, the way a single narrative can erase years of shared work, and the loneliness that follows when the room empties. I recognized the pattern because I had lived a smaller version of it myself. The scale was different, but the feeling of being left to carry it alone was familiar. That recognition didn’t erase my own pain; it simply gave me a clearer lens for it.

I’ve previously written about those losses, so I do not wish to keep speaking about what happened to me. I don’t wish to be a victim. I just wish to be an inspiration to people and show that it is okay to think for yourself and be yourself no matter what the cost.

Over the last few years I’ve built Podcast of the Wicked and The White Rose Podcast, and I’ve continued the social-media work. I’ve also found my way back into the New Jersey metal scene in a quieter but deeper way. A lot of the friendships I’ve made have come through my friend’s radio show — nights spent hanging around the studio, talking music, being around people who still care about this world the way I do. Through those nights I’ve gotten to know a few local bands, and it’s been genuinely good to feel connected again. I’ve made some new friends these last few years and I’ve also cut some loose because they were toxic for me.

I won’t pretend I don’t miss singing and fronting a band. That part of me is still there. But what I’ve found instead feels more meaningful right now: being part of the scene without needing to be at the center of it, raising a child who thinks the heavy-metal world I’ve found my way back into is pretty cool, and surrounding myself with people who accept me as I am.

I’ve found my own style along the way — rockabilly and 1950s housewife outfits paired with cowboy boots, sometimes my cropped band T-shirts styled up, and a tiara because somewhere deep down I know I’m a queen. I try to stay as colorful as possible. I have a couple of Jon Schaffer’s stage worn vests, I own a guitar strap that belonged to David Ellefson of Megadeth and Vinny Appice’s drumstick from Ronnie James Dio’s last show. Those pieces feel like armor and connection at the same time.

I’ve had some exciting summers and seasons of real living. One year I followed my friend Jim Florentine’s comedy sets as often as I could. I’ve seen Metallica a few times with friends. I got to meet Primus and Sean Lennon with my son and did other meet-and-greets with Les Claypool. Johnny loves anything Les Claypool does so it’s just become one of our special things to do. We’ve gotten caught in mosh pits while Primus played “Jerry Was a Race Car Driver.” I’ve taken him to Vocaloid concerts like Miku and Japanese artists like Ado because he branched out and found his own music, and I love making his dreams come true. We’ve seen Ghost at Madison Square Garden. We caught Anthrax, Megadeth & Iron Maiden — an absolute killer bill and Johnny’s first time seeing Anthrax and Iron Maiden. He still loved Megadeth the most, just like me. We’ve seen Ritchie Blackmore with Blackmore’s Night many times and even caught his reunion with Deep Purple. Johnny got my dad’s Rainbow vinyl signed by Ritchie all by himself. We’ve seen Ringo Starr & His All Starr Band a few times. I’ve reconnected with Vanilla Fudge more than once. I saw Buddy Guy — ninety years old and still absolutely ripping — and it was amazing. I’ve visited Seattle and walked the Grunge landmarks and stood at Jimi Hendrix’s grave. I’ve gone back to my happiest childhood place, Lambert’s Castle, on many occasions. I’ve seen Cape Cod and Sleepy Hollow. I’ve sat in Baird’s Tavern in Warwick drinking old fashioneds in a place George Washington used to frequent.

Through the losses I’ve come to appreciate my child more and live for the moments we get together — apple picking, days at the farm, those rock ’n’ roll nights. I took Johnny to see Harry Potter and the Cursed Child on Broadway. We frequent the Liberty Science Center and go on lots of educational trips together. I do everything I can to make his homeschool experience fun and interactive. Johnny has become a strong guitar player, a gifted artist, and a mathematician.

I’ve met so many good people in the wider metal community. I spent time with Richard Christy and gifted him all the vinyl albums he was on with Iced Earth. I met Pamela Des Barres, the world’s most famous groupie, and took a writing class with her. It was fantastic and helped me find myself again.

I’ve been initiated into a coven at the Light Club Curiosity Shoppe. I’ve attended many rituals and found deep spirituality there, alongside a deep love for Christ. I just cannot ignore my gifts so I am studying to find my best way to harness them. I’ve gone to Beltanica two years in a row and done the maypole with my son. All of it has made me more confident in myself. I’ve been networking well with cool people. Opportunities keep coming because of the work. Instead of paying to play, I’m landing accounts and helping other people’s brands too.

The losses were real. The gratitude is real too.

I’m not the same person who once fought so hard to stay inside a band that no longer had room for me. I’m someone who learned, the hard way, that sometimes the things that break you are also the things that finally set you free. This is something money can’t buy. Only time can heal certain wounds. I think my time has arrived.