I spent almost 18 years working in nonprofit management and loved it. In the 16th year, I began to notice that I was frustrated with the lack of upward mobility or a vision for what would come next. There wasn’t a job I wanted to move into, but I knew I didn’t want to stay where I was forever. I reached the point that I knew I was ready to move onto something else, and had a few offers on the table. I took the one that, honestly, I felt was the best fit. It felt safe. I knew the organization and the people, it seemed like a good opportunity and I believed it aligned with my values.
As it turns out, it did not.
In less than 6 months, I was completely burned out. Every sign of misalignment was showing, despite all indicators saying I should be living my best life. It was not sustainable.
So, for the first time since I was 12 years old, I woke up and had no job. Which felt like no purpose. For 18 years I had been able to say that I actively worked every day to make the world a better place. My worth and identity was wrapped completely inside my profession and title. But now, I was officially out of the cupcake hustle. For the first time, I woke up and had no idea who I was.
This is the first day I truly and deeply understood the need to take to the bed. And I did.
At the end of that day, I heard my daughter ask my husband if I had eaten. An hour later, I had the whole family in bed with me as we ate chinese food while watching some terrible reality tv.
The next morning, my daughter came in my room and said:
All you have to do today is take a shower.
She was letting me know I needed to brush off the crumbs.
I got up that day. I brushed off the crumbs. I had lunch with a friend and mentor, who also became my first client.
Months later, I was reflecting back on those few days in mid November with a friend. The feeling of being weeks away from the holiday season and having no joy or sense of self. How terrible I felt that my child felt like she needed to coax me out of bed and how useless that made me feel.
My friend looked at me and said this: It shouldn’t make you feel useless. It should make you feel amazing. You modeled that behavior to her and it worked so well, she mirrored it back to you.
People, especially children, learn behavior by observing it. Modeling rest and boundaries gives permission and normalizes caring for yourself and others.
I realized then, that if this was the only impact I make in my life, I think it was all worth it.

I didn’t get here by accident.

I got here by living in rooms where leadership was heavy. By working in child services and nonprofit systems where the stakes were high and the margins were thin. By sitting at tables where burnout was normalized and clarity was optional.

I’ve led. I’ve rebuilt teams. I’ve navigated boards. I’ve cleaned up misalignment. I’ve been the one carrying too much. And I’ve coached leaders who were quietly drowning while everyone else thought they were “strong.”

Somewhere along the way, I realized something: High performers don’t need more pressure. They need better structure. They don’t need hype. They need language.
They don’t need to grind harder. They need durability.

So I went deeper: I began integrating the Enneagram into executive leadership development to help leaders understand their patterns under stress. I leaned into research and began pursuing my PhD, studying burnout through the Job Demands–Resources Model and the Maslach Burnout Inventory because I wanted data behind what I was seeing in real life.

I got here by paying attention to systems, people, and myself. I have stayed because I believe leadership should be sustainable but not sacrificial.