Strength to me is about choosing to keep showing up with purpose, even when your heart is carrying more than anyone can see. Some of my greatest moments of leadership were built while I was quietly healing, and I've discovered that our deepest pain can become our greatest source of purpose.

Hope is not a strategy. We need hope. It is the foundation that gives us purpose and the courage to move forward. But hope alone is not enough. Hope must be paired with a plan, action, and execution.

I have many areas of life being hard. Seeing and knowing the value of COMMUNITY, the ones that will be in the ditches with you has been what has kept me moving forward. You must have people to stand in the gap with you.

What I say to myself when times are tough is that 5 years from now, today won't matter. It always gets better.

Consistent, small successes. From showing up weekly to record a webinar, to slowly creating over 600 hours of a valuable recording library of those webinars. Sometimes it feels like nothing is getting done, and then suddenly someone asks you how you became so successful and you realize that you have created something solid while life is happening. "Focus on what you DO want and what you DO want grows. Focus on what you DON'T want and what you DON'T want grows."

No one person can do it alone, the greatness of a community can only be measured by the compassion of its members. Too often we choose to make a living by what we receive when in reality we can only make a life by what we give.

When life places a heavy weight on your shoulders, don't measure your strength by the burden you carry, measure it by your willingness to keep moving forward gracefully. Every step forward is proof that your purpose is greater than your pain.

When things become heavy, I usually take a self-care day, take a moment and realize you can't always be there for everybody and it's important to take care of yourself. So I have recognized that it's ok to break away and just focus on yourself. I truly believe in the quote "you can't pour from an empty cup." The importance is that it is OK not to be OK and recognize it.

I learned that strength isn't found in pretending everything is okay. It's found in choosing to keep moving forward with faith, grace, and purpose. Some of life's greatest growth happens in the quiet moments when we trust God to carry what feels too heavy for us to carry alone.

When life seem to get the best of you, how do you press forward? Only by GOD's Grace, Mercy and Favor we can move forward in our truth and get up out of your bed and by faith say "all is well in spite of what's happening in my life. NOTHING BUT THE LORD."

Step away to the privacy of the ladies room and give yourself 5 minutes. Cry the Ugly Tears Sweet Girl! And those negative nasty thoughts? Tell them to F the F off. That's right. Out loud even. Let the giggle slip out. Cry some more. Yell. Take a deep breath, and then say "I am enough. I am worthy. And I love you!" Banish all expectations, should's and could's and give yourself grace. You can make it through this day, and remember that tomorrow I "get to" start fresh.

The challenges I thought might break me became the foundation for the woman and leader I am today. There were plenty of days I questioned myself, but I never stopped believing there was a greater purpose for what I was walking through.

When life starts "life-ing", I lean on my faith. Spending time in meditation helps me navigate the rough spots in my life and reminds me that "this too shall pass". I would admonish any woman to add meditation to her daily walk. It will make all the difference.

In a 5 year span I was laid off bc of COVID, launched a consulting business, took a FT job, was laid off bc of the Tech Down turn, resumed my consulting business, continued my podcast that I ended up sunsetting at the end of 2025, was struck by COVID related damage to my immune system that sent me into invisible hives and related panic attacks daily, navigated my father's cancer diagnosis, treatment and death in a span of three months, moved across the country and then 2 more times in the same area within 9 months which included into a home we bought, launched a new division of my business and thankfully secured 3 clients within the first 3 months, began experiencing perimenopause, learned of my mother's Alzheimer's diagnosis, sold her house and moved her into assisted living. How did I navigate it all? There wasn't and isn't one thing. There were/are a lot of things and an ever-present belief that no one was coming to save me and that I had to keep going every day because that is the only option. My theory is that Leadership is a Sport and at the core is leading myself first. In saying that, I chose to be a Leadership Athlete: learning, growing, practicing, and evolving my "game." I also: Keep showing up for my bi-weekly sessions with my Coach Stayed vigilant using my well-connected resources to get the right doctors in place to finally help me Did about 8 weeks of therapy with a counselor affiliated with my doctor to help me manage the anxiety of all things medical Continue to be disciplined about exercise and sleep and simple whole food nutrition Upped my time with trusted friends Stayed curious Learned more about the neuroscience and related practice to help my mental health Use breathing practices to regulate my nervous system Stay on an anti-anxiety prescription Take CBD as desired Use my voice to express myself Became more selective about the content I consume I've intentionally stayed visible instead of hiding out I continue to put myself in new situations where I am stretching myself, meeting people and being exposed to various experiences that I can learn from

There often is no choice to opt out of difficult seasons of change or struggle. So, I wake up, take a deep breath, grab the essential cup of coffee, and set the day in motion. You can't control everything, so you need to focus on what's in front of you. One thing at a time.

I press on forward with my eyes looking up, I can only control myself. From the words of Mel Robbins, let them and let me make myself proud.

For me, when facing difficult personal times, I really lean on my husband and friends for support, comfort, and encouragement. When we suddenly lost my grandpa 2 years ago I had just accepted my new biologic coordinator role so not only was I navigating a new role and responsibilities at work I was also trying to navigate the death of the man who raised me and for all purposes was my dad. I wouldn't have been able to make it through that time without the support of those around me both at home and at work. My colleagues really went above and beyond during that time and I'm so thankful.

As professional women, we often treat carrying heavy things as a test of sheer endurance, but my survival has required a softer strategy that allows me to be both a builder and someone actively healing. Giving myself permission to navigate the shift without needing to have it all figured out is what kept me moving forward.

Through family challenges, personal struggles, and life's unexpected turns, I kept showing up because purpose gave me strength. I've learned that true leadership is often forged in the hardest seasons.

Pride is the bottom of all great mistakes! This quote has grounded me in more ways in my personal and professional life. We all have pride but we can't let that pride get in the way of our growth.

Healing doesn't always happen in quiet seasons. Sometimes it happens while you're leading meetings, serving clients, supporting coworkers, and showing up for the people who count on you. I've learned that healing isn't about having everything figured out. It's about giving yourself permission to grow while continuing to live with purpose. My advice is this: be gentle with yourself, celebrate the small victories, and remember that you can be both healing and highly capable at the same time.

Personally for me how I carry challenging times throughout life is to keep reminding myself what a powerful God I serve. It's easy to get overwhelmed but it is also easy to remember that God is bigger than how I feel or what I'm going through and he knows what is best and he will make the way for what I need for the best outcome.

Look for the glimmers. Trust that instinct when something lights up for you, even if the path looks hard. That quiet spark? It's usually pointing toward the bigger win. Follow it. Be friendly with everyone. You never know who's going to save your day. Some of the most clutch moments in my career came down to a janitor, a receptionist, a delivery driver. People I'd simply stopped to say a genuine hello to. Treat every person like they matter, because they do and one day they'll be exactly who you need.

Compartmentalize and keep pressing. There are only 24 hours in a day and you are only one person. Tackle the things you can tackle and see even the smallest completed tasks as victories. We win a lot more than we realize.

I recently lost my grandpa, whom I was very close with. In times like these, I think it's okay to take a step back and give yourself the space to properly mourn in whatever form that comes in. Rushing back to work without giving yourself that space can be far more detrimental to your work than missing anything during the mourning process.

I used to think healing meant waiting until life settled down. It rarely did. I discovered that healing often happens while you're still showing up, for your family, your work, and yourself. One day, one decision, and one small act of courage at a time.

A reality is that life is full of challenges. Stay motivated and determined to meet your goals and leave a legacy.

Setting healthy boundaries is not selfish. It's an act of wisdom. Boundaries protect my peace, strengthen my faith, and allow me to love others without losing myself. I'm learning that one of life's greatest lessons is accepting that I can only control myself: my attitude, my choices, and my actions. I cannot carry the weight of decisions that belong to someone else.

The weight may be heavy, but my God is greater. I keep showing up, trusting that every difficult season is preparing me for something greater.

Throughout my career, I have heard the same phrases more times than I can count: "You're not superwoman," and "You can't save the world." Those words stayed with me most during my time as a hospital homebound teacher. I was not yet a wife or mother then—unless you count my students as my children, which I often did. For four years, I taught and encouraged students facing injuries and illnesses that ranged from broken bones and bone cancer to caesarean birth recovery, sickle cell anemia, and more. I understood the importance of that support because I had once received hospital homebound instruction as a child, first after multiple surgeries to address a congenital birth defect in my right arm and later during an illness that both my older sister and I experienced. Having a teacher come to our home left a lasting impression on me. Years later, I had no hesitation about teaching children who were too ill to attend school, whether they were recovering at home or receiving care in the hospital. During those four years, I saw many children recover, return to school, and graduate. I taught every child entrusted to me as if they had their whole lives ahead of them, regardless of the illness or injury before them. I also lost four precious souls: a 6-year-old boy, a 12-year-old girl, a 14-year-old boy, and a 17-year-old young man who turned 18 while in a coma. These experiences changed my life. I celebrated their lives and grieved alongside their families for our joint loss. So, it is true: I am not superwoman. I have no cape, no lasso, no bulletproof bangles, and I cannot fly. I also cannot save the world, because if I could, I would have started by saving those four children. What I do have is resilience, tenacity, and a deep appreciation for the sanctity and brevity of life—an appreciation that compels me to do something positive and meaningful with the time I have. Today, I am navigating life as a dedicated and faithful wife, entrepreneur, and doting mother. I thank God for keeping me through every twist and turn, every hill and valley of this wonderful life. As I work beyond my comfort most days, lead beside my husband, create space for our child's growth and exploration, and continue building a foundation grounded in faith, I remain rooted in the strength God provides.

For me, I've always joked about being able to focus on a maximum of five things at a time. Three of those things are permanent (God, Family, and Self-Care). The remaining two items can rotate based on importance in the moment. To keep my eye on the goal, and minimize distractions, I intentionally choose where I allocate my focus. I maintain control. I set boundaries. I pivot where needed.

I lead a remote team of 76 people by day, actively hiring 180 more on top of that as I build out a new tier of supervisors, and I run a leadership brand, The Human Behind the Leader™, built on the belief that how you lead is shaped by things you've never fully looked at. I've spent nearly two decades in corporate, and twelve years intentionally healing from my own history. Most people who know my work know the polished version — a verified Influential Woman, someone leaders come to for advice. Right now, though, I'm the version of that same person on PTO, not resting the way "PTO" is supposed to mean. Grief for my brother, who I lost twelve years ago, is resurfacing in a way I didn't expect. Perimenopause is scrambling my body's signals so badly I genuinely can't always tell what's CPTSD, what's ADHD, what's OCD, and what's just hormones. And on Thursday, I go back to leading that team, in a job that's been putting more pressure on me than I've felt in years. This is the season I'm supposed to write about "how I did it." The honest answer is: I'm still doing it, right now, while writing this. Here's what that's actually looked like. I stopped treating my job as separate from my healing. I lead people for a living — coaching plans, performance conversations, holding steady for a team that leans on me. I used to think I had to fully process my own stuff before I could show up for them. Twelve years into healing, I know that's backwards. I show up for my team while healing, as I now understand this will be a life-long journey that looks different at every stage. That's not a compromise, it's the actual job, and makes me a more empathetic leader. I built a toolkit I trust, and I use it even when I don't feel like it. Weekly therapy, journaling, and a vibration plate for nervous system regulation. I also find other ways to fill my cup, such as time in nature, reading, and mindfulness. I even collect crystals and do energy work with them. On the hardest mornings this week, I didn't wait to feel ready — I got on the plate and let my body do whatever it needed to do, including sobbing hard enough that no sound came out. I didn't perform that for anyone. I did it because it's what keeps me functional enough to lead on Thursday. I practice radical acceptance. I will never be able to control others and how they show up, that's not the goal, but what I can control is how I respond to them, so I don't absorb their behavior as my own. That single shift has protected so much more of my energy. I stopped requiring myself to know what's "wrong" before I respond to it. I can't always separate the trauma from the hormones from the exhaustion right now, and I've had to make peace with that. I don't need a clean diagnosis in the moment to know what I need: rest, honesty with the people close to me, and permission to not have it all figured out. I protect people. That's who I am — everyone deserves it, unless they're the one doing harm. What I've had to learn as an adult is to be selective about who I let close enough to protect me back. Growing up, I didn't have that. I've built it as an adult instead — a couple of chosen people who show up, even if sometimes it's from a bit of distance. Knowing what boundaries are, and choosing who gets close, has done more for my stability than almost anything else. I let rest be part of the strategy, not a failure of it. I slept an entire day this week. Past me would have called that giving up. Present me knows a nervous system that's been suppressing this much for this long needs to physically shut down sometimes before it can process anything. I don't compare this season to anyone else's timeline — including my own past ones. This isn't linear. I've had breakthroughs before. This one is harder because of where I am at work, not because I've regressed. Comparison, even against my own history, doesn't help me move through it faster. I keep the reason in view. My daughter is the sheer determination behind all of this — doing better for her, and for me. When the process gets exhausting, that's what I come back to. None of this is glamorous. It doesn't look like a highlight reel. It looks like a 40-year-old woman on the floor of her living room, alternately tapping her collarbone, reparenting the version of herself who never had anyone do it for her — and then getting up, showing up for her team anyway, not because the pain is gone, but because she's built enough tools to carry both at once. That's how I'm doing it, still. What would it look like to let your hardest season be part of your leadership, instead of something you have to hide until it's over?