The Courage to Build Something Different
Why I walked away from my dream job
How did you spend the pandemic years?
Many of us have heard some variation of this question.
Me? I spent those years doing the most!
I was a tech leader at a Fortune 10 company, completed a leadership program for women in tech, ran a state senatorial campaign, facilitated community discussions, created a multicultural community festival, led at the local and regional levels of my sorority, helped administer elections as a county election commissioner, started a publishing company, and earned a PhD in Public Policy from an R1 (top-tier research) institution.
All while administering my late father's estate.
How did I do it?
Some would say I'm strong. Resilient. And they're not wrong.
But there's another part of the story. The part people don't always see.
I've mastered the cape and the mask.
The cape that says, "I've got it. I can handle one more thing."
The mask that says, "Everything is fine," even when there's so much happening beneath the surface.
I've become increasingly self-aware about what it has cost me to be the person who can seemingly do it all.
In the fall of 2025, after nearly a year of prayer and meditation, and time away to think during my sister’s destination wedding, I gave my notice. Four months. That's how much time I gave my leadership to prepare for my departure. And in February, I walked away from my dream job.
When I shared my plans, many people heard one thing: I was leaving a six-figure income and a successful, three-decade corporate career to write a book.
Let me clear something up. The book was already about 80% complete when I left.
I wasn't leaving to write a book. I was leaving to build something of my own.
The book is where it started. Life, Interrupted: Lessons I Learned After Losing My Daddy was born from my experience navigating grief and the complicated systems that often accompany loss. I learned that losing someone is only part of the story. There’s also the paperwork, the decisions, the family dynamics, the responsibilities, and the expectation that life must somehow continue as usual.
And sometimes, while managing all of that, we're still expected to show up, produce, lead, and perform as though nothing has happened.
I know that experience intimately.
As I finished the book and took on new projects, something else began to take shape. Today, through Brightspot Publications and my Living After Loss work, I’m creating space for people to tell their stories, make sense of life’s interruptions, and navigate the systems and decisions that follow loss and major life transitions.
And much of that work begins with something deceptively simple:
Giving ourselves permission to remove the cape and the mask.
Permission to acknowledge what we're carrying. To ask for help. To redefine what strength looks like. To recognize that being capable of doing something doesn't mean we must keep doing it.
But this work isn't just about helping others. I've had to reengineer some of my own thinking, too.
I've been grinding since my early teens. Achievement, responsibility, and perseverance have been part of my identity for most of my life. And for a long time, I measured success by how much I could accomplish, how many responsibilities I could manage, and how well I could keep everything moving.
I was reminded of this during a recent anniversary weekend with my classmates. Now, as I approach the half-century mark, the grinding hasn't stopped. But it has to look different.
I'm learning to be more intentional about what deserves my energy. More protective of my rest. More attentive to my own well-being. And more willing to recognize that I don't have to earn the right to take care of myself.
I've already earned it.
Perhaps that's one of the most important lessons I've learned from living after loss: surviving an interruption doesn't mean returning to life exactly as it was.
Sometimes, it means having the courage to build something different.
And that's exactly what I'm doing.
I wrote the resource I wish I’d had. If you’ve become the person handling everything after a loss, Life, Interrupted offers practical guidance for what comes next. Get the book or invite me to speak to your organization.
With gratitude,
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