I Was Never Too Much
From Neurodiversity to Purpose: A Latina Leader's Journey to Believing in Herself
The Missing Ingredient in Success: How Mindfulness Unlocks Whole-Self Growth
By Vanessa Woodall
Let me tell you something nobody told me growing up.
The things that made me feel like too much-too loud, too intense, too emotional, too curious, too driven-they were never flaws. They were the very things God was shaping into purpose.
It took me a long time to believe that. And honestly? The journey to get here wasn't clean or linear. It was loud. It was messy. It was confusing. At times, it was painful. And it was absolutely beautiful
I Was Raised in a Culture That Celebrated Strength, But Rarely Named Struggle
Growing up in a Mexican household means you inherit something powerful: a legacy of people who did not quit. My culture is rich with resilience. We are people who build. We are people who work hard. We are people who show up for family. We are people who find joy in the middle of hardship. Nuestra gente doesn't stop. And that is a gift I carry with pride.
But there's also a side of that culture most of us don't talk about at the dinner table: the unspoken rule that you push through without naming what's breaking you. You don't ask for help. You don't say you're struggling. You just keep going, porque asà es la vida.
So that's what I did. I kept going. For years, I kept going without ever understanding why I experienced the world so differently than everyone around me.
Nobody Called It Neurodiversity. They Just Called It "A Lot."
I remember being the kid who asked "why" seventeen times before accepting an answer. The one who hyper-focused on one thing for hours and then completely forgot something basic. The one who felt everything deeply-other people's emotions, the energy in a room, the weight of words that weren't even directed at me.
Teachers didn't know what to do with me. Some adults thought I was being difficult. And in environments that weren't designed for the way my brain works, I internalized what they projected: something is wrong with you.
It took years-literal decades-before I had language for it. Before I understood that my brain doesn't operate on the standard setting, and that's not a defect. It's a different operating system. One that, when understood and leveraged correctly, is actually a superpower.
Neurodiversity didn't break me. Misunderstanding it almost did.
But Here's What Nobody Could Take From Me
Even in my most confused seasons, God had a grip on me that I couldn't shake loose-even when I tried.
I remember crying out in moments that felt impossible. Moments where I didn't fit in professionally. Where I doubted whether my ideas were worth anything. Where being a young Latina woman in certain rooms made me feel invisible before I even opened my mouth. Moments where my brain felt like it was working against me and I didn't know how to explain that to anyone.
And every single time, something would shift. A door would open. A person would speak a word over me that felt too specific to be coincidence. A strength I didn't know I had would surface exactly when I needed it.
That's not luck. That's God.
Philippians 4:13 became more than a verse I memorized. It became a testimony: I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. Not some things. Not the easy things. All things. Including the things that make no sense on paper.
Perseverance Doesn't Always Look Like Power
Let me be real with you for a second, because I think women-especially women of color, especially neurodiverse women-need to hear this:
Perseverance doesn't always look like boldness. Sometimes it looks like staying in the room when everything in you wants to leave. Sometimes it looks like sending the email when your anxiety is screaming at you to wait. Sometimes it looks like building something from scratch, with no blueprint, and trusting that God didn't give you the vision to let you fail.
I've led teams. I've built programs from the ground up with no playbook to reference. I've sat in rooms where I was the only one who looked like me, thought like me, or moved like me, and I've learned to take up space anyway.
Not because I stopped feeling the pressure. But because I stopped letting the pressure have the final say.
The Bathroom Stall That Almost Ended Everything
I need to tell you a story, because I think someone reading this right now needs it.
There was a season in my life where everything changed at once-new state, new department, new team, new job. I was still learning the role, still finding my footing, still trying to navigate personal transitions while showing up professionally. I was on the phones, in the thick of learning, doing my best with what I had.
And in the middle of a live call, my team lead walked up to me and signaled that something was wrong. Right there, on the floor, while I was working. That moment alone was enough to shake me, but what came next nearly broke me entirely.
In the coaching conversation that followed, I was told-with what felt like complete certainty-that I should probably consider a different field. That this one may not be for me. Without even knowing my background, my experience, or the changes I was in the midst of.
I don't have words to fully describe what that does to a person who is already carrying the weight of feeling like she doesn't belong. Who has spent her whole life being told, in subtle and not-so-subtle ways, that she is too much or not enough. That coaching didn't just sting. It landed on top of every lie I had ever believed about myself and confirmed them all at once.
I went to the bathroom, found a stall, and cried. The kind of crying you do when you're trying not to make noise because you don't want anyone to know you're falling apart.
And then, in what I can only describe as one of the most surreal and painful moments of my career, that same team lead walked into that bathroom not knowing I was there. I heard her talking to another team lead about me-about how I just wasn't a good fit for the company, and how she didn't know what else to do with me.
I sat in that stall in complete silence and listened to my worst fears about myself spoken out loud by someone who was supposed to be leading me.
I made up my mind in that moment. I was done. I was going to walk in and give my notice.
But God had a different plan.
On my way in to do exactly that, I crossed paths with someone who saw something in me that I could not see in myself. Someone who asked the right questions, said the right words, and gave me a reason to stay. Not because everything was fixed-but because, for the first time in that season, someone believed in me when I had completely stopped believing in myself.
That was thirteen years ago.
Thirteen years of growth, connection, contribution, and impact that I almost walked away from because of one person who never took the time to actually know me before deciding I didn't belong.
I stayed. I built. I led. I developed people and programs and systems that have touched hundreds of lives. And every single bit of it-every promotion, every breakthrough, every person I've poured into, every program I've built from nothing-is to the glory of God.
He kept me in that room for a reason.
And if you are in a bathroom stall right now-metaphorical or literal-crying and wondering if it's time to give up, I need you to hear me: stay. What God has placed in you cannot be assessed by someone who never took the time to see you.
Building People Is Just as Important as Building Programs
I'll tell you something else that story taught me. It shaped everything about how I lead and develop people today.
I know what it feels like to be coached poorly-to have your confidence dismantled instead of developed, to be told who you aren't instead of shown who you could become. And because I know that feeling, I have committed my career to doing it differently.
In my professional life, I build things: frameworks, processes, training programs, performance tools. I've created infrastructure from scratch, designed rubrics that help people see their own growth clearly, and built pipelines that take someone from their first day to full confidence in their role.
I love that work deeply. But the part that gets me out of bed every morning isn't the spreadsheet or the slide deck. It's watching someone walk into their own potential because someone finally gave them a structure that made space for them to grow.
That's what people development really is. It's not about managing performance. It's about building confidence systematically, intentionally, and consistently until a person no longer needs you to believe in them-because they've learned to believe in themselves.
I think about that work through a faith lens too. Proverbs 22:6 says to train up a child in the way they should go. I apply that same spirit to every person I pour into professionally. If I can help someone understand not just what to do but who they are in the context of their work, that person doesn't just perform better-they lead better. They influence others. The impact multiplies.
That's the kind of building I'm called to: not just creating systems that work, but creating environments where people thrive inside of them.
Confidence Isn't a Personality Trait. It's a Discipline.
One of the biggest lies I had to unlearn was that confident people are just born that way. That some women walk into rooms naturally owning them, and the rest of us are just supposed to figure it out on the way there.
That is not true.
Confidence is built through repetition, reflection, and the right kind of feedback. It grows when someone tells you specifically what you did well and exactly how to elevate what didn't land. It grows when the environment around you is honest enough to challenge you and safe enough for you to try again.
I've built that kind of environment on my teams. And I've had to build it inside myself too.
And the thing that made the difference every single time? My faith.
Your Wiring Is Not an Accident
If you're a woman reading this who has ever felt like you were "too much," too passionate, too sensitive, too ambitious, or too different, I want to speak directly to you.
Your neurodiversity is not a limitation God forgot to fix. Your cultural background is not a barrier you need to overcome. Your intensity is not a problem that needs to be managed.
It is all raw material in the hands of a God who builds strategically.
None of it was wasted. None of it is wasted in you either.
What I Know Now
I am a leader, a builder, and a developer of people, and I am all of those things because of my full story-not in spite of it.
I didn't get here by shrinking. I didn't get here by pretending the hard parts didn't exist. I got here by letting God redeem every single part of me-the cultural inheritance, the wiring, the wounds, and the wins-and turn it into something I can give back.
That's what I want for you.
Not a life where you finally fit in. A life where you finally walk fully in who you were created to be-unapologetically, powerfully, and rooted in something that doesn't move.
Your difference is not your deficit.
It is your assignment.
