When I found courage in a moment of total uncertainty, it wasn't a single moment, it was a pattern woven throughout my life. There have been seasons where my back was against the wall, and I was quietly fighting battles no one could see. As a leader, a mother, and a wife, I often carried pressure that lived behind the scenes personal challenges, financial stress, emotional exhaustion, and moments where life felt overwhelmingly heavy. Yet every day, I still had to show up for others. I worked and continued my education throughout feeling depleted. I kept leading when I was unsure of my own next step. I poured into others while quietly navigating storms of my own. One of the biggest turning points came when leaving the comfort and security of my executive roles to continue to build Educators Empowered and create The RILEY Approach™. It required stepping forward without clarity or guarantees, with only my belief in the work and the purpose God placed on my life. There was no safety net. No promise that it would work. No certainty only conviction. I managed the fear by anchoring myself in purpose. I reminded myself that the educators, children, and families I serve deserved someone willing to push through adversity, someone willing to build systems stronger than the ones I had to navigate. And even when the weight of life felt overwhelming, I kept moving—for my family, my mission, and the educators who needed support. What unfolded changed everything. Educators Empowered became a national support system. The RILEY Approach™ became a holistic model embraced by teachers and leaders. And I became the kind of woman who understands that courage isn't loud—it's the quiet decision to rise again, even when no one knows what you're fighting. Those battles didn't define me. They refined me. And they became the foundation for the work, the impact, and the purpose I walk in today.

Navigating the world with endometriosis, adenomyosis, and other chronic women's health conditions can feel like a relentless battle: isolating, overwhelming, and often dismissed. I know this intimately because I've lived it. My own 30-year journey began in pre-puberty, marked by chronic health irregularities, then escalating into a cyclical agony of pain, missed diagnoses, and medical gaslighting that profoundly shaped my life. For over a decade, my pain was ignored, my symptoms belittled, and my deepest concerns dismissed, even suggesting my suffering was "all in my head." This relentless invalidation, coupled with the debilitating pain of what felt like a "living war zone" within my own body, pushed me to my breaking point. I desperately wanted to finish college, join the Peace Corps, and simply live a reliable, fulfilling life. Instead, I faced a daily internal struggle, battling an invisible enemy while trying to make sense of a reality that felt cursed. At 23, after years of fighting, a doctor finally believed me and diagnosed my endometriosis. It was a partial victory, but the battle continued, forcing me to become my own fiercest advocate. I devoured knowledge, diligently self-educating to save my own life, and vowed to help others avoid the same torturous path. This commitment fueled my resolve to forge a different path of empowerment and support. The hardest years, from 23 to 37, saw my soul, mind, and coping skills depleted. But in that darkness, a new doctor, unwavering in her belief and embracing integrative science for endometriosis and pelvic issues, became my steadfast ally. There was no blame, no shame, no "try this diet, pill, or it's just you" nonsense. On December 18th, 2020, I donned my "Endo armor" and bravely faced an emergency hysterectomy due to HPV cancer. This was not an end, but a new beginning; a rebirth into a life of healing and purpose. My recovery continues to be a journey, one that has deepened my resolve to transform my pain into purpose. Now, as a certified Women's Health and Endometriosis Health Coach, a skilled behavior change specialist, and a growth mindset instructor, I stand with you. I provide holistic and integrative support for lifestyle adjustments, focusing on foundational health, hormone balance, immune system support, and nutritional strategies. I create a safe, healing space to accelerate your activation and transformation. I wish I had a coach like me during my darkest times, someone to help mitigate negative coping skills and severe depression. But I trust that my journey was meant to be exactly as it unfolded, so I can better serve you. I am here to be your ally and advocate, believing wholeheartedly in your strength and worthiness, even when it feels impossible. You are not alone. Your personal experience holds invaluable knowledge, and together, we will unravel the complexities of these conditions, finding the light to lead your way. Let's start with hope and lead with compassion on your journey to vibrant health.

My moment of courage came when I chose to step into a path I couldn't fully see. I didn't have guarantees, timing, or clarity. I managed the fear by moving in small, honest steps. I stopped waiting for certainty to appear and allowed myself to act with partial information. Courage, for me, was not about being fearless—it was refusing to let fear decide the direction. What unfolded wasn't sudden clarity, but alignment. Each step revealed the next. Momentum built. And slowly, the fog lifted enough for me to recognize that I had chosen the right path long before the evidence appeared.

I was sitting in my car outside a potential wellness center location, working full-time, going to school, and wondering if I'd completely lost my mind. Opening Happy Whole You Raleigh made absolutely no logical sense. I didn't have extra time. I didn't have a safety net. I didn't have a guarantee that anyone would walk through the door. What I did have was a bone-deep knowing that I needed to create something, a space where women could access holistic wellness without judgment, without barriers, without having to prove they were "sick enough" or "stressed enough" to deserve care. The uncertainty was suffocating. "Can I actually do this? What if I fail? What if I'm not good enough? What if no one comes?" Every practical voice in my head screamed that this was reckless. I was already stretched thin. Adding a wellness center to the mix wasn't ambitious; it was impossible. But I kept coming back to one question: "If not now, when?" I'd spent my entire life learning to be my own wellness advocate. I'd run competitively, earned multiple holistic health certifications, studied everything from herbalism to brain health to Reiki. I knew what women needed because I was that woman: exhausted, overwhelmed, searching for answers beyond "just manage your stress better." If I waited for the perfect moment, for more time, for more certainty, I'd be waiting forever. So I signed the lease. Managing the fear meant showing up anyway; one client, one class, one session at a time. Some days I prepared for a client meeting before work- my full-time job, ran client appointments during lunch, studied for school at night, and crashed, wondering how I'd do it all again tomorrow. But something happened in those moments of pure exhaustion: I discovered I was stronger than I thought. And more importantly, I watched women walk into that center carrying the same uncertainty I felt, and walk out transformed. They came in fragmented, trying to fix their bodies here, their minds there, their spirits somewhere else entirely. Through our work together, they learned what I was learning in real time: holistic wellness isn't about adding more to your plate. It's about integration. It's about honoring all of yourself (mind, body, and spirit) as interconnected parts of a whole. That wellness center became my laboratory for everything I now teach. It showed me that women don't need perfect conditions to start healing; they need someone who understands the impossible juggle and can guide them anyway. It taught me that "community over commerce" isn't just a nice idea; it's what creates lasting transformation. And it proved that your mission doesn't wait for convenient timing; it demands you step forward into uncertainty and trust that you'll figure it out along the way. Happy Whole You Raleigh eventually closed, but what I built there never ended. It became the foundation for Women of Wellness, for my book "Lead with Well-Being," and for my commitment to making holistic wellness accessible to every woman who needs it. The courage to open that center in the middle of chaos wasn't about being fearless. It was about being more afraid of "not" trying than of failing. And that made all the difference.

When I decided to open my business, I had no roadmap, no investors, and no guarantees—just a vision God placed in my heart. It was one of those moments when logic said, "Wait until things are stable," but faith whispered, "Move now." Starting The Global Training Association wasn't a business decision; it was an act of obedience. God didn't show me the full picture—He gave me one instruction at a time. I remember praying, "Lord, if this is truly from You, order my steps." And He did. Each time I took a leap, He met me with provision, resources, and people who appeared exactly when I needed them. The uncertainty was real. There were days I questioned if I'd heard Him right, but I learned that courage isn't the absence of fear—it's trusting God in spite of it. I had to surrender my need to control outcomes and instead rest in His promise: "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." (Jeremiah 29:11). Looking back, I see how God used uncertainty as the soil where my faith could grow roots. The business became more than a company—it became a ministry of impact, empowering people globally through learning and transformation. What unfolded was greater than what I could have planned: divine partnerships, growth beyond my expectations, and a deeper confidence that when God calls you, He also equips you.

A defining situation that required me to step forward without clarity or guarantees occurred when I recognized ongoing issues affecting employees that were not being adequately addressed by management. The absence of formal channels or assurances made speaking up a professional risk, but remaining silent would have compromised both ethical standards and team morale. I managed the fear by grounding my actions in principle rather than outcome. I focused on presenting concerns factually, professionally, and constructively, advocating for employees while emphasizing the importance of established standards, accountability, and organizational integrity. Rather than reacting emotionally, I approached leadership with clarity, documentation, and a solutions-oriented mindset. As a result of stepping forward, critical issues were brought to management's attention, conversations were initiated, and improvements in processes and expectations followed. More importantly, it reinforced a culture where standards mattered and employees felt supported. While the outcome was not guaranteed, the act of courage strengthened trust, set a precedent for accountability, and affirmed that leadership begins with the willingness to speak up, even when repercussions are possible.

I am a firm believer in Truth, Honesty and Integrity. I am not a CEO of a Corporation or a Big name in the real estate industry or even an employee with alot of clout in my field. I am just your average person who loves helping people, tries to accommodate and pacify others and be as honest as possible. I truly am a people pleaser and many consider that to be a weak minded individual or a pushover. I used to hear it all the time from piers and many managers, but I never thought that way for one second. Alot of people would say, "Just ask Mari, she'll do it!!" or "Mari doesn't mind she will take care of it!!"" Although I have had over 30 years of experience in the real estate industry, I was always behind the scenes in the operations departments. I went from working on title policies, to placing new real estate orders, to scheduling and then to working the front desk, where I was able to become more familiar with connecting with many of the Attorneys, Loan officers and Brokers to where I am now. My new 1 year position is that of an Account Executive working for a phenomenal Title Company Proper Title LLC where I feel I have somewhat been able to be what I feel I was supposed to be so that my honesty, loyalty, people orientated skills and integrity has paid off somewhat. I am always learning and when I am able to make my agents happy and work with my team to get that deal to closing I feel such a sense of gratitude .

My mother has always defined herself as a woman of her word and unwavering commitment. From her, I learned courage, resilience, and the strength to break through any barrier, even when no one else believes you can.

In 2022, I made the decision to reset my life completely. While navigating separation and divorce, I chose to start fresh by moving to the United States—leaving behind what was familiar and rebuilding from the ground up. It was a choice made without guarantees, but with intention. As I began rebuilding, 2023 brought new challenges in the form of visa uncertainty. My career, stability, and future often felt suspended in paperwork and waiting. Still, I learned to move forward without clarity—studying, applying, and showing up even when outcomes were unclear. By 2025, something had shifted. I had grown—personally and professionally. I learned new tools, strengthened my skills, and earned my CBAP certification. None of it happened overnight. The wins were often small and quiet, but they mattered. Each step restored confidence and reminded me that progress doesn't need permission from certainty. Even today, contract work brings its own uncertainty. But I no longer doubt myself. I know I've changed my life—intentionally, patiently, and with courage. Starting over taught me that resilience isn't about control; it's about trusting your ability to adapt and build again, no matter where you begin.

Uncertainty has been a constant companion throughout my career — but so has a deep knowing that I was meant to lead and to help others rise. I began my professional journey in corrections, first as a Correctional Officer and later as a GED instructor and Training Manager. In an environment where strength, confidence, and credibility are constantly tested, I quickly learned that waiting to be recognized was not an option. I had to adopt a mindset that still guides me today: if I don't show initiative, no one will ever know my worth. There came a moment when I realized I could either stay quiet and hope my work spoke for itself, or I could step forward — without certainty, without guarantees — and advocate for the value I knew I carried. I chose courage. I made my voice heard. I created opportunities for myself and, intentionally, made space for others to sit at the table with me so they could witness my capabilities firsthand. That decision was not free of fear. I was navigating unknown outcomes, unfamiliar expectations, and the risk of being misunderstood. But what carried me through was a strong sense of favor, guidance, and an unwavering willingness to be great at whatever I was entrusted to do. I didn't move forward with clarity — I moved forward with conviction. That leap changed everything. My career evolved from public service into the private sector, where I've served as a Training Director, Training Generalist, and now a Training Lead, supervising and mentoring other trainers. Each transition required faith, adaptability, and the courage to believe that my leadership belonged in every room I entered — even before anyone else did. Looking back, I see that uncertainty wasn't a barrier; it was the very space where my confidence, purpose, and leadership were built. I didn't wait for permission to grow. I chose to rise, and in doing so, I learned that courage is not the absence of fear — it's the decision to act despite it.

Pursuing the vision in the midst of transition

I did not set out to become a public health researcher because my life was orderly or predictable. I became one because it wasn't. Six years into an emotionally, psychologically, and financially abusive marriage, I learned how difficult it can be to recognize harm when it does not leave visible bruises. Leaving that marriage eight years ago was not just an act of survival; it was the beginning of a long process of reclaiming my voice, my confidence, and my sense of purpose. At the time, I could not have predicted that the skills I was forced to develop, like pattern recognition, persistence, and the ability to navigate systems that were not built to protect me, would later define my career in public health and epidemiology. Motherhood further shaped that path. My own pregnancy was medically complicated and ended in an emergency preterm cesarean delivery due to placental abruption. In the years since, I have lived with chronic women's health conditions including polycystic ovary syndrome (PCOS), endometriosis, and adenomyosis; conditions which are common, underdiagnosed, underfunded, and often minimized in both clinical care and research. Navigating these realities made something clear to me early on: women's bodies are frequently treated as medical mysteries rather than research priorities. That realization stayed with me as I rebuilt my life. Since leaving my marriage, I have published a book, remarried (a spouse supportive of my ambitions), completed both my bachelor's and master's degrees, entered the field of value-based care, and began my PhD at Walden University. Today, my dissertation research examines the impact of extreme heat and temperature variability on birth outcomes in the U.S. South, with a specific focus on how those impacts are modified by racial, socioeconomic, and structural inequities. This work sits at the intersection of climate change, maternal health, and reproductive justice, and it's deeply personal. Before my doctoral research, I studied the effects of pregnancy and postpartum long-term doula care on birth outcomes among Black mothers in Baltimore, Maryland. Using epidemiologic methods, population-level datasets, and rigorous comparative analyses, my work demonstrated what many communities already know: sustained, culturally responsive support during and after pregnancy can meaningfully improve outcomes in systems that have long failed Black women. This research will be presented at the World Epidemiology Congress this August, a milestone that represents not only academic achievement, but the power of centering lived experience in scientific inquiry. At the same time, I am a mother navigating another set of systems – those governing pediatric care, education, and disability services. My daughter is nine years old. She was diagnosed with ADHD at age five, and after three years of advocating for further evaluations, often being dismissed by specialists managing her care, she was finally diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder, Level 1, at age eight. While her pediatrician consistently encouraged further evaluation, her psychiatrist did not. We drove over an hour away and spent long days completing comprehensive assessments because I knew, both intuitively and evidence-informed, that something more was happening. That advocacy required learning new languages: clinical terminology, diagnostic criteria, policy thresholds, and documentation standards. It required persistence in the face of dismissal. And it required doing so while co-parenting a neurodivergent child with my former abuser, who did not believe or understand that her brain may be wired differently than his – an experience that reinforced how often women are expected to quietly absorb systemic friction to keep their families afloat. I am now teaching my daughter to advocate for herself and for others. I teach her to use precise, scientific language to describe her body, her brain, her diagnoses, and her needs. I teach her that there is nothing shameful or taboo about women speaking clearly and openly about their health. I teach her that understanding systems, and knowing how to speak within them, is a form of power. This philosophy defines my work as a public health researcher and epidemiologist. I believe rigor and lived experience are not in opposition; they are complementary. My research uses epidemiologic modeling, climate exposure metrics, and large administrative datasets to quantify risk, but the questions I ask are shaped by the realities I have lived and witnessed. Extreme heat is not just an environmental issue; it's already a maternal health issue. Structural racism is not an abstract concept; it's a measurable modifier of risk. And women's health conditions, whether obstetric complications or chronic gynecologic disorders, deserve far more scientific attention than they receive. Leadership, for me, has never been confined to formal titles. I have volunteered in youth sports, served as a Girl Scout troop leader, and mentored young people by modeling what it looks like to persist, pivot, and take up space. Influence happens in classrooms, clinics, community centers, and kitchen tables; it happens where women translate complex systems into survivable realities for their families every day. I share my story not because it is exceptional, but because it's familiar. If there is one message I hope others take from my journey, it's this: your lived experience is not a liability. It is data. It is training. And when paired with education, curiosity, and courage, it can become a force for systems change. I did not wait for my life to be perfect before pursuing my work. I pursued my work because it mattered – then, now, and for the future I am helping to build.

There have been times when I've had to take the lead in uncertain situations throughout my professional career as an engineer, but the first time I ever felt that kind of pressure and the fear of responsibility was actually my last year in college. My senior design class operated like a company, our first assignment was to submit a resume and we were graded on how likely we were to be hired based on what we submitted. The class was broken up into groups that would work on projects together, each group had a Project Manager, an Electrical Engineer, a Mechanical Engineer, and a Computer Science Engineer... although we were all Electrical Engineering majors, we were being graded not only on how well we could fill our roles, but also how well we could support the other members of our teams to complete our projects in a timely manner. I was the only person in that class that was required to do double the work... I was Project Manager to two groups, technically two roles, when everyone else only had one. I was the only woman in that class and it felt like I was being tested, to see if this was enough to get me to give up, to see if I would fail. I struggled, but I managed to get through it and I walked alongside both of my teams when we got our diplomas that summer... it was an exceptional experience. Even though it was difficult, I felt privileged to work directly with six talented engineers and I'm proud of what we were able to accomplish at the end of that semester. After that, whenever I faced circumstances that were stacked against me, I had the confidence to face them head on, since I had already managed to overcome the odds before.

There was a moment when everything in my life looked steady from the outside, yet internally I was standing on ground that felt like it could shift at any second. I was building something meaningful work rooted in service, leadership, and impact—but I didn't have certainty, a safety net, or guarantees that it would succeed. What I had was responsibility: to the people who trusted me, to the communities I served, and to the version of myself that refused to shrink out of fear. The courage wasn't loud. It didn't arrive with confidence or clarity. It showed up as a decision to keep going even while asking hard questions, feeling the weight of risk, and sitting with doubt longer than I wanted to. I learned to manage fear not by eliminating it, but by listening to it without letting it lead. I focused on the next right step instead of the full picture, reminded myself why I started, and stayed anchored in values rather than outcomes. What unfolded wasn't perfection—it was growth. Doors didn't open all at once, but they opened. I became more grounded, more discerning, and more comfortable trusting my instincts. I learned that courage doesn't mean having all the answers; it means honoring your purpose even when the path is still forming beneath your feet. That moment of uncertainty changed how I lead, how I serve, and how I show up for myself. It taught me that bravery isn't about being unafraid—it's about choosing alignment over comfort and faith over fear, again and again.