The Year I Stopped Playing Small
A 60-year-old's journey from poverty and self-doubt to building a life of purpose, impact, and unapologetic ambition.
Eight Months Ago, I Quit the Job I'd Held for Twelve Years
Eight months ago, I quit the job I'd held for twelve years. I was 60 years old with no guarantee, no five-year plan, and no idea whether anyone would care what I had to say.
I did it anyway.
I want to tell you why—not because my story is unusual, but because I think it's exactly the story so many of us are afraid to admit we're living.
Growing Up Poor
I grew up poor. Survival poor. The kind of poor where you don't dream about who you might become because you're too busy figuring out how to get through the week.
I barely earned my GED.
I raised my kids the same way I raised myself—moving from one crisis to the next, never stopping to ask what I actually wanted out of this life. I didn't think that question was mine to ask.
Somewhere in the middle of all that hopelessness, something happened that changed everything: a few people saw something in me before I could see it in myself.
Mentors.
Not the kind who hand you a five-step plan, but the kind who look you in the eye and refuse to let you believe the small story you've been telling yourself about who you are.
They taught me something I didn't know I was allowed to have: potential.
More than that, they taught me to love myself—not the polished, filtered version, but the whole, imperfect, hard-won version.
That was harder than anything else I've ever done.
Loving yourself after a lifetime of believing you're not enough doesn't happen in a single moment. It happens slowly, in the choices you make when nobody's watching.
What Nobody Tells You About Hardship
Here's what nobody tells you about hardship: it doesn't have to break you.
Mine didn't.
It built me.
Every failure I lived through used to feel like proof—proof I wasn't enough, proof I should stay small, stay quiet, stay safe.
Then one day, a mentor asked me a question that changed everything:
"What did you learn?"
Not, "Why did you fail?"
Not, "What's wrong with you?"
Just, "What did you learn?"
That question turned every failure I'd ever experienced into a doorway instead of a wall.
I still fight two lies almost every day.
The first is that money and abundance are for other people—not for someone who grew up the way I did. I'm still unlearning that one.
The second is that talking about my work, my worth, is somehow arrogant.
Self-promotion has always felt slimy to me—salesy, like I'm asking for something I don't deserve. I'm still learning how to stand in front of people and say, "This matters, and so do I," without shrinking afterward.
Rise Believe Become
But here's what I know for certain.
At 60, I wrote a book, Rise Believe Become, because I needed the woman I used to be to know she was going to make it.
I started a podcast, Dreams Don't Expire, because I refuse to let anyone believe their timeline is over.
I co-founded a women's group, Together We Rise, because I know what it costs to grow without a circle of women who truly see you.
And I started a consulting company, Igniting Growth Consulting, because I've seen what happens when a team—any team, in any industry—is taught to believe in its own potential the way my mentors once believed in mine.
None of this happened because I had it all figured out.
It happened because I finally decided that the woman I was becoming mattered more than my fear of becoming her out loud.
I Am Not Different
If you're reading this and some part of you is thinking, That's easy for her. She's different., I need you to hear me:
I am not different.
I am someone who grew up believing she'd never be more than her circumstances, who spent decades in survival mode, and who didn't think ambition, worth, or abundance belonged to her.
The only thing that changed is that I finally let someone convince me I was wrong about myself.
So let me be that someone for you today.
It is not too late.
Not at 30.
Not at 45.
Not at 60.
Not at whatever age you're quietly doing the math about right now.
Your dreams don't have an expiration date. That's not a slogan for me—it's the whole reason I get out of bed.
Whatever you've been putting off because you thought you'd missed your window, because you believed the poor kid, the tired mom, or the person with no five-year plan doesn't get to want more—you're wrong about that, just as I was wrong.
I'm not asking you to quit your job tomorrow.
I'm asking you to stop believing the story that says you're done growing.
Find your version of the mentor who asks, "What did you learn?" instead of, "What's wrong with you?"
Find your circle of women who won't let you shrink.
And then, when you're ready, go be loud about the thing you were made for.
I did.
At 60.
In heels.
Because why not?
It's never too late to become who you were meant to be.
