The Brave Hearts
Our Story
Brave Hearts grew from a life changed by love, loss and connection
Brave Hearts did not begin as an idea for a business or even a plan to create something new.
It began with a life I loved, a loss I never imagined and the people who helped carry me when I could no longer find my way on my own.
It grew from witnessing what community can hold. From discovering that healing does not happen in only one way. And from my own search for experiences that could help me reconnect with my body, quiet my
mind, nurture my soul and feel part of life again.
But to understand where Brave Hearts came from, I first need to tell you about Rick.
Because this story begins with him.
Before Brave Hearts,
There Was Rick
Many people know Rick as Cst. Rick O’Brien—the RCMP officer who was killed in the line of duty on September 22, 2023.
But before I tell you about that day, I want you to know something about the man whose life came before it.
Rick was my husband, my person and my partner in the life we were building together.
He was a father, a friend, a youth worker, an educator and eventually a police officer. But no matter what role he held, the same part of him always seemed to lead: his ability to connect with people.
Rick loved kids.
He believed in meeting them where they were, making them feel included and giving them opportunities to be part of something. He loved showing kids the police car and letting them experience a
side of policing that felt exciting, approachable and fun.
Rick was a big kid himself. He could be playful and ridiculous, deeply caring and fiercely protective. He connected through humour and play because he understood that connection did not always begin with a serious conversation. Sometimes it began with hockey, basketball, a movie, exploring a police car, a shared laugh or simply taking the time to show someone they mattered.
He also understood the importance of bringing people together beyond the roles they were expected to play.
That belief became part of a vision we shared—creating opportunities for youth and first responders to meet beyond uniforms, titles and circumstances. A place where first responders could take off the uniform for a while, kids could simply be kids and genuine connection could grow through play and shared experience.
At the time, we could not have known where that vision would eventually lead.
We certainly could not have imagined that one day I would be carrying it forward without him.
But the heart of what Rick believed has never left:
People need places where they can feel seen, included and connected—and sometimes one meaningful experience can open the door to something much bigger.
September 22, 2023 - The Day Everything Changed
And then, in a single moment, the life we were building was gone.
Before September 22, 2023, I felt like I was living my best life.
Rick and I had built a life I loved. We had plans, dreams and a future I believed was still waiting for us. It wasn’t a perfect life—but it was ours, and I was happy.
Then everything was pulled out from underneath me.
On September 22, 2023, Rick was killed in the line of duty while serving as an RCMP officer.
There are facts that can explain what happened that day. There are official accounts, news stories and public words used to describe the loss of Cst. Rick O’Brien.
But none of them can fully explain what it means to lose your husband, your person and the future you believed you were going to share.
Life did not simply feel different after Rick died.
It was unrecognizable.
The person I had built my life around was gone. The plans we had made, the ordinary moments I believed we
still had ahead of us and the future I thought I understood disappeared with him.
It felt as though the entire foundation of my life had been taken away in a single moment.
Grief changed everything—my body, my mind, my sense of safety, my identity and the way I moved through
the world.
I was not only grieving Rick. I was trying to understand who I was when nothing about my life—or the person I had been within it—felt recognizable anymore.
There was no map for what came next.
There was no returning to the life I had known or the person I had been before.
I had to find my way through a life without Rick—a life I had never imagined, never chose and no longer
recognized as my own.
WHEN PEOPLE SHOW UP
I could not carry what had happened on my own.
In the days and months after Rick died, people showed up.
Some stood beside me in the most unbearable moments. Some helped with the practical things I did not have the capacity to think about. Others sent messages, shared memories of Rick or found quiet ways to remind me that my family and I had not been forgotten.
No one could change what had happened or take away the pain of losing him.
But they could stand beside me in it.
I began to understand that community does not always mean having the right words or knowing how to make something better. Sometimes it means staying. Listening. Remembering. Making space for
someone’s pain without asking them to hide it, explain it or move through it more quickly.
There were moments when other people believed in me before I could believe in myself. Moments when they helped hold pieces of my life together because I did not yet know how.
Their presence could not carry my grief for me—but it helped carry me through it.
Even with people around me, grief could still feel incredibly isolating. There were times when I pulled inward, when being around others felt overwhelming or when I simply did not have the capacity to connect.
Later, I would come to understand that connection could not be forced. I had to feel ready—and my body had to feel ready too.
Through the people who continued to show up, I experienced what it meant to be seen, heard, understood and witnessed in a life that felt completely unrecognizable.
I also learned that healing can happen in places we may not expect.
• It can happen in a conversation.
• In shared silence.
• In laughter that returns before you thought it could.
• In being invited somewhere when your instinct is to stay home.
• In finding yourself surrounded by people who do not need you to pretend you are okay.
Community did not make losing Rick less devastating.
A Shared Vision Brought to Life
Joint Forces began as our vision. Bringing it to life became one of the ways I carried Rick forward.
Long before Joint Forces became the name of a foundation or community event, joining forces was already part of our story.
Rick and I joined our hearts, our lives and our families. We also shared a deep belief in giving back. Through my business and Rick’s role as a police officer, we created opportunities for children and families to connect with him in a way that felt welcoming, approachable and fun.
Over time, we began imagining something bigger…an experience that would bring together two communities Rick cared deeply about: youth and first responders.
We envisioned a day where they could meet beyond uniforms, titles and circumstances. Where first responders could let their guard down, kids could simply be kids and connection could grow through games, laughter and shared experiences.
Rick believed in creating positive connections outside of crisis, before the moment someone needed help. He knew those connections could begin with something as simple as showing a child the police car, joining a game or sharing a laugh.
After Rick died, that vision remained.
At a time when almost everything about my life felt unrecognizable, this was something I could still recognize. It belonged to both of us. It carried Rick’s heart, his love for kids and our shared belief in bringing people together.
So I made the decision to carry it forward.
With family, friends, first responders, volunteers, local businesses and community members beside me, the first Cst. Rick O’Brien Joint Forces Jamboree came to life on May 25, 2024.
Youth and first responders became teammates. Families met the people behind the uniforms. They played, laughed and connected, not through crisis, but simply by spending time together.
What Rick and I had once imagined was suddenly happening all around me.
Our vision had become a community.
Joint Forces could never replace Rick. But it gave me a way to honour who he was and gave his heart somewhere to keep moving through the world.
It showed me that connection could honour what had been lost while creating something meaningful for the life still unfolding.
The Search for Myself
I had created a place for others to connect…but I was still trying to find my way back to myself.
Joint Forces gave me purpose, community and a meaningful way to carry forward something Rick and I had imagined together.
But creating connection for others did not mean I always felt connected within my own life.
Behind everything I was building, I was still grieving. Still living with trauma. Still trying to understand who I was without Rick and how to exist in a life I no longer recognized as my own.
There were people who loved me and wanted to help. But grief could still feel incredibly lonely. Sometimes I wanted connection but did not have the capacity for it. Being around people felt overwhelming and explaining what I was carrying was exhausting, especially when I could not find the words myself.
I began to understand that wanting to reconnect with life did not mean I was ready. I had to feel ready, and my body had to feel ready too.
Grief and trauma were not only living in my thoughts and emotions. My body was carrying them in my nervous system, my energy, my sense of safety and my ability to be present.
I needed spaces where I could arrive exactly as I was. Where I did not have to explain, share or pretend I was okay.
The forest became one of those places. It was where I went to feel connected to myself, to Rick, to the universe and to something larger than my grief. I could walk, cry, think, breathe or simply let the trees hold what felt too heavy for me.
As I began to feel ready, I became curious about other ways of supporting my body, mind and soul. I explored sound baths, Reiki, Pilates and somatic practices that recognized how much the body can carry.
Not everything resonated with me, and that became part of what I learned too.
I attended grief groups but did not always feel that I belonged. Eventually, I realized I did not feel most connected to people simply because we had experienced the same kind of loss. I connected with people finding their way through their own pain, trauma or difficult chapter, even when their stories looked nothing like mine.
We did not need to have lived through the same thing to recognize something in one another.
There was no single practice or straight path that could heal everything. But each meaningful experience helped me reconnect with the person I was becoming.
And slowly, a question began to grow:
What if there were a place where people did not need to share the same story to feel understood…where they could explore different ways of reconnecting with themselves alongside others finding their way too?
THE BEGINNING OF SOMETHING NEW
Brave Hearts grew from a question I could no longer ignore: What if finding our way felt a little less lonely?
I had experienced the power of community through Joint Forces. I had felt the forest hold me when life became too heavy. And I had begun exploring practices that helped me reconnect with my body, quiet my mind and feel more like myself, even if only for a little while.
I had also learned that the people who made me feel most understood did not necessarily share my story. They simply understood what it was like to have life change them.
Again and again, I found myself thinking about the space that seemed to be missing.
Not another traditional support group centred around one kind of loss, trauma or life experience. Not a place where people had to arrive ready to talk, explain what happened or share the hardest parts of their story. And not a program suggesting there was one right way to heal.
I imagined something different.
A community where people could explore experiences that support the body, mind and soul while gently connecting with others who were finding their way too.
Some experiences might bring calm or grounding. Others might create movement, release, curiosity, laughter or joy. Sometimes it might simply be a reason to leave the house and have something to look forward to.
There would be room to participate without pressure. No one would need to know exactly what they needed, be ready to tell their story or arrive feeling brave.
They could simply come as they were.
Because sometimes healing begins with something small. A moment of calm. A shared experience. A little laughter. A new way of supporting yourself. The feeling that, for a moment, you are not carrying everything alone.
That idea became Brave Hearts.
A body, mind + soul healing community for people navigating the hard, messy parts of life.
Brave Hearts is not about returning to who we were before life changed us. It is about reconnecting with ourselves, discovering what supports us now and finding our way alongside people who understand.
Brave Hearts is still growing, and so am I.
I don’t have all the answers. I’m learning how to carry it too.
I am not creating Brave Hearts from the other side of healing. I am creating it from within my own unfolding life, shaped by what I have lived, what I continue to learn and what I wish had existed when I needed it most.
A place where we can arrive exactly as we are. Where our stories do not have to be the same for us to understand one another.
A place to reconnect with yourself, connect with others and explore meaningful ways of moving through whatever life has brought.
What Brave Hearts Looks Like in Practice
COME AS YOU ARE
You don’t have to know what you need. You can begin with one experience.
Brave Hearts brings people together through thoughtfully guided experiences that support the body, mind and soul.
Each offers a different way to reconnect with yourself, with others and with parts of life that may have felt distant for a while.
Some experiences may be calming and restorative. Others may include movement, creativity, nature, learning, laughter or release. You might find yourself walking among the trees, settling into a sound bath, exploring breathwork or somatic movement, creating something with your hands or trying something completely new.
Somatic practices recognize that difficult experiences can be carried not only in our thoughts and emotions, but in our bodies and nervous systems too. They offer gentle ways to notice what your body may be holding and begin reconnecting with it safely.
You may leave feeling grounded, energized, lighter or more connected. You may discover something you want to explore again or simply enjoy having done something kind for yourself.
There is no expectation that every experience will resonate with every person.
Brave Hearts is an invitation to become curious about what might support you now.
You do not need to arrive knowing anyone. You do not need to explain what brought you there, share your story or participate in anything that does not feel right.
You are encouraged to listen to yourself, move at your own pace and choose what feels comfortable.
There will be opportunities to connect, but connection will never be forced. It may begin through conversation, doing something side by side or simply being among people who understand that life can change us.
Your story does not have to look like anyone else’s for you to belong.
Brave Hearts is not therapy or a traditional support group. It is another kind of space. A place where healing does not always begin with talking about what happened. Where the body is included alongside the mind. Where grief and joy can exist together and trying something new can be meaningful without needing to become the solution.
ONE EXPERIENCE AT A TIME
Brave Hearts experiences are offered individually and through thoughtfully created series, giving you opportunities to explore different forms of connection and support.
One experience may bring calm. Another may help you reconnect with your body. Another may remind you that you can still laugh, create, move or enjoy being part of something.
And sometimes, what matters most may simply be that you came.
You don’t have to be ready for everything. You only have to be open to one small beginning.
Come on your own or with someone you trust. Participate fully or quietly take in the experience.
However you arrive, you are welcome to come as you are.