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A few years ago, I decided I wanted - and needed - to go back to work. I started where most people start — looking for the kind of job I thought I was supposed to want. Nine-to-five. Structured. Respectable on paper. My body had other plans. I'd known for a while that a high-pace, high-stress schedule wasn't something I could sustain anymore — my nervous system had been telling me that for years, quietly at first, then not so quietly. But knowing it in the abstract and living

Yesterday I read a stat that stopped me mid-scroll. 57% of the women in a room full of high achievers said fear of judgment — not lack of skill, not lack of ambition — was the single biggest thing standing between them and bringing their real self into leadership. I wasn't surprised. But it put words to something I've lived, and something I now watch play out in nearly every leader I coach. Several years ago, I ended my marriage. For a long time before that, I had been one pe

Years ago, I worked for people who never once asked me what I needed. Not maliciously — I don't think they thought about it at all. Reciprocity wasn't part of how they led. Recognition, when it came, arrived on their terms, in their language, on their timeline. And yet I didn't burn out. I've thought a lot about why, because on paper I had every reason to. What I've come to believe is that I found my reciprocity somewhere else: I got specific about what being a good leader me

Most leaders reach for the argument first. The memo that lays out the reasoning. The framework that makes the case. The all-hands where you finally say the thing clearly enough that people have to agree. It's the instinct, because arguments are fast, and they're measurable — you said it, they nodded, you can point to the moment it happened. Leading by example doesn't work that way, and that's exactly why it's harder to trust. In 2018, I made a decision that looked, from the o

I got a message from a colleague last week — a request I didn't love, timed badly, worded in a way that assumed I'd just say yes. I said no. Clean, short, no explaining myself into a corner. I moved on with my day inside the hour. That night, my daughter asked me for something. Smaller ask, lower stakes, easier no by any reasonable measure. I said yes. I always say yes. And I spent the next two hours turning it over — should I have said something, did I explain myself right,

My friend was telling me about her trip. The flight, the food, that one afternoon she spent doing absolutely nothing and didn't feel guilty about it once. I was happy for her. I was also somewhere else entirely. When was the last time I did something for just me? I didn't say it out loud. I just filed it away, the way you file away a thought you're not ready to deal with yet. But it didn't leave. It sat there for days, showing up at odd moments — in the shower, in traffic, ri