I waited way too long to bet on myself after I was actively recruited for 5 internal promotions and then rejected for every one. That experience opened me up to new possibilities and I ultimately took a role with another company, catapulting me to a VP position within 17 months.

Sometimes our greatest redirection begins with what feels like rejection. When my position was eliminated, I was faced with uncertainty. Instead of holding on to what I had lost, I chose to surrender it to God. I let go, and I let God. In the quiet, I discovered that His plans were far greater than my own. What seemed like an ending became the beginning of a new purpose, including the privilege of co-authoring and publishing Gifts of Love: Friendship, Faith and the God who holds it all together. Jeremiah 29:11 has been my anchor through every challenge: "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." If you're navigating an unexpected transition, remember that setbacks can become divine setups. Trust the process, keep the faith, and remain open to where God is leading you.

Remember when you were first job hunting that professional career? The "No, not enough experience." was the answer most likely to be heard. The path to success is not found in the yes, but the fortitude to keep going and the willingness to learn and adapt along the way.

My daughter's death pushed me to focus on my mission to help military families while going to counseling/brain retraining 3-4 a week for over a year. I could have stayed in bed depressed in that dark hole, but I knew I was the ONLY person who could make me do anything, so I focused on getting healthy and a mission to help those who give us FREEDOM ✌️🇺🇸🙏

I've learned that resilience isn't about avoiding disappointment; it's about choosing to remain curious, adaptable, and faithful to your vision. Today, I don't measure success by whether everything goes according to plan. I measure it by who I'm becoming in the process and the impact I'm able to create because I was willing to keep going.

The plans that fell apart taught me that purpose is often born from pain. Losing my husband, walking through grief, and watching doors close didn't end my story. They redirected me to a calling of helping others heal, proving that God's detours are often His greatest assignments.

I was just starting out in private practice. I joined another practice and the owner was difficult. My Mother died and no compassion. I left the practice and decided to go on my own. The owner sued me for breach of contract and lost. Multiple lessons in business dynamics that were not taught in graduate school. This experience launched my own practice which grew with other colleagues with a supportive business model. The practice grew for 25 years and was sold and has now been sold again, the business model is intact today.

Years ago, I applied for multiple leadership roles I wanted, and was fully qualified for, and didn't get them. At the time, it felt like a door slamming shut on everything I'd worked for. But looking back, I can see it was redirection, not rejection. Those "no's" pushed me to start applying for higher positions, ones that stretched me further than I thought I was ready to handle. And eventually, I landed a role that challenged me in ways the original ones never would have. The lesson I carry with me now: don't let one closed door convince you to stop knocking on bigger ones. Keep applying for the roles that scare you a little, the ones that feel like a reach. You might just get them, and discover you're capable of so much more than you ever gave yourself credit for.

I stopped asking, "Why didn't this work out?" and started asking, "What is this making room for?" That one shift changed the trajectory of my career and my life.

When things did not go my way, I learned to pay attention to the part of me that felt furious instead of ashamed. Sometimes anger is not bitterness; it is the version of you who finally knows she deserved better.

My main hope is to bridge the gap between the justice system and mental health services.

People often say adversity builds character. I believe it reveals purpose. After losing my son to a rare disease, I faced a decision no parent should ever have to make: allow grief to define the rest of my life or let it become the reason I created a better future for others. I chose purpose. I realized that if I wanted to change healthcare, I first had to become someone capable of shaping it. That's why I pursued my Master of Health Administration and dedicated my career to healthcare transformation. I wanted to understand how systems work, why they fail, and how they can be redesigned to better serve patients and families. Today, I lead enterprise transformation initiatives, champion responsible AI, improve healthcare operations, and advocate for the rare disease community. Outside of work, I'm building a nonprofit focused on eliminating Medicaid waiver waitlists while supporting families who cannot afford to wait for essential services. I'm also developing businesses with the goal of creating sustainable funding for that mission. The greatest lesson I've learned is that setbacks don't have to be the end of your story. They can become your strategy. Pain gave me empathy. Education gave me the tools. Purpose gave me direction. I couldn't change what happened to my son, but I can spend the rest of my life helping build a healthcare system that gives other families more hope, more support, and better outcomes. That's the legacy I'm committed to leaving. If I could leave others with one piece of advice, it would be this: Turn your pain into purpose. Let your values guide your decisions, not your circumstances. If you want to change the world around you, first become the person capable of changing it. Dedicate your life to leaving every person, every system, and every community better than you found them. Then use your influence to create opportunities for others to rise beside you.

The lesson was that sometimes closed doors force you to build an entrance no one else imagined. For years, I believed that if I worked hard enough, the opportunities would eventually match the effort.

Reviewing old journal entries once left me discouraged, feeling like life had missed the mark. Then clarity arrived: embrace the life you are living, trust that everything unfolds exactly as it should, and watch the rest fall into place.

When I opened a physical tea shop, I thought that was the natural path for growth. Like many entrepreneurs, I believed success meant having a storefront. But over time, I realized the business I wanted to build wasn't confined to four walls. The storefront required significant time and overhead while limiting my ability to source exceptional teas, travel internationally, teach, and build relationships with customers beyond my local community. Closing it wasn't easy. It felt like letting go of the picture I had once imagined for my business. What I learned is that strategy sometimes means walking away from something that's "working" so you can build something even better. Today, my business serves customers across the United States and internationally. I work directly with tea gardens, offer rare single-origin loose-leaf teas, partner with wholesale accounts, and am expanding into corporate gifting. The business has far greater reach than it ever could have had if I had stayed tied to one location. That experience taught me that entrepreneurs shouldn't confuse activity with progress. Sometimes the hardest decision is also the one that creates the greatest opportunity. Success isn't about holding onto the original plan; It's about having the courage to change course when your vision grows bigger than where you started.

Some turning points arrive quietly. Mine came with the sound of metal, glass, and a sudden stop. I had built my early career around psychology, advocacy, and crisis support, working with homeless veterans at the Lyons VA and Community Hope, counseling students at Montclair State University's Women's Center, conducting developmental research, and co‑leading CCAT, a campus nonprofit fighting human trafficking. My work was meaningful, human, and mission‑driven. But it was also emotionally heavy, and I didn't yet see a different future for myself. Then the accident happened. It forced a pause I never would have taken on my own. For the first time, I had to sit still and in that stillness, I had to ask myself whether the path I was on was the one I wanted to stay on. I realized something surprising: the moments that energized me most weren't just the counseling or the crisis work. They were the times I quietly modernized systems, digitized processes, organized chaos, and built structure where none existed. I had always loved technology. I just never believed a STEM career was meant for me, especially as a woman who had been "the gal Friday" at every job, the one who made things run smoothly behind the scenes but never saw herself as the architect of the system. The accident made me question that belief. So I did something bold: I rewrote my résumé to highlight the tech work I'd been doing all along. I reframed my experience not as administrative support, but as early systems thinking, process design, and digital transformation. And someone saw it. Someone took a chance on me. I became a sole IT Administrator; Terrified, excited, and determined. I learned fast. I grew faster. And eventually, I became an IT Director, running an entire department. It was in that role that I discovered Microsoft Dynamics, and everything clicked. Technology wasn't just a job; it was a language I had been speaking my whole life without realizing it. From there, I moved into consulting, helping organizations transform the way they work. And then, in a full‑circle moment, I joined Microsoft Federal where my very first client was the VA, the same community I had served years earlier as a case manager. Two completely different chapters of my life collided in the most meaningful way. Today, I'm approaching my five‑year anniversary at Microsoft, my crystal milestone, and I carry every part of my journey with me: the psychology, the advocacy, the accident, the reinvention, the IT leadership, the consulting, and the federal mission. When things fell apart, I learned that setbacks aren't endings, they're invitations. The accident didn't derail my life; it revealed a different version of it. I learned that the skills we dismiss as "just helping," "just organizing," or "just supporting" are often the early signs of our future leadership. I learned that women don't need permission to enter STEM, we need recognition of the brilliance we've already been demonstrating quietly. And I learned that reinvention isn't a failure; it's a strategy. My story isn't about a plan that worked. It's about a plan that didn't and the better one that emerged because of it.

I've worked for leaders who made me question my own judgment. I've sat in rooms where speaking up cost more than staying quiet. I've left roles I believed in because the culture around them wasn't what it claimed to be. For a long time, I saw that pattern as something to explain away. Like it said something about me, that I couldn't find the right fit, that I moved too much, that maybe I was the problem. I don't see it that way anymore. Each of those experiences chipped at my confidence before they ever built it back. I know what it's like to walk into a role energized and walk out smaller than when I started. I know what it costs, mentally and emotionally, to keep showing up for a culture that wasn't showing up for you. But I also know what came out the other side. I know my values now, with a precision I didn't have before. I know the difference between a hard job and a harmful one. I know what leadership is supposed to feel like, because I've felt the absence of it too many times to mistake it for anything else. I'm stronger for it. Not because the setbacks were good, but because I refused to let them decide who I am. I know exactly what I'm looking for now. And I know exactly what I won't tolerate again.

I've learned through trials and tribulation that what appears to be a set-back can be a protection, a redirection or a launching pad to spring you forward. Sometimes, God wants more for us and something bigger than we want for ourselves. Not rushing and trusting the process always gave me clarity. Most storms alert us or get us to divert and prepare a new plan. Patience and flexibility allowed me to be ok with having to pivot.