Mary Belden-McGrath

Here's to the Misfits

"Why fit in when you were born to stand out?"

I've loved that line for a long time because I've spent most of my life challenging the status quo-the norms, the expectations, and the way things are supposed to be done.

So, when I was asked to write about a time I broke a tradition, an expectation, or a long-standing belief, I had to sit with it. Not because I couldn't think of one, but because I've done it so many times that I didn't know which one to choose.

Here's one of the big ones.

I broke the traditional path:

• Graduate.
• Go to college.
• Build a career.
• Then get married.

That was the order. That was the plan everyone hands you. The definition of doing life "the right way."

I eloped at 18 while I was still in high school and figured the rest out along the way.

What followed wasn't easy.

There were people, events, and seasons that wanted me to become smaller than I was. I was told in a hundred quiet-and sometimes not-so-quiet-ways that I was too much. I challenged beliefs. I pushed back. I questioned ways of thinking that limited people and placed them into boxes.

At first, it was easier to stand up for other people than it was to stand up for myself. I think that's where the fight inside me began.

When you've been encouraged to be small, getting up isn't simply a habit.

• It's an act of refusal.
• A refusal to stay down.
• A refusal to disappear.
• A refusal to allow someone else's expectations to determine the size of your life.

Instead of letting my unconventional beginning-or the painful chapters that followed-place a ceiling on my future, I kept reinventing myself.

I became an entrepreneur. A leadership facilitator. A content creator. A business owner. A mentor. Today, I teach principles that many people first encounter in a college classroom.

My path wasn't traditional. But it became an education in its own right.

I won't pretend it was clean.

For years, I struggled with imposter syndrome. I worried that I wasn't good enough. I waited for someone to discover that I didn't have a college degree and decide I didn't belong in the room.

My journey wasn't always a courageous declaration of, "I'm going to challenge tradition!" Sometimes, I was simply very stubborn. I never wanted to be put in a box. I wanted to prove I could do it differently.

And I worked hard. I mean, I worked hard.

I could outwork just about anyone in the room. Once I had a belief, a vision, and a focus, I locked in.

But there were tough times.

• Times when I was scared and cried myself to sleep.
• Times when I was lost.
• Times when I didn't have a clue.

There were days I pulled the covers over my head and just wanted to stay in bed.

But there was always this voice inside me-this fight inside me-that wouldn't allow me to stay there.

It would begin as a whisper.

Get up.

Then it would grow louder.

Get up. Get up. Get up!

And sometimes I would yell it out loud.

"Mary... GET UP!"

And then I would.

I may not have known how to fix everything. I may not have been able to control the circumstances, the people, or the outcome. But I learned to focus on what I could do instead of what I couldn't.

One of my mantras became, "What am I willing to do to get to where I want to be?"

Then I would do that.

• One foot in front of the other.
• One step at a time.
• One action at a time.

I also learned that if someone's primary concern was whether I had letters behind my name, I probably wasn't the right fit for them.

And that was okay.

Some will. Some won't. So what? Next.

That understanding set me free.

Then Simon Sinek came along with the Golden Circle, and it lit me up. The idea that people don't simply connect with what you do-they connect with why you do it.

That understanding set me free.

Once I stopped being afraid of being asked about my degrees, and once I began openly owning who I was, where I came from, and what I brought to the room, I reclaimed my power.

Because here's what I do have.

I see ideas, concepts, and processes like pieces of a puzzle. My brain begins turning them, connecting them, and fitting them together.

• I research.
• I study.
• I take classes.
• I earn certifications.
• I learn from mentors and coaches.
• I listen to the voice inside me that says, Create!

I am genuinely in awe of the outcomes we help produce. Again and again, people tell us:

"I've attended so many leadership trainings and team-building programs, but I've never experienced anything like this."

I've even had students who work with psychologists tell me,

"You say the exact same things my psychologist says."

In the early days, when I was still afraid of being found out, still playing small, and still avoiding the bigger risks, the mentors and owners of the leadership company I worked with continued pushing me to step up.

One of my mentors, along with my therapist, asked me a question I've never forgotten:

Would you rather learn from someone who has letters behind their name but very little life experience, or from someone who has been forged in the fire? Someone who has been there, lived it, learned from it, and come out the other side?

That question gave me permission to step up and step out.

My mess. My message.

• My mess.
• My fears.
• My mistakes.
• My education through the school of hard knocks.

They have all become my message.

Not because I did everything perfectly. Because I didn't quit.

This story isn't only about breaking tradition. It isn't about whether someone went to college, got married young, built a business, or followed an unconventional path.

• It is about what happens when life doesn't unfold according to plan.
• It is about what you do when you feel unqualified, underestimated, behind, afraid, or uncertain.
• It is about deciding that the circumstances that shaped you do not have the authority to define you.

Too many people are waiting.

• Waiting until they feel confident.
• Waiting until they know enough.
• Waiting until someone gives them permission.
• Waiting until every plan is in place, every "i" is dotted, and every "t" is crossed.

But if you wait until everything is perfect, you may never take action.

Confidence rarely arrives before the first step. More often, confidence is built because you took the step while you were still afraid.

Courage isn't the absence of fear. It's feeling the fear and doing it anyway. It's doing it scared.

I'm deeply grateful for the people who helped me believe my dreams were possible-that I could build something meaningful without following the "normal" path.

But eventually, I had to believe it for myself. And so will you.

Maybe your beginning is messy.

Maybe you've been told you're too old, too young, too inexperienced, too emotional, too intense, too different, or simply too much.

Maybe you don't have the degree, the money, the connections, the background, or the perfect plan.

Maybe your beginning is messy. Maybe your life looks nothing like you thought it would.

That does not mean your dream is impossible. It may simply mean your path will look different.

My superpower is believing in the impossible. But believing in the impossible doesn't mean sitting around hoping something miraculous happens.

• It takes courage.
• It takes work.
• It takes a willingness to think beyond the box.
• It takes challenging the norms and questioning the rules that were never meant for you in the first place.

And yes... Sometimes it takes being a little crazy.

So here's to the misfits.

• The crazy ones.
• The ones who see things differently.
• The ones who refuse to shrink themselves to make other people comfortable.
• The ones who were told they couldn't and decided to do it anyway.
• The ones creating paths where no path existed before.

I didn't write this simply to tell you my story. I stood up for other people long before I learned how to stand up for myself, so consider this my way of standing up for you.

If I can build a life I love from a beginning no one would have chosen, you can create something meaningful from the life you've been given, too.

To whoever is reading this and needs the reminder:

• Challenge the status quo.
• Question the "traditional" way of doing things.
• Follow the dream that refuses to leave you alone.
• Listen to the voice inside you that keeps saying there is more.

That dream was given to you for a reason.

Will you have to do the work? Yep. Will it be hard? Heck yeah. Will it be worth it? One hundred percent.

I refuse to reach the end of my life carrying the weight of dreams I was too afraid to pursue.

My mantra is simple:

• What can I do?
• What else can I do?
• What else can I do?

• Action creates movement.
• Action creates evidence.
• Action creates results.
• Inaction creates regret.

So when fear tells you to hide, when failure tells you to quit, or when life knocks you flat on your back, listen for the voice inside you.

It may begin as a whisper.

Get up.

Then listen again.

Get up.

And one more time...

GET UP!!!

Your story is not over.

Mary Belden-McGrath
Driven Leadership

Half a Mile from Giving Up

What a sketchy mountain road taught me about dreams, detours, and the lens you're looking through

We left 40 minutes later than planned.

Hold onto that detail. It matters.

My daughters and I set out to hike Kelly Butte, one of those off-the-beaten-path trails Ashley loves to find, a couple of hours from home in the shadow of Mount Rainier. I took the truck because I knew we’d hit gravel and dirt. What I didn’t know was what kind of road was waiting for us.

We exited onto the Forest Service Road, traveled eight miles on asphalt, and then turned onto a gravel road. There were no signs. No GPS. The directions Ashley had downloaded said to turn left, turn left, turn left, then right, and somewhere in all those lefts, we completely lost the trailhead.

So I pulled over. And I’m not exaggerating when I tell you: we were literally sitting at a crossroads. A road to the right. A road to the left. No idea which way to go.

A car came by, and we flagged it down.

“Do you know where Kelly Butte is?”

“Oh yeah, we’re going there.”

They went right.

Thank God, we thought. An angel.

And then the road got sketchy. I mean sketchy. Maybe six inches of give on either side of my tires. Sheer drop-off cliffs. No place to turn around. Trees growing over the path, scraping the hell out of my truck.

Ashley was having a panic attack in the front seat. Amber was in the back saying, “Nobody look to the right. Mom, you’re doing great. Keep going.”

We caught up to our “angels” and pulled off at a tiny turnout. The driver shook her head.

“I don’t know... It’s been years since I’ve been here. I don’t think we’re on the right path.”

Here’s the thing about the roads we take toward our dreams: sometimes the people guiding us are lost too. And sometimes there’s still no place to turn around, so the only way out is through.

Half a Mile from Gold

We finally found a spot to turn around. And in my head, I was already done.

Get back to the main road. Pick a different hike. A safer one. Sure, we wouldn’t see Mount Rainier, but we’d be safe, and we could still say we hiked.

And that’s when the girls saw it on the map.

“Mom, this is the road we missed. If we turn left here, it’s half a mile. Half a mile and we’re there.”

Ashley, still shaken, said, “I believe this is it, but what if it’s another bushwhack trail?” She laughed.

Amber said, “We’re so close. How sucky would it be if we gave up now? Half a mile, and we have an epic experience, an epic view, and we get to tell the story of everything it took to get here.”

I took a deep breath.

“I trust you guys. The worst thing that happens is we find a place to turn around.”

Half a mile down that road, it opened up.

The trailhead.

Cars parked.

We started cheering!

We made it!

In Think and Grow Rich, Napoleon Hill tells the story of a man who quit digging three feet from gold. We were half a mile from ours.

Here’s what I know about going after what you want: you get off the beaten path. You take detours. Sometimes the road beats you up. And right at the moment it gets hardest, right when every instinct says, “Turn around. Play it safe. Settle for the lesser hike,” that’s usually when you’re half a mile from gold.

It took all three of us, at different times, to be the voice of reason. To talk each other through the panic.

“Don’t look down.”

“Keep going.”

“You’re doing great.”

“Trust us, it’s right here.”

Nobody makes it to their dream alone.

What Lens Are You Looking Through?

When we left home that morning, the sky was clouded over. By the time we hit the trail, the sun had broken through.

We started hiking and caught a view of Mount Rainier. We stopped, took pictures, and soaked it in. Then we climbed the switchbacks and reached another level... bigger, better.

And when we finally got to the top of Kelly Butte Lookout? A 360-degree view of things we couldn’t even imagine were there when we were down on that road, white-knuckling past the cliffs.

Years ago, I saw a film by a professional photographer. He put one lens on his camera and showed you what it captured. Then he changed the lens, and new things came into focus. And when he finally switched to the best lens he had, what had been surrounding him the whole time was mind-blowing.

Same mountain. Same moment. Different lens.

So I have to ask: What lens are you looking through?

Because from the road, all we could see was danger and dead ends. From the first overlook, we saw a glimpse. From the summit, we saw a world we didn’t know existed.

The view was always there.

We just had to keep climbing to see it.

The Gift of the Pause

And then Ashley taught me something.

All the way up, she kept stopping.

“It’s so important to take in the moment. Just look at this. Look at this.”

She photographed flowers. She soaked in the scenery. She let it fill her.

And I laughed and said, “Ashley, thank you for reminding me to slow down.”

Because I’m the one who charges forward. Give me a mission, and I’m gone. I teach the pause, and I still forget to live it.

It’s not a race. It’s not even about the destination. It’s about taking it all in, pausing, and letting the wonder fill our souls.

We talked. We laughed. We explored.

We were simply present.

What an incredible gift.

22 Years in the Making

Here’s what that day really was for me.

I’m 61 years old, and I hiked 1,100 feet of elevation gain straight up a mountain with my daughters—with energy, vitality, and health.

That’s not luck.

That’s a choice I’ve made over and over.

Twenty-two years ago, I was in the depths of heartache. For thirteen of those years, I lived away from my kids. Getting back to them and making memories like this one was the dream I refused to let die.

I’ve been back in Washington for nine years now.

Relationships are a choice. Priorities are a choice. Consistency is key.

Consistent hope. Consistent work. Consistent dreaming, even when I had no idea how it would turn out.

There were times I wished I could have had a glimpse of this exact day—the three of us on a summit, laughing, present—just to keep me going back then.

But that’s not how it works.

I couldn’t see it.

But I could feel it.

I could believe it.

I had hope, and I would fight for that hope.

And the 40 minutes late? If we’d left on time, we never would have crossed paths with the car that pointed us down the road. We never would have met the people who took the wrong road with us and ended up on the same summit.

If we hadn’t missed the turn, we would have hiked under clouded skies.

Instead, all that lost time gave the sun a chance to break through, and we got crystal-clear skies, the full majesty of Mount Rainier, and scenery we will never forget.

Garth Brooks was right: some of God’s greatest gifts are unanswered prayers.

Even the delay was part of the plan.

Detours and late starts can be blessings in disguise.

Today, I celebrate.

I celebrate time with my daughters, time in nature, the majesty of God’s creation, and the gift of never giving up.

Your Turn

Where in your life are you half a mile from gold and thinking about turning around?

What lens are you looking through? And what might come into focus if you kept climbing?

Who are the voices in your truck saying, “Keep going. You’re doing great?”

And are you listening?

When’s the last time you just stopped... and took it in?

Don’t quit. The summit is closer than you think.

Mary Belden-McGrath

drivenleadership.com

Somebody Prayed

I sat down to write this, and I'm not kidding you: a song came on the radio at that exact moment:

"The reason I'm standing today is that somebody prayed."

I had to stop typing.

Because that's not just a lyric to me. That's my story.

I'm standing today because there were people in my corner who cared enough to stop what they were doing, say a prayer, send a text, or make a call. They didn't have answers. They didn't fix anything.

But they got me through some of my darkest seasons, and I don't think they'll ever fully know the impact they had.

We can't take away pain.

But we can take away suffering.

Someone told me that once, and it changed the way I show up for people.

Some things in life we just have to go through: the divorce, the bankruptcy, the diagnosis that rocks your world, the loss of someone you can't imagine living without, or the consequences of a decision you'd give anything to take back.

There is no shortcut around that kind of pain.

Nobody can carry it for you, and pretending otherwise only adds disappointment on top of hurt.

But suffering?

Suffering is different.

Suffering is what happens when we go through the pain alone. When we're convinced nobody sees us, nobody's coming, and this dark season is all there is.

That's the part we can do something about.

The Seed Has to Break

Think about a seed.

It gets buried in dark soil. It gets watered. It gets fertilized. And for a long time, nothing happens.

If you stood at the surface looking down, you'd wonder if it was even alive.

But underground, something is happening.

The casing is breaking open.

It has to.

A seed cannot become anything until it breaks. The roots go down long before anything ever shows up above the ground.

Here's what I've come to believe: our challenges are that seed.

The breaking is the pain, and there's no growth without it.

But the soil, the water, and the light? That's the people who show up for us. They don't stop the breaking. They make growth possible through it.

And the roots?

The roots are our faith, our values, and the beliefs we've built our lives on. Nobody can see them. But the deeper they go, the more we can withstand—even when we're standing on shaking ground.

Then one day, seemingly out of nowhere, that seed pushes its head through the dirt.

And as long as it keeps getting watered and cared for, it keeps growing.

The fruit comes later.

It only comes to what stayed rooted.

If you want to grow fast, grow alone.

If you want to grow deep and bear fruit that lasts, you don't do it alone.

You Don't Need the Right Words. You Need to Show Up.

There are so many people hurting around us right now, and we have no idea.

No idea.

The coworker. The neighbor. The strong friend everyone assumes is fine.

And usually, what stops most of us is this:

We don't know what to say.

So we say nothing.

But nobody expects us to have the answer.

Read that again.

Nobody is waiting for you to fix their pain.

What they're desperate for is to know they're not alone in it. To be seen. To be heard and understood. To know they're safe, loved, accepted, and that they still matter.

"Hey, I'm thinking about you."

"I love you, man."

"I said a prayer for you today."

That's it.

That's the whole assignment.

We can't take away their pain, but we can walk beside them and make the road through it a whole lot less lonely.

Pay Attention to the Nudge

Have you ever had someone just cross your mind? Out of nowhere, a name, a face, a little nagging pull that says, "Reach out to them."

Don't ignore that.

That nudge might be the answer to somebody's prayer.

And here's another one: if you know someone is struggling, and you know there is a person in their life they respect the heck out of—someone who would be there in a heartbeat—make the connection.

"Hey, I'm concerned about so-and-so. Any chance you could check on them?"

That's community.

That's the brilliance of connection.

Sometimes loving someone well means mobilizing the right person, not being the right person.

We Were Never Meant to Do Life Alone

The light in me sees the light in you.

Somebody prayed for me, and I'm standing here because of it.

Somebody watered me when I was still buried in the dark, wondering if anything in me was still alive.

My question for you:

Who's crossing your mind right now?

Don't overthink it.

Don't wait until you know what to say.

Stop.

Say the prayer.

Send the text.

You might be the reason somebody is still standing.

Mary Belden-McGrath