I didn't grow up thinking my work would make an impact. I grew up thinking I just had to work hard, figure it out, and build something for myself as a first-generation woman with no clear map. At first, design was just that. Proving myself. Learning fast, adapting quickly, and trying to hold my own in rooms where I was often the youngest voice. But I didn't really understand the weight of what I was doing until I started creating work outside of my day-to-day, especially with a nonprofit supporting youth and families. That is where it shifted. I saw how something as simple as clearer design or better communication could actually change how people moved through their lives. People would say they finally understood what help was available to them or that things did not feel as overwhelming anymore. It was never dramatic. It was just relief. But it stayed with me. As a first-generation woman, that hit differently. I know what it feels like to build everything from scratch, to navigate systems you were never really taught how to move through. So realizing my work could make even a small part of that easier for someone else changed how I see everything I do. Now I do not just think about design as success. I think about it as access. And that is when I realized it actually matters.

There comes a moment in life when work shifts from routine to purpose, when what you do is no longer just a responsibility, but a calling. For me, that moment didn't come all at once. It came through lived experiences, quiet realizations, and one defining situation that changed how I viewed my work forever. As a real estate professional, I once helped an older client sell a generational property. It wasn't just a transaction. It was emotional. It was legacy. It was history. But what made it powerful was what happened next. The proceeds from that sale were used to help the next generation secure a new home; creating stability, opportunity, and a foundation for the future. That's when I realized: This work is not just about property. It's about legacy. But my understanding of impact didn't stop there. What I discovered is this: Through speaking, leadership, and community engagement, I've come to understand that impact is not always loud. Sometimes it happens in quiet rooms, in honest conversations, and in moments where someone decides not to give up. Leadership, I've learned, is not about position. It's about influence. Whether serving as a board president, speaking at events, or simply showing up for others, I've seen how real-life experience can become a bridge to help someone else move forward. And perhaps that is where true impact lives. Not in perfection, but in purpose. Not in titles, but in transformation. Today, my work is guided by a simple truth: What we've been through is not meant to limit us. It can position us to help others rise. Because when one woman reclaims her identity, she doesn't just change her life. She changes generations. And that is when I truly understood: My work matters.

In 2024, I had the opportunity to serve as a Licensing Supervisor for the State of New Hampshire, an experience that was both challenging and deeply meaningful to me. My role required constant attention to detail and a strong sense of responsibility, as I oversaw the accurate and compliant issuance of professional licenses in accordance with state statutes and regulations. I led a team of 10, and together we supported licensing efforts for 25 professional boards, ranging from Engineering and Natural Sciences to Real Estate and Occupational and Physical Therapy. What stood out most to me wasn't just the scope of the work, but the impact behind it. This role gave me a genuine sense of purpose. I was helping safeguard the well-being of New Hampshire residents, ensuring that only qualified professionals were licensed, while also supporting individuals in reaching their career goals. At the same time, I took pride in guiding my team to deliver accurate, timely work knowing that our efficiency played a small but meaningful part in driving opportunity and economic growth across the state.

When I first started my career, I wasn't thinking long term. I had just graduated from college and was trying to figure out my direction, my "thing." Recruiting wasn't something I had planned, but I quickly realized I loved it. I enjoyed working with people and helping connect them to the right opportunities. What I didn't expect was how much I would grow into leadership. Early on, I was given the opportunity, through a combination of timing and circumstance, to train a group of new recruiters during a high-pressure period. There wasn't a formal structure in place. Training was largely reactive, something you learned as you went. It had worked before, but it wasn't built to support consistency or long-term growth. I remember thinking there had to be a better way, and then realizing I could try to build it. The truth is, I didn't fully know what I was doing, and I didn't have complete confidence at the time. But I was motivated, and I was excited about the possibility of creating something better. I also knew the risk was low. If it didn't work, nothing would change. But if it did, it could make a real difference. So I started building. I created a training manual, developed supporting materials, and worked closely with my team to understand what would actually be useful. The goal was simple: create something practical that people could rely on, not just to learn the role, but to feel supported stepping into it. Over time, that effort grew into something much bigger. The program became more refined, more consistent, and more effective as other leaders contributed and expanded on it. What started as a solution to an immediate need became a lasting framework for how we trained and developed new team members. That was the moment it clicked. Impact isn't always about big, visible outcomes. Sometimes it's about seeing a gap, taking a chance, and building something that helps others succeed. That experience showed me that leadership isn't about having all the answers. It's about being willing to step forward, even when you're unsure, and creating something better than what existed before.

I know how vital it is to be a true professional in one's field; that is why I am constantly learning, honing my skills, and exploring new technologies.

Early in my career, I made a mistake at work. Not a catastrophic one, but in that moment, it felt like the ground had shifted beneath me. My heart raced. My hands went cold. I rehearsed apologies in my head, bracing for the worst. When I finally walked into my manager's office, voice trembling, ready to over-explain, she looked at me and said something I've never forgotten: "Why so much panic? You haven't murdered anyone." She smiled. We fixed the issue together and I walked out feeling something I didn't expect, much lighter with great clarity. That single question reframed how I saw work, mistakes, and myself! It wasn't dismissive. It was perspective. She was telling me that this is solvable, you are safe here, and your worth isn't tied to this error. That's compassionate leadership in one line! Years later, as I lead teams of my own, I think about that moment often. Because the leaders we remember aren't the ones who magnified our mistakes, they are the ones who shrank our fear so we could keep going. They are the ones who made us brave enough to try the next thing, propose the bold idea, raise our hand in the room! A few words from a thoughtful leader can reshape someone's entire relationship with work. Sometimes leadership isn't about having the right answer. It's about asking the right question and giving someone permission to breathe!

I found my calling when I began learning how to read tarot and started utilizing my already powerful intuition to its full potential to assist others. The act of helping people in this way proved to be truly rewarding, and I quickly poured all of my effort into building my own business focused on providing this assistance to a broader audience.