From Cocoon to Courage-Mae Leads the Way

Our conversation felt familiar, the kind of easy, relaxed beginning that defines so many Coffee, Laughs, and Chats moments. Although it felt comfortable, I also knew the most meaningful stories rarely announce themselves right away. It didn't take long before the conversation found its own pace, shifting naturally, never forcing emotion, but allowing room for it, and in that space is where Michele's story begins. 

Not with an organization or mission statement, but with lived experience. Long before Mae’s Way Foundation ever had a name, before camps, comfort bags, or benefit dinners, Michele began to share her story, one where a little girl had tried to make sense of a world that suddenly felt very scary and very quiet. Michelle Gates was five years old when her mother died by suicide. At an age when most kids are just beginning to grasp the idea of permanence, Michelle’s world shattered, her life shifted in ways she didn’t have words for. She went to live with her grandparents who were shaped by a generation that didn’t talk openly about grief. In the 70s and ’80s loss was something you carried silently. You moved forward and you didn’t ask questions. Michelle learned how to survive quietly. She learned how to operate on autopilot, how to sit in the middle of grief without anyone naming what it was. Looking back, she describes it as a lonely journey, not because she wasn’t loved, but because no one knew how to talk about the kind of loss she was carrying.

Years later, that unnamed grief would find its voice, not all at once, but slowly, through layers of loss and healing. Between 2014 and 2017, Michelle walked through a season that felt relentless. Her grandfather died of cancer after a period of long-distance caregiving, followed by a divorce, losing her grandmother unexpectedly and then the unthinkable, her aunt too, passed away, also by suicide. Around the same time, both of her children left for college, a natural transition, but one that deepened the quiet in her home.

Instead of turning away from the weight of it all, Michelle turned inward. She began asking hard questions. She started journaling. She leaned into healing, not as a way to “fix” herself, but as a way to understand who she was becoming. That journey led her to writing, to photography, and eventually to creating guided journals focused on grief, caregiving, and life transitions. Healing, for Michele, was never meant to be hoarded. It was meant to be shared.

That belief began to take shape in 2020, during the isolation of the COVID pandemic, in an unexpected way, a children’s book called The Courageous Caterpillar. The story followed a caterpillar named Mae, a name that came to Michele during a walk along the Newburgh riverfront, one of those moments she attributes to God, when the right name simply lands where it belongs.

The book wasn’t written only for children impacted by suicide. It was written for any child facing loss, change, or a hard season, because grief doesn’t come in one shape. The caterpillar’s cocoon reflects the messy, in-between space Michele knew so well. Every book sold would go on to support what was quietly forming alongside it, along with companion workbooks and journals designed for therapists, counselors, and caregivers. What began as a book slowly grew into something more.

Mae’s Way Foundation wasn’t born from a single lightning‑bolt moment, but from a series of small, faithful steps. Michele never set out to be a counselor or an expert. Instead, she saw herself as a connector, someone who could help children and families find language, support, and comfort when they needed it most. One of the foundation’s most impactful programs is The Courageous Caterpillar Camp, now entering its third year. Held at Lou Dennis Park in Newburgh, the camp creates space for kids to talk, play, rest, and process big emotions through fun, age-appropriate activities. There are moments for movement and moments for quiet. Tents offer safe space when feelings become overwhelming. And there is always permission to step away, to pause, to breathe.

Michele shared a moment from camp that has stayed with her. Two sisters who had lost their father. The older sister clutched the Mae caterpillar, overwhelmed, retreating into one of the tents. Michele laid down beside her, not to fix anything, not to rush the moment, but simply to be present. Later, the girl said quietly, “I’m really not alone.”

That, Michele says, is the work. The ripple effects of Mae’s Way have reached farther than she ever imagined. At the foundation’s first camp, Michele had heard John Mack, an American Ninja Warrior contestant share his story about losing a parent to suicide at age twelve and invited him to the camp. When his story later aired on national television, it shined a light on Mae’s Way and brought support from across the country from Washington to Oregon to Kentucky and beyond.

There were moments along the way when Michele questioned herself. While some believed deeply in her vision, some doubted her ability to lead, questioning whether she might be too close to the mission. She kept going anyway, learning nonprofit work from the ground up, building partnerships, securing funding and trusting that the right people would show up at the right time.

Even now, the work isn’t easy. There are days when the weight of it presses in. Once, after giving herself permission to pause, Michele received an email just hours later from someone who had found the foundation online and didn’t know where else to turn. That was her answer and all she needed to know she was doing what she was supposed to do.

Today, Michele is many things, a founder, a photographer, a writer, a certified journaling coach, but first and foremost, she is a mom. Her children are grown now, building lives of their own, and she carries a message she repeats often: You matter.