We have been spending the month of August here for the past three years. A place that now feels like home to us. A place we’ve been coming to for seven years, where we’ve met some incredible friends and built a little life here.

Does it slow me down? No. It actually speeds me up. A story for a later date.

Eric and I were sitting in the car yesterday pre-gym, having our coffee and speaking through elements of the book (launching this fall). We started discussing our relationship with certain words.

He asked, “What are your thoughts about the word success? Do you ever think about that word?”

Oddly, my answer was no.

Maybe because, in my eyes, success always felt like something you chase externally, and I was chasing excellence. Excellence felt different to me. A feeling. A knowing. A “you fucking got this, Megan.”

That one question brought us into a much bigger conversation about the relationship we have with words. What words resonate? How do they feel? What do they mean to us? What is their value? What do they bring out in us?

The words I love: excellence, winning, competition.

I am so energized by those words, and in turn, they have forced me to build a relationship with words like growth, discomfort, loss, pressure, discipline.

Because you have to grow if you care about excellence. You have to get uncomfortable and put yourself in new arenas if you want to compete. You have to lose if you want to win. You have to be willing to feel pressure if you want to put yourself in situations where something is actually on the line.

I don’t think of excellence as perfection. I think about how good I can get. I want to be damn good. Quite frankly, the best. Competition makes me want to get better. Winning makes me want to work. These words energize me. They push me.

But do you see the relationship words have with one another?

How could I chase excellence, want to win, and want to be a competitor if I wasn’t also willing to accept everything those words require?

I don’t think we spend enough time thinking about our relationship with words.

We say we want certain things, but we don’t always consider what they mean on a deeper level.

We want to grow. We want to win. We want success. We want freedom. We want confidence. We want change.

But what else do we need to get comfortable with to get what we want?

We spend a lot of time talking about what we want and probably not enough time thinking about what comes with it.

I also think we label words way too quickly.

Winning is good. Losing is bad.
Confidence is good. Fear is bad.
Growth is good. Discomfort is bad.

But it doesn’t really work like that. I don’t believe in “bad” words.

Loss has taught me so much about winning. It has made me even hungrier to win. Discomfort has taught me a lot about growth. Being wrong has made me better. Competition has exposed what I need to do better and how I handle pressure. Add that word to the relationship.

You don’t get one word without the other.

Here’s an easy one: there are a lot of people who want to be an entrepreneur because they want some sense of freedom, but they don’t always attach the hard work and sacrifice required to get there to that word. Ten years in and that freedom is just arriving for me. But damn, I had to sacrifice a lot.

And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that the words I love have required me to build a relationship with the words I wouldn’t necessarily choose. But they’re a part of the work.

I expect them now.

Don’t just get clear on what you want. Understand what comes with it. And do the necessary work to build a relationship with those words too.

A question for you to sit with:

What comes with what you want, and have you built a relationship with that too?

We do all of this work in Get Your Mind RIPE: Build to Your Potential.

Join the waitlist to be the first to know what’s coming, get tools you can start using now, and get a behind-the-scenes look as we bring the book to life.

GYMR Book Waitlist

A client came to me a year ago completely stuck.

Let’s face it, we have all been there before. Myself included.

Nothing felt like it was going right. He didn’t know what he wanted to do with his career. His life felt like it was falling apart. Was it really? No, but life was shifting for him. He just couldn't see it yet.

After our first call, I told him two things that were non-negotiable:

1. Move your body every damn day.

2. Be In Service.

Most people think the answer when you’re stuck is to spend more time thinking about yourself.

Sometimes the answer is the exact opposite.

I needed him to get out of his head, to get out of the spiral. To reconnect with his values of community and connection. Quite frankly, these weren’t just his values, these are human values whether we’d like to admit it or not.

Being in service doesn’t need to be you doing something extraordinary, as there are so many moments in our day-to-day lives when we can extend a hand, lean in, and just stop and consider someone else.

I remember getting texts from him about how good it felt to be in service. How much it made not only someone else’s day but his own. He started seeing his value again and you know the first step to getting unstuck is? Is recognizing the immense value you have in the world. When you change the way you see yourself, you start seeing opportunities you couldn't see before.

When we’re stuck, we become the center of our own attention. It exhausts us. Every conversation comes back to us. Our problems feel bigger and bigger because we’re looking at them under a microscope. Service is what breaks that cycle. It reminds you that you have something valuable to offer.

It gets you out of your own fucking way!

I truly believe there are TWO quick ways to change your state, to go from a contracted state to an expansive one, and that is MOVEMENT and SERVICE.
The beautiful thing about service is that it changes two lives at once.

Never underestimate the impact you can have on another human being. A conversation can change someone’s day. Encouragement can restore someone’s confidence. Believing in someone before they believe in themselves can change the direction of their life.

We often think our greatest contribution has to be something monumental, when, in reality, it’s usually found in the ordinary moments where we choose to show up for another person and in turn, we show up for ourselves.

Get out of your own bubble and leave people better than you found them.

It costs zero dollars but will significantly change your life.

I’m in the midst of writing my first book, Get Your Mind RIPE: Build To Your Potential.

This book is years spent coaching founders, executives, professional athletes, and leaders.

This is the start of my greatest work. It’s the best thing I have ever written and I mean that. The purpose of this book is impact. That is in fact my purpose. To support, impact, and champion people to see what feels hard to see, to push them to find their edge, and what they're capable of.

I’m going to start putting more pieces of the book out there. Video clips of me walking through tools, audio clips of me in you ears while you walk, and more stories, lessons, and tools. If you want in, join the waitlist.

Join The Waitlist

Now, let’s dive into a small chapter of the book:
When People Underestimate You, Correct Them

I’ve had my fair share of people underestimate me.

Sometimes it’s in the way they speak to me. Sometimes it’s the assumptions they make. Sometimes it’s what they don’t ask. Sometimes it’s the way they interrupt or dismiss an idea before I’ve even had the chance to finish it.

Whatever it is, I know the feeling. My body heats up. I want to react. But in that moment, I have a choice…

I can react and regret it. (I have done that before)
Or I can respond and stand in my power.

I alwayssss respond. Silence has never been an option for me. My mother taught me well.

I’ve learned that your voice holds far too much power to leave it sitting in the room. When something doesn’t feel right, I address it. It’s engrained in my own value system to address it vs. leave it there.

I don’t want people leaving a conversation confused about where I stand, what I believe, or what I’m capable of.

Speaking up to me isn’t about winning, it’s about self-respect. Every conversation teaches people something about you. If you don’t represent yourself, people will create their own version of who you are.

The reality is, being underestimated is a part of life. Expect it.

One of the beautiful things about being underestimated is that it gives you a choice. You can spend your energy being offended. Or you can spend your energy preparing for moments when life will give you a moment to show up for yourself and in turn prove someone else wrong.

I choose preparation.

Every. Single. Time.

When someone underestimates me, I don’t get smaller. I don’t waste time trying to convince them they’ve misjudged me. I use it as fuel.

I remember speaking at an event a couple of years ago alongside several well-known names in the wellness space. The guy leading the event spent the day name-dropping everyone who was speaking.

Then he looked at me.

“Megan, we’ll give you fifteen minutes.”

His tone said he was doing me a favor.

My response:

“Give me fifteen minutes, and I’ll tell you now... you’ll ask me to keep going.”

When my time came, I brought my AAAAAAA game.

Fifteen minutes came and went.

He gave me more time.

His lesson?

Don’t overestimate clout and underestimate someone who’s chasing fucking excellence. I am chasing excellence.

I knew I was willing to put my reputation on the line in that moment because I believed I could back up every word I had just said. There’s a difference between talking big and making a commitment to yourself. The second you make that commitment, the work becomes non-negotiable.

I have always loved the story of Tom Brady because of this.

He was the 199th pick in the NFL Draft, think about how many teams passed on him.

Before he’d thrown a meaningful pass in the NFL, he told Patriots owner Robert Kraft, “I’m the best decision this organization has ever made.”

Talk about conviction! He knew that he would do the work to back up that comment, he had unshakeable conviction because of his commitment.

Confidence without work is ego. Confidence backed by reps is conviction.

That’s why I never underestimate someone who’s hungry. Hungry people are dangerous because they don’t stop when the excitement wears off. They take another rep. They stay after practice. They keep building when no one is watching. Eventually, the world catches up to what they’ve believed all along.

I have two daughters, and you bet your ass I’m going to teach them this lesson. One day, someone will underestimate them. That’s not a matter of if. It’s a matter of when.

My hope isn’t that they spend their lives trying to prove people wrong. My hope is that they trust themselves enough to speak when something doesn’t feel right and believe in themselves enough to put in the work required to back it up.

I want them to understand that confidence isn’t something you’re born with. It’s something you earn, one rep at a time.

People are going to underestimate you.

Let them and then correct them.

This is a small bit of the 250+ page GYMR book. The rest is on the waitlist.

Join The Waitlist

Choose the hard. Not because hard is always better. Because most of us are far better at choosing what we want than choosing what we need. And the gap between those two things is often where our growth lives.

I think about this all the time because self-development has become a billion-dollar industry built around the promise of becoming more. Yet many of us spend our time choosing growth that feels good rather than growth that actually changes us.

We read the book instead of having the conversation. We sign up for the retreat instead of building the habit. We consume the content instead of doing the work.

The want is seductive. The need is usually uncomfortable.

Here are a few real life examples where I choose the hard…

Example #1: In The Gym

A few times a week, I train with my coach Èlan.

Sometimes he’ll ask me:

“Do you want to do this or that?”

Both options are workouts. Both will make me better. But every time, I choose the harder one. Not because I want to. Because I don’t.

That’s become one of the most useful rules in my life. If I don’t want to do it, there’s a good chance it’s exactly what I need.

The exercise I want is usually the one that feels more comfortable, more familiar, or less demanding. The exercise I need is often the one that exposes a weakness, tests my discipline, or pushes me further than I’d like to go.

And I’ve realized that principle extends far beyond the gym.

The hard conversation.
The uncomfortable feedback.
The difficult decision.
The commitment you keep avoiding.

The thing you know would move your life forward if you’d just stop negotiating with yourself and do it.

Growth rarely hides inside the things we naturally gravitate toward.

More often, it’s sitting in the thing we’ve been avoiding.

Example #2: The Retreat or The Practice

I have a running joke with one of my girlfriends, Ashley. Every so often we’ll talk about learning how to meditate. Then somehow the conversation turns into going to Bali!

A meditation retreat. A beautiful destination. A transformational experience. Sounds spiritual. Sounds exciting.

But if we’re being honest, the harder thing isn’t booking the trip. It’s sitting down tomorrow morning for twenty minutes in silence. It’s putting the phone away. It’s staying still. It’s building the practice.

We sometimes choose the exciting version of growth instead of the consistent version. The future version instead of the present version. The adventure instead of the discipline.

We convince ourselves we’re pursuing growth while quietly avoiding the thing that would actually create it.

Example #3: Beating Around The Bush or The Real Conversation

I can think of countless moments in my life where the real conversation felt harder than the polite one. The watered-down version. The dancing around it version. The version where everyone knows what’s happening but nobody is actually saying it.

For a long time, I convinced myself I was keeping the peace. What I was really doing was avoiding discomfort.

Over time, I’ve learned that peace and alignment are not the same thing. Sometimes we choose temporary peace by swallowing our words. What we actually need is alignment.

We need to say the thing. We need to have the conversation. We need to create the tension that allows something to move forward.

I’ve found that this is true in almost every area of life. The things we want and the things we need are often not the same thing.

The challenge is that wants usually feel better in the moment.

Needs usually require courage.

Here’s what I mean:

And leadership, in many ways, is the ability to recognize the difference. Not just knowing what you want. Knowing what you need. And having the courage to choose it.

This is why coaches, mentors, and people who genuinely care about your growth matter. Not because they tell you what you want to hear. Because they help you see what you need to hear.

They challenge your stories. They call you up. They hold a higher standard when you’ve lowered your own.

Every day presents opportunities to choose.
Comfort or growth.
Distraction or discipline.
What you want or what you need.

Most of the time, the answer isn’t hard to find.
You already know what it is.
The challenge is that you probably don’t want to do it.

Today, ask yourself one question:

What do I know I need to do that I don’t want to do?

Then do that.
That’s where the growth is.

I love coaching high performers. I love people who want to win. Damn, I fucking love winning. But I also know this:

If you want to win, you first have to learn how to lose.

Because if every loss shakes you to your core…
If every setback suddenly becomes a story about who you are…

You will keep losing. Not because the loss beat you. Because of the meaning you gave it. In other words? You beat you. And frankly, that’s the real fucking loss.

One rejection becomes: Maybe I’m not good enough.
One setback becomes: Maybe this isn’t working.
One missed goal becomes: Maybe I suck.
One hard season becomes: Maybe I’m not built for this.

And suddenly? You’re not chasing a win.
You’re feeding the narrative.

Someone asked me the other day:
“How do you coach resilience?”

Great question. But the answer probably wasn’t what they expected. Not some magic tool. Not some framework.

Perspective.

Winning requires losing.
If I sign up to win, I sign up to lose on the road to getting there.
The question is: what do I make the loss mean?

I’m resilient because when I lose, I let it build me.

When tension enters my life…
Pressure.
Failure.
Rejection.
Heartbreak.
Hard conversations.

I ask:

What did this teach me?
What strength did this build?
What standard did this raise?
What am I no longer available for?

Then?

Control the fucking controllables.
And let the loss make you hungrier.

Hungrier to learn.
Hungrier to grow.
Hungrier to swing again.
Hungrier to win.

Because tension gives you something if you listen to it.

I just watched the Rory McIlroy documentary and found myself thinking about this:

Years of almost.
Pressure.
Disappointment.
Narratives.
People counting him out.

And still swinging.
Still showing up.
Still believing.

Same with the New York Knicks.
Years of frustration.
Pressure.
Rebuilding.
Being counted out.
Still showing up.
Still building.

And look at Jalen Brunson. How many opinions?
Too small.
Not good enough.
Can’t lead.
Overpaid.

Imagine if he let all of that into his head.
You think he wins?

Winning is energetic.
Winning requires belief.
Self-trust.

The ability to keep showing up without letting every loss, opinion, or hard moment define who you are.

Because winning isn’t avoiding loss.
Winning is learning how to lose without losing yourself.

If you want to know what’s inside my head right now, in a moment of tension while building resilience, it sounds something like this:

“Megan.

Control your fucking controllables.

Stop waiting on people. Stop waiting on circumstances. Stop waiting for perfect.

Do not stand in the outfield waiting for something to happen. Grab your fucking bat and swing.

Again. And again. And again.”

Because resilience isn’t built in the win.

It’s built in the rep after rejection.
The belief after disappointment.
The showing up after things didn’t go your way.

YOUR PRACTICE

The next time something doesn’t go your way - rejection, tension, setback, missed goal, hard feedback, disappointment, pause before the narrative takes over.

Ask yourself:

1. What actually happened?
   (Not the story. The facts.)

2. What meaning am I giving this?
   (Am I making this about the moment or about who I am?)

3. What is this trying to build in me?
   (Resilience? Patience? Skill? Standards? Self-trust?)

4. What is still in my control right now?
   (The controllables matter.)

5. What is the next swing?
   (One call. One rep. One hard conversation. One step.)

Because winning doesn’t belong to the person who avoids loss. It belongs to the person who keeps swinging without losing themselves. Winning requires losing.

The question is: What do you make the loss mean?

Yes, with both of my children, I gave birth and days later went back to work.

I chose that.

It’s interesting how quickly people move to judgment when they hear that.

Instead of seeing a woman who knows what makes her thrive and feel alive, the assumption is that something must be off.

That I don’t understand how to rest. That I am doing motherhood incorrectly. That I am choosing work over motherhood.

The truth is I know myself so damn well.
I know what I want and what I need for my life.
When I thrive, my family thrives.

And the judgment and discomfort people feel about this decision isn’t about me. It’s about the one-size-fits-all box we keep putting around motherhood.

I’m a deep believer in doing life your own way.

Motherhood your own way. Work your own way. Partnership your own way.
Ambition your own way. Life your own way.

I have my own life playbook and it looks very different from someone else’s. I’m looking inward when I create it.

I work because I love to

I love building. I love thinking. I love coaching. I love creating.
I love being in motion with people who are building meaningful things.

Work is not something that pulls me away from my life. Work is one of the places I bring my character and my uniqueness to life. It’s a form of expression I refuse to let go of just because my roles in life have expanded.

It energizes me. It sharpens me. It connects me. It expands me. Returning to work after having a baby isn’t me choosing work over my family. It’s me staying connected to what makes me strong inside it.

There isn’t one correct response to motherhood

There’s an assumption that there’s one correct response to motherhood.

And the truth is, some women step away because they want to. Some step away because they have to. Some return quickly because they want to. Some return quickly because they have to. Every situation is different. And some women are navigating choices that aren’t really choices at all.

What matters is whether you’re living inside your own clarity or someone else’s expectations. I’m living inside mine.

My purpose lives across my whole life

Returning to work quickly isn’t about proving something. It’s about living something.

My purpose lives in my work and in my life. It has exploded. I feel in so much awe and happiness in my life, and my daughters, my partner, and my work all play a role in that.

Nothing is competing. Everything is contributing.

I remember my first call two days after I gave birth. My client said, “Megan, you’re crazy.” My response was, “I am actually grounded in my purpose.”

I want my daughters to see a woman who knows herself. A woman who listens to herself. A woman who builds a life that fits her uniqueness instead of shrinking herself to match expectations.

I want them to see that motherhood expands your identity. It doesn’t replace it. I want them to see joy in work. Joy in family. Joy in responsibility. Joy in building something meaningful.

I don’t want them growing up thinking they have to disappear in order to be a good mother.

Thriving looks different on everyone

Some women thrive in stillness after birth. Some women thrive in community. Some women thrive in routine. Some women thrive in movement. I thrive in movement.

My midwife, who I love, tried to slow me down at one point. My response in that moment was: “I am naming my daughter Kobi after THE KOBE BRYANT. I am living a different playbook.” She respected that and heard me.

Returning to work isn’t me pushing through exhaustion. It’s me staying connected to the parts of myself that make me strong, grounded, and alive. And that version of me is the best mother my kids get.

Doing motherhood your own way is the real work

Motherhood isn’t one-size-fits-all. It’s not something you perform. I have nothing to prove to anyone and neither do you. It’s not something you do correctly by matching what everyone else is doing.

It’s something you choose from knowing yourself.

For me, returning to work quickly isn’t something I’m pushing through. It’s something I’m stepping into.

Because I know myself. Because I trust myself. Because my purpose lives across my whole life, not in just one role inside it.

Doing motherhood your own way isn’t selfish. It’s leadership.

I’m raising the next generation of women who will own themselves with conviction and be unshakeable in the face of judgment and discomfort when they choose differently.

So if you’re in motherhood, or stepping into it, my only unsolicited advice is this:

listen to yourself and do you.

I have unshakeable self trust.

What does that even mean? If I’m being honest, I can’t remember the last time I felt fear. And it’s not because I don’t push myself into bigger arenas. I do. Consistently.

It’s because I know I’m built for it. I know I’ve trained for it. I know what I’m capable of.

I did a lot to get here.

Unshakeable self trust doesn’t just remove fear from the system.

It does a lot of other things too. It clears the noise. There’s zero time or energy spent on comparison.

It minimizes, almost eliminates, the weight of other people’s opinions.
Not because I don’t care, but because I’m not looking outside for direction.

It sharpens focus. It brings you back to what’s yours. It creates a level of steadiness that doesn’t get rocked every time something shifts.

How I Built This

Everything about this is trained.
And it’s built through a few non-negotiables:

1. I’ve spent decades looking inward

I’ve done the work to actually know myself.

The more you know yourself, the more grounded you become.
The more grounded you are, the less you’re pulled by everything outside of you.

I know who I am.
I know my character.
I know what I value.
I know how I show up at my best and when I’m off.
I know what I need and I sure as hell know what I want.
I know my voice is meant to be used and I use it.

That level of awareness creates stability. And stability builds trust.

2. I invest my time. I don’t spend it

Time is not something I casually give away.

I invest it.

In people who expand me.
In conversations that challenge me.
In thoughts that move me forward.

Yes, the way that you think is considered an investment of time and energy.
Because your thoughts are either building trust or breaking it.

So I’m intentional about where my time and energy go.

3. I check my environment

Your environment is either reinforcing your standard or working against it.

There’s no neutral.

My spaces reflect how I want to feel and who I am becoming.

My office inspires me.
My home is filled with art and language that pushes me.

“What’s the best that could happen?”
“It’s going to happen, because I’m going to make it happen.”
Kobe and people that inspire me on my walls.

Those aren’t just phrases or photos.
They’re anchors.

You see something enough, you start to believe it.
You believe it, you start to live it.

4. I’m intentional with what I consume

I can always tell when someone is over-consuming and under-creating.

They lose themselves.

They start looking outward for answers instead of building their own.

I spend a significant amount of time focused on what I can control and consuming things that elevate, inspire, and push me to create and go bigger. It needs to push:

My actions.
My effort.
My mindset.
My preparation.

Consumption is a tool.
But creation is where trust is built.

5. I live my purpose daily

This isn’t something I tap into when it’s convenient.

It’s how I move through the world.

In my work, yes.
But also in the smallest, most unexpected moments.

I see people.

I remind them they matter.
I remind them they have something to offer.
I remind them to play bigger.

Whether it’s a client, someone I meet at a coffee shop, or a passing interaction.

When you are consistently in service, something shifts.

You stop questioning your value.
You start living it.

Why This Matters

Because self trust isn’t built in a single moment.
It’s built in how you live.

Every decision.
Every rep.
Every time you follow through.
Every time you choose alignment over distraction.

You are either proving to yourself that you can trust you…
Or that you can’t.

Unshakeable self trust is not something you wake up with.

It’s something you build.

Through consistency.
Through awareness.
Through intention.

Through choosing, over and over again, to show up in a way that reinforces who you are and what you’re capable of.

And when you build it…

You live differently.

You stop hesitating. You stop outsourcing your decisions. You stop waiting for permission. You trust that whatever is in front of you, you will meet it.

So how does this connect to birth?
To becoming a parent of two?
To building a growing business?

It’s everything.

Because these are not light moments.
They ask more of you.
They stretch you.
They expose where you’re solid and where you’re not.

And I can feel all of that right now.

But I’m not looking outward for cues on how to handle it. I’m not attaching myself to the narratives of people who are constantly overwhelmed, exhausted, or buried by the weight of it all. I’m personally over the complaints and exhausting narratives of others.

That’s their experience.
Not mine.

I want more pressure. I want more weight. I want more responsibility.
And you better fucking believe I am building a system that can handle it.

Everything you want in life asks more of you.
More capacity. More steadiness. More self leadership. More responsibility.

So if you want more, train for more.

Do the inner work. Be so solid in who you are that the external world can’t tell you otherwise. Look at your environment. Audit it and change it! I love Marshall Goldsmith’s quote “What got you here, won’t get you there”. As the weight of life and work gets heavier, the system needs to get stronger.

Because everything you want in life needs to be trained for.

Hi, I’m back.

As I gear up for baby number two, life has been busy and work has been even busier. Somehow, in the middle of all of it, I feel more full of gratitude than ever.

I’ve been debating turning this into a small series about motherhood and ambition as I move into becoming a mother of two. So welcome to the first part.

I thought I would open with my perspective on birth.

Note: This is my perspective. Everyone has their own. Birth means different things to different people and looks different for every family.

My perspective on birth actually comes from my experience with death.

Years ago, I had the privilege of being with my grandmother as she transitioned. Watching that moment did many things to me, but two things defined the experience: it broke me, and it empowered me.

Two things we often think are opposites.

But to me they felt like the same thing.

It was a moment when I realized that if you’re fortunate enough to move through the transitional phases of death before your final breath, you move through the depth of those phases.

• You hear the last words from the people you love.

• You feel the beating of your heart.

• You become aware of your breath, grateful for every single one.

• You reflect on the memories you shared with the people who shaped your life.

• And slowly, you begin to meet the people on the other side that you’ve missed.

I remember listening to my grandmother’s conversations change. At first she was speaking to me about my father. And then, over the course of a few days, she began speaking to her own mother who had passed decades ago.

And strangely, that moment filled me with hope and love. It felt like she was beginning to reunite with her.

Along with that beauty, there was also pain. There was suffering. There was discomfort.

I remember leaning in and telling her that the pain was okay. That she was okay in experiencing it. That she didn’t need to fight it.

So why the death story?

People often ask me why I chose a home birth. Why unmedicated. And of course, judgments come with that decision.

But my belief is this: life and death are both full of depth.

And if you’re fortunate enough, you get to experience all of it, suffering and pain included.

When I had Vida, I thought about my grandmother as I was bringing life into the world.

I remember saying to myself, “If she can leave this world this way, I can bring life into this world this way.”

My daughter was on the other side of the pain, just like her mother was. I knew the pain would be fleeting, and I did what I told my grandmother to do: I leaned into it. I embraced it.

After witnessing death so closely, I wasn’t afraid of the pain of birth. I had no fear then, and I can say I still have no fear around it.

We’re often taught to lean away from death and pain. To avoid it. To numb it. To chase the things that feel good.

But what if we have that backwards? What if the depth is the gift?

What if the full spectrum of feeling - the intensity, the discomfort, the surrender…is actually where life lives?

Because when Vida finally arrived, what I felt wasn’t just relief.

It was something much bigger.

It was awe.
It was reverence.
It was power.

It was the realization that I had just moved through something ancient, primal, and deeply human.

I had zero fear of feeling it all and all the transitional phases that come with birth.

Pain did not take away from the experience. It made the moment more alive. It made me feel connected to something greater.

Now, as I sit here hours or days away from my next home birth, I find myself back in that moment with my grandmother. Holding her hand. Leaning in. Reminding her that she’s got this.

And now I find myself giving that same pep talk to myself.

You’ve got this.

There is nothing to fear.
There is so much to feel.
So much to surrender to.
So much to embrace.

Because this is not just pain.
This is transition.
This is life moving through me.
These are the moments that crack you open and show you what you’re made of.

Before you read this, I want you to pause for a second.

Where in your life are you experiencing the same pattern on repeat?

• The same type of relationship.

• The same frustration at work.

• The same argument.

• The same internal complaint.

• The same “why does this always happen to me?”

Be honest with yourself.

If the pattern keeps repeating, you are the common denominator.

And if you are the common denominator, you are also the solution.

Different people, same story

Lately, I have had more and more people come to me who are living in repetitive life cycles that they are allowing.

Not consciously.
Not maliciously.
Not because they want pain.

But because they are running patterns they refuse to take responsibility for. And it is showing up everywhere.

Your internal world shapes your external experience.
Your beliefs create your choices.
Your choices create your outcomes.
Your outcomes reinforce your beliefs.

So you keep attracting the same energy.
The same situations.
The same heartbreak.
The same job dynamics.
The same friendship drama.

Because you keep bringing the same version of yourself into the room.

And the hardest part? Most people do not realize it is them.

They genuinely believe it is everyone else. So they stay in a doom cycle and expect different results.

And they will say to me, “Can you believe this happened to me?” My whole body reacts like YESSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!

Because I can see the pattern from ten miles away.

The most toxic human trait is victimhood to your own allowance

There are real victims in the world. There is real trauma. There is real injustice. There are situations people do not choose.

And there is also victimhood as a lifestyle when you keep choosing the same pattern and calling it bad luck.

It is when you keep tolerating the same dynamic and then act shocked when it happens again.

It is when you keep handing people access to you without standards, boundaries, or consequences and then feel betrayed when they treat you exactly the way you trained them to treat you.

It is when you keep choosing the same kind of partner, boss, friend, or lifestyle and then say “why does this always happen to me?”

That “why me” energy sounds like pain. But most of the time it is avoidance. It is you refusing to accept your role in your own life.

A big red flag “I’ve done the work”

The people I see this most in are not the ones who know they need growth.

It is the ones who think they have already done it.

The ones who say

“I am self aware.”
“I have healed.”
“I know my worth.”
“I have done the work.”

And then spend their lives complaining about the actions of others.

They narrate their life like it is happening to them. But they never ask the one question that changes everything…

What part of this am I participating in?

You can be intelligent.
Spiritual.
Successful.
Emotionally articulate.

And still be the common denominator in every story.

The examples coming to me…

1. The person who gets into the same relationship on repeat

Different name.
Different face.
Same emotional dynamic.

Same hot and cold energy.
Same inconsistency.
Same confusion.
Same I don’t know where I stand.

And they’ll say…

“I don’t know why I keep attracting the same types of people?”

But the real questions are…

• Why do you keep choosing them?

• Why do you stay once you see the signs?

• Why does your nervous system confuse intensity with intimacy?

If you keep dating the same wound in a different body, that’s not bad luck.

That’s a pattern. And patterns are invitations.

2. The person who has been alone too long but calls it “high standards”

This one is sneaky. Because the story is usually…

• “No one is good enough.”

• “People are trash.”

• “Dating is impossible.”

• “Everyone is emotionally immature.”

• “I just have high standards.”

And sure, dating can be rough.

But sometimes high standards are actually fear and laziness.

And by lazy, I don’t mean you’re not busy. I mean you’re avoiding the real work of intimacy. Anything great takes work.

• Great bodies take work.

• Great careers take work.

• Great leadership takes work.

• Great relationships take a great amount of work.

Don’t call yourself a high performer if your work ethic is selective.

But some of you are out here expecting love to be great without effort, without skill, without emotional maturity, without communication, without discomfort.

• You want a deep relationship while avoiding vulnerability.

• You want a healthy partner while refusing to be honest.

• You want intimacy without the mess of learning someone.

You don’t get to call it high standards when what you’re really doing is selecting for safety.

You’re building a requirements list that keeps people out so you never have to risk being seen, rejected, or challenged.

That’s not standards. That’s armor.

3. The person who cannot figure out their career and hides behind “I’m a high performer”

This one might sting. Because a lot of people call themselves high performers when what they really mean is…

• “I am capable when I am confident.”

• “I execute when the path is clear.”

• “I work hard when the reward is guaranteed.”

That is not a high performer. That is selective effort.

Honestly, I do not believe high performer is a thing you are. I believe it is something you practice. And most people only practice it where they feel safe, seen, and rewarded.

They will say,

“I am a high performer. I just cannot figure out what I am meant to do.”

But then they will not do the part that actually creates clarity.

• They will not be a beginner.

• They will not risk looking messy.

• They will not take the stretch role.

• They will not publish the work.

• They will not ship the idea.

• They will not follow up.

• They will not ask for the referral.

• They will not tolerate the discomfort of being unpolished.

They want career clarity without career exposure. They want alignment without experimentation. They want confidence before reps.

But confidence is earned. Clarity is earned. Clarity does not come from thinking harder. It comes from moving.

4. The person who tells me they don’t have the time or neglect the real work

First off, the most successful people I coach have the same amount of time as everyone else.

They are focused with their time. They use their time to move the needle related to where they need to go.

High performers do not use time as an excuse because they are so damn clear on their priorities.

When people come to me with the “I don’t have time” excuse, I think you are lacking priorities and operating in a system that is comfortable.

And usually that system looks like being scattered while still staying busy.

• They somehow have time to scroll.

• To stay busy without moving the needle toward what they want.

• To consume instead of create.

• To replay the same conversations.

• To overthink instead of act.

• To say yes when they mean no.

• To keep everyone else comfortable at their own expense.

And I can bet those same people have goals that have not been touched.

They are sitting in their untouched potential.

Staying in a state that feels familiar and oddly comforting because at least you do not have to risk failing, changing, or being seen trying.

But ownership looks different.

• Ownership is closing the app.

• Ownership is doing the rep.

• Ownership is touching the goal even when you do not feel ready.

• Ownership is choosing progress over performance.

• Ownership is the will to change the operating system.

Because you only get one life.

And if you keep spending it feeding the part of you that consumes, complains, or stays in comfort instead of the part of you that builds, do not be surprised when your life stays the same.

Where I land as a coach

Here is my boundary.

I will give you three chances to change you.

Not the partner.
Not the job.
Not the circumstances.

You.

If you bring me the same complaint three times and nothing changes underneath it, we are not coaching anymore.

We are rehearsing. And I will not rehearse dysfunction with you.

Not because I do not care. But because I care too much to collude with your avoidance.

If nothing changes after three rounds, I start to see someone who prefers familiar discomfort over unfamiliar growth.

That is a choice.

The discomfort of change is always smaller than the discomfort of staying the same. It just does not feel like it in the moment.

Grace without responsibility is self sabotage

Grace matters. Self compassion matters. Healing matters.

But grace without responsibility becomes enabling. Self love without accountability becomes delusion.

If you keep saying, “I am doing my best,” while repeating the same behaviors that create your pain, that is not your best. That is your comfort zone. And comfort is not always kind.

The point is freedom

This is not about shame. It is about power. I have at one point avoided something and victimized myself with that avoidance too.

But go back to the question at the beginning.

Where in your life is the pattern repeating?

Because once you truly realize you are the common denominator, you also realize you are the solution.

If you want different results, you have to become a different version of you.

Not just aware.
Not just articulate.
Not selectively disciplined.

Accountable.

At some point growth stops being about healing. And starts being about ownership. And ownership is where your life changes.

As I said in my last Substack, I do not have free time. None of us do. Every yes is a trade. Every plan has a cost. Every hour spent somewhere is an hour not spent somewhere else. With your partner. With your child. With your body. With your work. With your own needs.

Time is not free.

Being nice with your time is expensive. It costs energy. It costs presence. It costs intimacy. It costs joy. It costs your nervous system. It costs your ability to show up as your best self in the places that actually matter.

And sometimes, the people benefiting from your niceness do not even realize what it is costing you.

This is not me becoming cold. This is me becoming honest. This is me choosing kindness with boundaries. This is me making sure my yes is clean.

Because if it is not a real yes, it is a no. That is the new standard.

I am no longer being nice with my time.

There is a difference between being nice and being kind. I have heard it many times, and in this season of my life, I could not agree with it more.

Kindness is genuine. It comes from the heart. It is fueled by capacity and choice. It is a yes you actually mean.

Niceness feels different. Niceness is a performance. It is a yes when you mean no in the hope of keeping others happy. Over time, that yes turns into resentment. It is giving to someone who drains you. It is being friends with someone you know is not good for you. It is offering access to your time because you do not want to deal with the discomfort of saying no.

I am kind. It feels a little odd to say that out loud, but it is true. I care deeply about people. I care deeply about helping them. This work is human services. It always has been, and it always will be.

That is exactly why I am no longer being nice with my time.

When I say I am no longer being nice with my time, I mean this. I refuse to feel pressure or guilt to do things to make others happy at the expense of my own happiness. I refuse to abandon myself to keep other people comfortable.

Some real life examples.

• If Vida has a friend from school she wants to see over the weekend, but I do not necessarily want to hang out with the parents, I am not making plans to do so. Birthdays, sure. Special moments, sure. But weekends are different. Weekends are when I reset. Weekends are when I need my own life to feel like mine.

• I am not investing my time in people who lack gratitude and expect things.

• I am not investing my time in people who do not want to do the work.

• I am not doing things I do not want to do when I have not fulfilled my own needs first.

• I am spending my time with people who live an inauthentic life.

• I am not hanging out with people I would not classify as a real friend.

• I will not hang out with people who only complain and gossip.

To some people, this might be harsh or selfish. I am okay with that.

Quite frankly, I think too many women are nice with their time and waste a lot of it pleasing other people instead of pleasing themselves.

• Why do we feel like we are not meant to be pleased?

• Why do we feel like rest has to be earned?

• Why do we feel like a boundary makes us difficult?

• Why do we feel like saying no makes us a bad friend, a bad partner, a bad mom, a bad woman?

So many of us learned that being liked is safer than being honest. That being agreeable is more valuable than being clear. That keeping the peace matters more than keeping ourselves.

I am not doing that anymore. Not because I do not care. Because you can care deeply and still protect your life. Because you can be generous and still have standards. Because you can be kind without offering unlimited access to your calendar.

Practice Until Next Week

Before you say yes, ask yourself this.

• Do I have the capacity to do this without resentment.

• Am I saying yes because I want to, or because I feel guilt or pressure.

• What am I saying no to if I say yes to this.

If your yes is not clean, let it be a no.

You do not need to earn rest. You do not need to earn space. You do not need to earn the right to protect your time.

You get one life. You get one body. You get one nervous system. You get one calendar.

I am still generous. I am still supportive. I am still invested in people.

I am just no longer available for performative yeses. I am no longer being nice with my time. And I am done apologizing for it.

I hear a lot about what people want.

And honestly, I love it.

Because when someone shares their wants, they’re sharing their dreams. They’re telling the truth about what they hope is possible.

But dreams aren’t built off saying them out loud.
They’re built off what you consistently do to bring them to life.

So here’s the pause point for you:
Are your actions actually matching your wants?

Because if your wants are big but your habits are casual, there’s a disconnect. And that disconnect is where potential goes to die.

My Word(s) for 2026: Ruthless Discipline

“Ruthless” might sound harsh. But at year-end, when I reflected on what I want, I recognized something:

The only way I get there is ruthless discipline.

So what does ruthless discipline look like in action?

Ruthless Discipline Means…

• Daily focus on what moves the needle.
  Not what looks productive. Not what gets applause. What actually creates momentum.

• Being more honest with the people around me.
  Clear is kind. Avoiding the conversation always costs more than having it.

• Treating time and energy like an investment.
  Where am I investing and where am I just spending?

• Bold communication.
  Asking for what I want. Saying the thing. Going after it instead of circling it.

• No one-dimensional thinking and no coasting on my team.
  I don’t want “we can’t because…” I want “here’s how we can.” Find a way around it. And I want people who want to get better and better. If you’re looking to coast, we’re not the right team. If you’re not looking to be the best, this won’t be the place for you.

• Discipline to set myself up for success with baby number two.
  Because I’m committed to doing two things I love: build a family and build an empire around impact.

• Discipline with who gets access to my time.
  Also, let’s be real: no time is free for an entrepreneur or a mother.
  I want my time fueled with people that are ambitious, that are choosing a new way of doing life, and that raise the standard.

• Bold goals that stay visible.
  My goals are on the wall. “What if” Post-its everywhere. Because I refuse to live like my future is optional.

Your Life Is Built on What You Accept

Why am I saying all of this?

Because everything I want for my life and work is tied to two things:

1. What I accept

2. What I do consistently

And here’s what I see all the time.

If you tell me what you want but I watch you kicked back waiting for it to come to you, I’m going to tell you the truth: you don’t want it enough.

Not because you’re incapable.
Not because you’re not talented.
But because wanting is easy.

What’s rare is being willing to get uncomfortable on purpose.

To choose the early mornings, the hard conversations, the boring reps, the discipline that doesn’t get clapped for, and the standards that require you to say no more than you say yes.

If You’re Not Willing to Get Uncomfortable…

…then I call bullshit on what you “really” want.

Maybe your work isn’t the goal. Maybe your work is getting honest about what drives you enough to do what’s required.

Because here it is:

The life you want is waiting on the discipline and discomfort you keep avoiding.

So I’ll ask again:

What do you want, and what are you doing every day that proves it?

Our next Own Your Power cohort kicks off in five days and I couldn’t be more excited.

Not because it’s a new program. Not because it’s a new season.

But because when I think about my own OYP journey… it was truly the thing that catapulted me in my career and in my life.

And like all things that change you, it started with something small.

A first step.
One decision.
One moment of honesty.
One rep.

Not the kind of rep you post online.
The kind you do quietly when your hands are shaking, your emotions are on the rise, and you’re doing it anyway. When your confidence hasn’t caught up to your desire.

That’s where power begins.

Power isn’t a personality trait.
It’s not something you either “have” or you don’t.

Power is a practice.

And you build it the same way you build strength in any area of your life… with reps.

The kind of reps that feel uncomfortable at first.
The kind that reveal where you’ve been shrinking or what you have been ALLOWING.
The kind that ask you to choose yourself when the old version of you would’ve stayed quiet.

And over time, something starts to happen.

You become someone you trust.
PS: Self-trust is REAL confidence.

Because owning your power isn’t just about being bold.
It’s about being rooted.
It’s about being honest.
It’s about honoring your worth through your actions.
It’s about becoming a woman who no longer abandons herself to keep the peace.
A woman who is willing to push. A woman who is willing to hold the f*cking line and stand for what is rightfully their’s.

WHAT OWNING MY POWER LOOKS LIKE

These days, “owning my power” doesn’t just show up in my work.

It shows up in my daily life as a woman, a mother, a partner, and an entrepreneur.
It looks like asking for what I need.

Not over-explaining it. Not shrinking it.
Not cushioning it to make sure everyone stays comfortable.

Just asking.
Because wanting something doesn’t make me demanding.
It makes me clear.

It looks like voicing my wants across all areas of my life.

Not just the ones that are easy to speak out loud.
Not just the ones that feel polished.

The messy ones too.
The vulnerable ones.
The ones that used to scare me to admit.

It looks like saying NO when something isn’t aligned.

And not just misaligned with my schedule…
misaligned with the life I’m building.

Because I’ve learned that every yes is a vote.

A vote for what I tolerate.
A vote for what I prioritize.
A vote for what I normalize in my life.

And sometimes the most powerful thing you can do is simply say:

That’s not for me anymore.

It also looks like saying no when I’ve already invested too much time.

When I’ve been giving and giving and giving…
and I can feel myself crossing the line from generosity to self-abandonment.

Because let’s be real.
Being “nice” has a cost.
And in my life, that cost used to be me.

My energy.
My bandwidth.
My peace.
My body.

Owning my power means I no longer pay that price.

BALANCING EMPATHY WITH LEADERSHIP

One of the biggest places this journey has transformed me is in how I lead.
I am empathetic by nature. I care deeply.
I feel things. I hold a lot.

And for a long time, I led from that place almost exclusively.

I made choices through the lens of what other people needed.
What they wanted.
What would make them happy.
What would keep them comfortable.

And that’s not a weakness.
But it also isn’t sustainable when you’re building something real.
Because leading a business requires more than heart.
It requires conviction.

It requires the ability to make a decision, stand behind it, and not crumble under the weight of other people’s feelings.

It requires the ability to be kind without being unclear.
To be empathetic without being porous.
To care without carrying.

Owning my power has meant building more certainty in my choices.

More “this is what we’re doing.”
Less “is everyone okay with this?”

Not because I stopped caring.
Because I started trusting myself.

THE KIND OF MOTHER I AM WITH ZERO GUILT

And maybe the most emotional shift of all? Motherhood.

Owning my power has meant releasing the pressure to be a perfect mother.
I’m not chasing perfection.

I’m not chasing the version of motherhood that looks good from the outside, but costs me everything on the inside.

I’m not here to perform.
I’m here to be present.
To be connected.
To be honest.
To be human.

I own the kind of mother I am with zero shame and zero guilt.
Not because I don’t have hard days.
But because I’m done making myself wrong for being a full woman.

A woman with ambition.
With desires.
With dreams.
With depth.

I’m not shrinking my life to prove my love.

I’m building a life that my children can witness and feel.

One where I’m not exhausted from trying to earn some imaginary gold star.

One where I’m rooted.
One where I’m whole.

WHAT IT ALL COMES BACK TO

At the end of the day, this isn’t about being louder. It’s about being clearer.

It’s about becoming the kind of woman who doesn’t abandon herself anymore.

It’s about asking:

What do I want?
What do I need?
What is no longer aligned?
What am I available for now?
What am I no longer available for?

And then living from that place.

Not once.
Not occasionally.
But daily.

Because every rep matters.

Every hard conversation.
Every boundary.
Every request.
Every decision that honors the woman you’re becoming.

That’s how you build power.

Slowly.
Intentionally.
For real.

So if you’re at the beginning of your journey…

If you’re feeling the pull for more but you’re not sure where to start…
Start with the first step.
Start with one rep.

You don’t need a whole new life overnight.

You need one honest moment…
where you choose yourself.

Own Your Power starts in five days.
And I can’t wait to do this with you.

If you’re not in the cohort, that doesn’t mean you’re not in the work.

Have the necessary conversation.
Create the boundary.
Stop making excuses that you don’t have time, and commit to what you want and need.

Ask for what you need.
Say your wants out loud.
See yourself and give yourself grace.

Learn More About The OYP Coaching Cohort

I’m sitting here in the space between the holidays.

Christmas has passed. The New Year is ahead. And I’m full of gratitude, grounded, and considering my needs right now versus everyone else’s.

For some of us, this is easier said than done.

I spend much of my day-to-day inside the needs of others. It’s part of my work. It’s part of who I am. And let’s face it, the holiday season is heavily about prepping for the people around us to make it special.

That’s something I genuinely love.

And it’s also something I know I have to intentionally step out of. At some point, I have to come back to me.

What does Megan need right now?
What does refueling actually look like in this moment?
How do I want to feel not only when I start the New Year, but when I fully gear back up again?

These questions, and especially the answers, matter.

They bring me back to something I think about and talk about often.

Needs and wants.

Because fulfillment lives in the intersection of these two.

Needs are the things that fuel our system. They ground our nervous system. They create internal stability. They allow us to recover, regulate, and stay connected to ourselves as we move through life.

Needs are not preferences. They are requirements.

They are the internal conditions that allow us to feel safe, steady, and resourced.

Needs sound like rest, sleep, space, honesty, emotional safety, nourishment, boundaries, time to think, time to feel, time to not be needed.

Needs regulate us. They calm us. They support our capacity. In many ways, needs are the internal fuel of our being.

When needs are met, we feel more like ourselves. Our reactions soften. Our decisions become clearer. Our nervous system has room to settle.

Wants are different.

Wants live externally. They’re about expression, desire, achievement, connection, validation, and experience.

Wants sound like success, recognition, being liked, being chosen, being needed, growth, expansion, momentum.

This is where goals live. We’ll talk about goals soon, but before we build the plan, we have to fuel and ground ourselves.

Because wants are not the same as needs, and we often confuse the two.

People pleasing is a great example.

People pleasing is not a need. It is a want.

It’s a want to be liked.
A want to make others happy.
A want to avoid conflict.
A want to be seen as capable, generous, and easy.

Over time, we turn that want into a need.

We tell ourselves, I need everyone to be okay.
I need to keep the peace.
I need to not disappoint anyone.

And when a want is treated like a need, it starts running the system.

That’s when we quietly abandon ourselves. That’s when resentment builds. That’s when exhaustion becomes normal.

This shows up everywhere.

We treat productivity like a need.
We treat achievement like a need.
We treat being strong like a need.
We treat being available like a need.

But often, these are wants layered on top of unmet needs.

When needs are ignored, wants get louder.

They become urgent. They become compulsive. They start driving decisions instead of informing them.

This is why people can get what they want and still feel unfulfilled.

You can have the success and still feel dysregulated.
You can have the recognition and still feel unseen.
You can have the full calendar and still feel empty.

Because wants do not automatically meet needs.

Fulfillment requires knowing the difference between what fuels you and what excites you.

Needs fuel you.
Wants excite you.

Needs sustain you.
Wants expand you.

When needs are met, wants become choices instead of coping strategies.

When needs are unmet, wants turn into pressure.

This is why this space between the holidays matters so much to me.

It’s a pause before momentum returns.
A breath before the push.

And it’s an invitation to ask honest questions before we rush into the New Year and goal setting.

What do I actually need right now?
Not what looks productive.
Not what keeps everyone else comfortable.

What do I need to feel grounded, steady, and resourced?

And then, what do I want?

How do I want to feel as I move into the New Year?
How do I want to show up?
What do I want to build, experience, or expand next?

These questions are not in competition.

Fulfillment is not choosing needs over wants or wants over needs.

Fulfillment is integration.

Where ambition does not come at the cost of your nervous system.
Where growth does not require self-abandonment.
Where success is something you can actually feel inside your body.

As I sit here between Christmas and the New Year, this is the practice I’m in.

Coming back to myself.
Refueling intentionally.
Getting clear on what I need before I rush into what I want next.

Because how I start the year matters.

But how I sustain myself through it matters more.

For me, my needs right now are simple and non-negotiable.

Space to slow down.
To read.
To be alone.
Sauna.
Movement.
Writing.

I’m not in a season of needing to go out or be around others. I need less stimulus vs. more. I need more time just with me and turning my energy and focus inward.

Fuel your being first. Then set your goals.

I’m in my third trimester with my second. We’re excited.
This isn’t your traditional pregnancy announcement, and that’s intentional.

Before the congratulations, I want to explain why I waited seven months to say this out loud.

When I was pregnant with my first, I kept it tight from my clients. At eight months, I flew to Portland to lead an offsite. I remember packing my bags, boarding the flight, and holding my belly against the tray table while sketching the facilitation agenda. When the plane touched down, I texted the client to let them know I was pregnant.

Why the secrecy?

Because I knew what sometimes happens when women announce pregnancy at work. People stop betting on them.

The phone stops ringing with big projects. Promotions get delayed. Future plans quietly shift, not because the woman asked for them to, but because the story gets written for her.

I didn’t want anyone assuming I’d become less ambitious, less reliable, or less available. I didn’t want someone else’s version of motherhood projected onto mine.

So this time, too, I stayed silent.

The Double Standard

Let’s be real: this doesn’t happen to men.

A Harvard study found that mothers are nearly 80% less likely to be hired than women without children, even when résumés are identical. Fathers, on the other hand, often experience the opposite. It’s called the fatherhood bonus. Men are perceived as more stable, more promotable, and more deserving of raises.

The motherhood penalty is real. On average, women’s earnings drop by about 30% after having a child, while men’s remain steady. And the stories women share mirror the data.

• “I told my boss I was pregnant, and suddenly I was being steered toward less visible projects.”

• “I got passed over for a promotion because they assumed I’d want less travel.”

Over 20 percent of mothers report experiencing workplace discrimination tied to pregnancy. And that number only captures the moments blatant enough to be named. The subtler costs, the unspoken doubts, the missed calls, and the quiet rerouting of opportunity, never make it into a statistic.

Why I Was Silent

Looking back, my silence was not strategy. It was self-protection.

I didn’t want to invite bias into rooms I was still earning my place in. I didn’t want anyone deciding, on my behalf, that pregnancy meant less.

But silence didn’t fix the problem.
It just kept it hidden.

Silence isn’t power. It’s invisibility.
And invisibility is expensive for women and for the organizations that stop seeing what they are capable of.

Motherhood Is Not a Monolith

The assumption that all women approach motherhood the same way is the root of the issue.

Some women want more flexibility. Some continue at the same pace. Some shift priorities entirely and redesign their work. For me, motherhood was an ambition amplifier. I’m better than I’ve ever been at what I do, and I’m hungrier than ever to keep building. Every path is valid.

What’s not valid is assuming.

Organizations rarely ask women what they want. They fill in the blanks with other people’s stories and stop betting on women before those women have even had a chance to speak for themselves.

Why Stopping Was Never the Plan

I’m an entrepreneur.

There is no clean pause button in the middle of a build. When you are building something from the ground up, serving clients, leading teams, and carrying responsibility, stopping is not neutral. It changes momentum, trust, and trajectory.

More importantly, I don’t want stopping to be the plan.

Not because I am proving anything. Not because nonstop work is the standard. But because this season of building matters to me. This work is mine. It fuels me. It sharpens me. It’s part of how I show up as a leader and as a parent.

Motherhood didn’t make me want less.
It made me clearer about what I’m building and why.

The Truth, Out Loud

This business is the busiest it has ever been. Every year, we have tripled our growth and our impact, and I don’t plan on that changing.

I am a mother and I am ambitious. I am building a family and a career at the same time. These things are not in conflict. They are parts of the same whole.

I know what it’s like to sit across from a client and feel the quiet question in their eyes. Can she still deliver? Will this change her priorities?

My answer, then and now, is yes. I can deliver. Yes, I am committed. Yes, you can keep betting on me.

And beyond me, keep betting on women.

Keep betting on the mothers who lead teams, pitch clients, launch companies, negotiate contracts, build dreams, and raise humans. Keep betting on the ones who don’t fit the script you expected.

Women are not a risk to hedge.
They are the best bet you can make.

For Leaders Reading This

If you lead people, here is the shift.

Stop assuming. Start asking.

Instead of silently rerouting opportunity, ask the woman in front of you what she wants, what she needs, and how she envisions her work in this season. She may surprise you. She may confirm what you assumed. Either way, you will be betting on her, not the story you wrote in your head.

So yes, I’m in my third trimester with my second.
Yes, I am building a business, a family, and a vision.

I am ambitious as fuck and a mother.
I am driven. I am me.
And I refuse to be underestimated.

PS: Just like we should not shame moms who choose to leave their work to parent full time, which is a damn hard job, we also should not shame women who choose something different. I have seen the eye rolls when I say I do not take leave. I do not need approval for how I lead my family or my work. If you are a parent, becoming one, or in the middle of it and want a different approach, do you.

My lil family has been spending some time in Mexico City. There’s something about a big city that always feels like home to me.

I was born and raised in Brooklyn, with Manhattan at my fingertips my whole life. Subways, noise, corner stores, people always in motion, the feeling of a city that is always on but just a bit quieter during certain hours, it all wired

me to feel calm in the middle of motion. I am never not in motion.

So it makes sense that even my “breaks” don’t look like stillness. They look like movement with more intention. They look like the cities I love, just at their off-peak hours.

This trip is a perfect example.

Originally, the timing was ridiculous. On paper, it made no sense to disappear for a bit, even though that’s exactly what we were aiming to do. Then an opportunity came in: a chance to work with a VC firm for an offsite in Sonoma, one of those “you don’t say no to this” moments when you’re building the kind of life and business I’m building.

I said yes.

People call me crazy all the time for this part, for the way I tend to say yes in moments when a more “reasonable” person would say, “This is too much. Not now. Maybe later. I’m on vacation.”

But here’s the thing, my ambitions take sacrifices. And those sacrifices have given my family a life I used to only daydream about.

Because I said yes, my family got to be in Mexico City for two weeks. Because I keep saying yes, and then showing up and delivering, we get to spend nearly six weeks a year in Costa Rica. Because of choices like this, we’re tracking toward spending one to two months in Europe in 2026.

So yes, there’s sacrifice. There’s also reward. Real, tangible, “we’re actually living this” reward.

What a “break” looks like for me

I am never truly on “vacation.”

That word has honestly never resonated with me. I’m not scrolling Instagram wishing I was somewhere else. I’ve learned to accept that it’s not a flaw or something to fix; it’s just a different rhythm in which I operate.

Maybe our ideal rhythms match certain environments. Mine happens to match cities.

• Some people feel most like themselves in small beach towns, slow mornings, salty hair, barefoot errands, days measured in tides instead of time zones.

• Others sync with the mountains, quiet trails, long stretches of thinking time, a life organized around seasons and snowfall.

• Some are made for suburbs and routines, school drop-offs, familiar grocery aisles, the comfort of neighbors you’ve known for a decade.

• Others feel most at home in constant movement, airports, trains, new Airbnbs every few weeks, a life measured in boarding passes and new languages.

• And some light up in coworking spaces and coffee shops, buzzing conversations, ideas flying around, that feeling of being surrounded by people building things.

Mine matches cities that never fully turn off; they just dim the lights a little. That’s my version of rest. Not escape, just a softer tempo inside the same song.

I used to think all of this meant I was “too much” or addicted to work. But instead, I realized I just know myself damn well and I genuinely love what I’m building. And the work I’m doing now is directly connected to the life I want for my family.

So my version of rest is less about stopping and more about shifting the energy.

It’s not:

• Laptop completely closed for 10 days.

• Phone on airplane mode.

• Me pretending I’m a totally different person than I am the other 50 weeks of the year.

It is:

• Being more present with my family in the in-between moments.

• Saying yes to a long walk instead of one more email.

• Taking a deep breath before I jump into the next thing.

• Letting a city, a café, or a new routine refuel me instead of a full stop.

Stillness for me can be sipping a coffee on a noisy street in Mexico City, people-watching between calls. It can be sitting on a plane at 2 a.m. on a redeye, eyes closed, whispering a quiet thank you for the fact that my life looks like this now.

The Tradeoff Nobody Sees On Instagram

When people see the highlight reel, the trips, the photos from Costa Rica, the offsite in Sonoma, the future Europe plans, it’s easy to romanticize it.

But what they don’t always see are the tradeoffs:

• The red eyes followed by the jet lag.

• The moments when my body is tired but my purpose is louder.

• The weekends I’m prepping instead of fully unplugging.

• The mental load of constantly rearranging logistics to make the puzzle work.

I’m writing this in an Uber, coming back into Mexico City off a redeye from San Francisco. I’m a little tired, a little wired, and a lot grateful.

This is the cost. It’s also the path.

Ambition is expensive, not just in money, but in time, energy, and attention.

In exchange for:

• My kid(s) growing up thinking it’s normal to live in multiple countries.

• A partnership where we co-create our lifestyle.

• A life where my work genuinely changes people’s lives and I can leave this world

  knowing I gave it my all, and felt fulfilled doing it.

• A family that gets to live our version of a rich life, not just in money, but in memories, freedom, and experiences.

That’s the math that makes sense to me. The life I’m choosing (on purpose).

When I zoom out…

I’m choosing this. I’m not a victim of my calendar. I’m not accidentally “too busy.” I’m deliberately building a life where my family can live, travel, and experience the world in ways my younger self would have never imagined.

My grandparents and parents built their own version of this through entrepreneurship and grit. They ran a business that lasted nearly 70 years. That legacy is not lost on me. I carry it.

The version I’m building looks different on the outside, keynote speaking, offsites, coaching on the road, instead of dry cleaning counters, flights instead of opening up shop at dawn, but the throughline is the same:

Work hard. Build something that lasts. Create options for your family.

So when people say, You’re crazy for saying yes to that right now, what I actually hear is, I wouldn’t make that trade.

And that’s fair. They don’t have to.

But I would. And I am.

Micro-Moments Of Deep Gratitude

So here I am again: in an Uber, in a city that isn’t “home” but feels like one, coming off a long flight after an intense few days of work.

Old me might have gone straight into:
What’s next? What didn’t get done? How do I optimize the next 24 hours?

Current me is trying something different. She’s taking a breath.

Right now, my gratitude looks like this:

• I get to work with people and teams at a level I used to only scribble in notebooks.

• I get to bring my family along for the ride, not just in theory, but in flight confirmations and booked stays.

• I get to stretch what “break” means, instead of waiting for the perfect window that never comes.

I don’t have the balance perfectly figured out. I’m not sure I ever will because I don’t even believe in it! But I do know I’m more honest with myself these days. More okay with the truth that my rest doesn’t have to look like anyone else’s to be real.

A deep breath, again

If there’s a point to all of this, it’s probably this:

Your version of rest, ambition, and family life doesn’t have to make sense to anyone else, as long as it’s honest for you.

For me, that looks like:

A body that is sometimes tired.
A heart that is very full.
A calendar that is… a lot.
A life that feels chosen.

Sacrifice and reward are holding hands in this season. I’m learning to honor both. So as we weave between cities, I’m holding onto this practice:

Every so often, in the middle of the motion, I pause. I remember what all of this is for.

And I take a deep breath.

This is a different Substack than usual, and it might feel disjointed from what I normally write about. But the truth is, it felt deeply connected to my work, because behind all of us is a story. A struggle we don’t always talk about. And sometimes the thing that most shaped our leadership was first a fight to come back to ourselves.

I battled anorexia for about three or four years. The kind that creeps in quietly and then steals your whole personality if you let it. My lowest weight was 97lbs, and if you know me now, you know I’m sitting around 135lbs. That number doesn’t mean much to me anymore, but back then it meant everything.

My days were built around shrinking.
Excessive exercise. Minimal eating. Constant mental math.
Like life was a scoreboard I kept losing.

And gum…so much gum. Big Red was my jam until I upgraded to Orbit. When I say a lot, I mean a lot. I could easily do 10 packs a day. I’d chew until my jaw ached.

Digestive issues? You bet. But I didn’t care. My body was a thing to control, not a thing to care for.

The scale decided whether I was allowed to feel okay that day. And no matter what it said, it was never enough, there was always a lower number to earn.

That’s the thing about anorexia: even when you think you’re winning, you’re losing.

I didn’t just want to be thinner. I wanted to feel untouchable. Unbreakable. I wanted to master something when everything else felt messy or out of reach. I wanted to be worthy. And in my brain at the time, worthiness looked like discipline, like control, like smallness.

If you’ve never lived inside that mindset, it’s hard to explain how convincing it feels. You don’t wake up and announce, “I’m going to ruin my life today.” You wake up and think, “I’m going to be good today.” And “good” quietly gets smaller and smaller until it’s indistinguishable from disappearing.

My parents were persistent in getting me help. Thank God for that. Therapists, nutritionists, coaches, all the people you’re supposed to talk to. I went because they wanted me to go. I answered questions. I nodded. I complied.

On paper I was getting help. Internally, I wasn’t letting any of it land yet.

Not because the professionals weren’t good. They were. Not because the tools weren’t useful. They were. It just wasn’t time.

Recovery doesn’t start when someone offers you a lifeline. It starts when you decide to grab it.

For a while, I couldn’t. I was still devoted to the illness. Still loyal to the rules. Still scared of what I’d be if I wasn’t chasing “better.”

And then one day something shifted. Not in a therapist’s office. Not during a tearful family conversation. It happened while food shopping, of all places, Fairway in Red Hook, Brooklyn.

Nothing about that day was special on the outside. But internally I had a moment that felt like a door opening. I remember standing there and feeling this quiet clarity arrive, almost like a sentence settling into my chest:

“I’m going to take care of myself.”

It sounds simple. It was not simple.

Odd setting for a turning point, until you remember that recovery is ordinary. Not cinematic. Not heroic. Life tapping you on the shoulder and saying, “Hey. You can stop now. You can live.”

That was the moment I met the word allowance.

Allowance, not permission from someone else. Not “I’m allowed if I earn it.” Allowance as a way of being with myself. A new rule. A new language. A shift from control to care.

Allowance meant finding a new way to be in my body.
Allowance meant releasing control and letting myself be cared for.
Allowance meant choosing life in a new way, even while that way scared the hell out of me.

That moment didn’t make everything easy. It didn’t snap me into instant recovery. But it changed the direction I was walking. It was the first time I realized I didn’t want to win at being small anymore. I wanted to win at being alive.

After that, the help I’d been given finally had somewhere to go. Therapy started to sink in. Nutrition started to feel like a form of love instead of a threat. Recovery became less about forcing myself to eat and more about rebuilding trust with my body.

Over time, the number on the scale lost its power. I stopped outsourcing my worth to it. I stopped believing that a lower weight made me a better person. I stopped letting “good” mean “smaller.”

Years later, after I had recovered, after my body wasn’t a battlefield anymore, I was at an Equinox in Brooklyn and I remember the woman next to me so vividly.

She was thin to the bone. Not “fitness thin.” Not “genetics thin.” The kind of thin that makes your nervous system go on alert because you recognize it before your mind even names it. And when she opened her bag, I saw it: gum. Ten packs, easy. The exact kind of quiet, relentless coping I used to carry around like a lifeline.

It was like seeing a past version of myself in a mirror.

I didn’t say anything to her. I wish I had. I think about it more than I want to admit.

In the moment I froze. Not because I didn’t care, but because I cared too much. I was afraid of shaming her. Afraid of being wrong. Afraid that if I named what I saw, it would make her feel watched or exposed, even more trapped inside it.

So I stayed quiet. And I carried that moment home with me.

Recovery doesn’t erase your sensitivity to it. You don’t stop noticing. You don’t stop remembering the language of that world. You just learn how to live on the other side of it.

And sometimes the other side comes with its own grief, for the people still inside, and for the moments you didn’t know how to hold.

Now I’m a mother of girls. And I can’t help but be so thankful for all the moments that helped me get to the place I am today. I can truly say I love myself more and more, and control isn’t something I grip so tightly anymore.

I’m realizing how much of my leadership lives in my own self-love for these girls.

How I talk about my body in front of them.
How I fuel myself and care for this body.
How I let myself be seen — not when I’m perfect, but when I’m human.

Because they are always watching. Not just what I say, but what I believe.

And I want them to grow up with a blueprint that says:
You don’t have to earn your right to exist.
You don’t have to shrink to be safe.

If my girls ever struggle — and maybe they will, because being a woman in this world can do that to you, I want them to have a mother whose life is proof that there’s another way. A mother who doesn’t just preach self-respect, but practices it.

Recovery, for me, started with allowance. And the longer I live, the more I realize allowance isn’t a one-time door you walk through. It’s a practice. A daily choice. A way of coming home to yourself, again and again.

If you’re carrying something like this quietly, let shame out of the room and share your story. Shame survives in silence. Healing doesn’t. You don’t recover by hating yourself into health. You recover by allowing yourself into life.

You don’t have to be ready forever.
You just have to be ready once.

Not perfection.
Not control.
Not a lifetime of negotiating with your body.

Just freedom.
Just life.
Just the deep, ordinary right to be here, fully.

Lastly, if you or a friend are struggling, forward this email or pass along my email. I’ll make up for the moment I stayed quiet, and I’ll gladly get on a phone call with them. My email: dolce@get-ripe.com

I always say there’s a difference between showing up and being a contributor to the environment you show up for. Holidays are no different.

I’m a contributor.
Have I always been? Of course not. When you’re a kid, the adults carry the heavy lift—food, vibes, entertainment, logistics, emotional temperature control, all of it. Kids mostly just arrive and receive.

But at some point you get older and a funny thing happens: some of us keep showing up like kids. We walk in, sit down, wait to be entertained, and leave with a plate and a memory. Nothing wrong with that occasionally. But if that’s your default, you might be missing the real upgrade available to you.

Because the question isn’t just: “What am I wearing? What am I bringing?”
It’s also: “What energy am I bringing and what am I contributing to the moment?”

What can you expect me to show up with?

Games.
Always. Board games, card games, made up games, painting games nobody asked for. Question cards. I am never not curious about all the questions we haven’t asked our family members yet.

One year I asked my father, “What would you be doing if you weren’t an entrepreneur?” He said, “I’d be making bird houses.”

PS: That man has not made a bird house in my 38 years of existence. Not a single one. Which made it even better. Like, who are you really, sir? Where is the bird house dream living? What else do I not know?

That’s what questions do when they’re asked in the right spirit: they open doors inside people we thought we already had mapped.

I’ll also bring costumes sometimes. I know, I know. But listen, nothing takes the edge off a tense living room faster than your 80-year-old grandmother walking in dressed like Sumo Wrestler Santa. And yes, I have video proof.

Fun does not need common minds. It needs common moments—a shared breath, a shared laugh, a shared “wait… is this really happening right now?” Because even when we don’t agree on everything, we can still agree to enjoy one another for a few hours.

Why does any of this matter?

Because life has become so contracted.
Not just busy. Contracted. Tight. Defensive. Predictable. We swipe, scroll, silo, unfollow, block. We curate worlds that mostly agree with us. And then we sit down at a holiday table with people who don’t.

I’ve seen families split apart because of differences.
And sometimes what we need isn’t a debate. It’s space to recognize that we do enjoy one another and that even with differences, we can still create joy together.

It’s funny to me how often politics comes up during holidays, when I say every family should create principles of enjoyment…and talking about politics ain’t one of them.

Not because it doesn’t matter.
But because there are 364 other days to fight about the world. Holidays should be protected territory. A temporary ceasefire. A human-first zone.

Are families imperfect? Sure.
Haven’t met a perfect one myself. But at the end of the day if we can find some common ground, some ease, some sense of connection for the holiday, maybe we can all see one another a little bit more.

Because most of our differences aren’t usually the things that separate us.
It’s our stories about them.
It’s our assumptions.
It’s the way we stop being curious.

So this year, instead of bringing a dish, set an intention, bring presence, and be a contributor. Bring play. Bring questions that help create a new memory right there at the table.

The reality is you and those you love will one day die. Harsh? Sure. But that’s our reality. So you can either just show up, sit there, and do nothing but expect everything… or you can participate in the love while it’s still here. You can be the reason the moment softens. You can be the spark that reminds everyone, oh yeah, we still have each other.

Here are 25 of my favorites.

25 Fun But Interesting Questions to Bring to the Dinner Table

1. What would you be doing if you weren’t doing what you’re doing now?

2. What is your favorite childhood holiday memory that you miss?

3. What is the best gift you ever received and why?

4. What’s a smell that instantly takes you back to being a kid?

5. What’s a tiny moment from this year that made you feel really alive?

6. What’s a lesson you learned the hard way—then ended up grateful for?

7. If you could have dinner with a younger version of yourself, what would you say?

8. What’s something you’re proud of that nobody really sees?

9. What phase of life has surprised you the most so far?

10. What’s a family story you think should never be forgotten?

11. What’s one thing you believed at 15 that you definitely don’t believe anymore?

12. What are you currently curious about (no pressure to act on it—just curious)?

13. What’s the most “you” meal or snack of all time?

14. What movie, show, or book has shaped you more than people might guess?

15. What’s a simple pleasure you hope you never outgrow?

16. What’s a talent you have that feels random but you love anyway?

17. If your life had a theme song this year, what would it be?

18. What’s an opinion you hold lightly—meaning you could be talked out of it tomorrow?

19. What’s the most helpful advice you’ve ever received?

20. What’s something you want to do in the next year that feels exciting and a little scary?

21. What’s a tradition you want to keep forever… and one you’re ready to retire?

22. What’s something you wish people understood about you without you having to explain it?

23. What’s a moment you felt deeply supported by someone in this family?

24. What’s a place you’ve been (or want to go) that changed how you see the world?

25. What’s one thing you want more of in your life right now?

We’re stepping into a moment for you to check in: with yourself, your state, and the body you’re leading from.

I always say that we lead first and foremost from our first body: our nervous system. Before the mind forms a thought, before a team receives a directive, before a family interaction unfolds, before a decision is made, our state sets the tone.

Our nervous system is the original dashboard, constantly signaling whether we are in a contracted or expansive mode.

We’re always leading from one of those states, whether we realize it or not.

When I work with individuals, teams, or entire organizations, this is the first thing I assess: Where are we playing from most of the time?

Because our default state tells me almost everything—how we solve problems, how we communicate, how we connect, and how sustainable our performance and wellbeing actually are.

A Moment That Told Me Everything

I recently asked a team during an offsite, “When was the last time you felt inspired?”
Not a single person raised their hand.

That moment said more than any diagnostic ever could:
the system had been living in contraction for a long time.

You can operate from contraction. You can push, sprint, grind, and execute.
But you cannot innovate from it.
You cannot expand from it.
You cannot lead from your best self inside of it.

Inspiration Springs Innovation

You might not immediately connect inspiration to your nervous system, but it is deeply biological.

Inspiration becomes available only when the system shifts out of contraction and into expansion, when the body feels enough openness and safety for creativity and intuition to return.

That spark you feel? That idea that drops in? That lift in your chest?
That’s your nervous system signaling possibility.

Inspiration is the moment your body gives you permission to imagine again.
And without imagination, innovation doesn’t stand a chance.

If your team—or you—can’t remember the last time you felt inspired, you don’t have a creativity problem. You have a nervous system problem.

Understanding the Two States

Our nervous system isn’t moral; it’s mechanical.
Contraction isn’t “bad.” Expansion isn’t “good.”
Both matter. Both are required.

The work is knowing where you are—and whether that state supports what you’re trying to do.

Here’s how these states show up across individuals, teams, and businesses.

For an Individual

Contraction brings clarity, focus, direction, and the ability to execute.
It helps you narrow in, organize, and take meaningful action.

But contraction has two forms:

• Responsive contraction → grounded focus, determination, structure, precision

• Reactive contraction → stress, urgency, anxiety, overwhelm

The state itself isn’t the problem.
Stress is simply contraction without support.

Stay in either version too long, and you lose access to creativity, connection, and breath.

Expansion brings openness, possibility, intuition, and perspective. It’s where insight lands, where ideas return, where your body signals safety and spaciousness.
But stay here too long and things lose shape, drift, or lack grounding.

Neither mode is better.
You need contraction to build. You need expansion to imagine.
Life and leadership require both.

For a Team

Teams carry a shared nervous system.

A team in contraction becomes focused and efficient. Coordination tightens. Execution sharpens. This mode is powerful during deadlines, pivots, or moments that require clarity, certainty, and discipline.
But when contraction becomes the norm, collaboration narrows and creativity slows—not because the team is failing, but because the system is signaling “protect.”

A team in expansion becomes curious, awake, and connected. They explore ideas, ask better questions, bring forward possibilities, and create space for healthy debate.
But too much expansion without grounding leads to drift—ideas without anchors, movement without direction.

Neither state stands alone.
The strength of a team is in its ability to move between the two—tightening when execution matters and widening when imagination is needed.
That’s what makes a culture feel alive.

For a Business

Businesses have nervous systems too—patterns, structures, and rhythms that shape how people experience the organization.

A business in contraction is stable, grounded, and disciplined. It tightens processes, clarifies priorities, and creates safety and order. This mode is essential during transitions, uncertainty, or high-stakes moments.
But if contraction becomes constant, flexibility shrinks. Decision-making slows. Innovation becomes harder.

A business in expansion imagines, explores, and evolves. Vision widens, experimentation increases, adaptability grows, and possibility becomes part of the organization’s identity.
But too much expansion without grounding can create chaos or lack of follow-through.

Neither mode is inherently right or wrong.
Sustainable businesses know how to oscillate, when to anchor and when to open.
That balance keeps an organization both stable and alive.

Bringing This Into Your Life (Not Just Your Work)

This isn’t just a leadership framework.
It’s a life framework.

Contraction and expansion show up in your relationships, your home, your habits, your parenting, your friendships, your health, your decisions, and the way you move through your days.

Contraction sounds like:
“I have to hold it all together.”
“I need to keep pushing.”
“I don’t have time to slow down.”

Expansion sounds like:
“I can breathe again.”
“I’m choosing what matters.”
“I feel connected.”
“I can see clearly.”

Your nervous system shapes how you love, how you listen, how you rest, how you recover, how you show up, and how you experience your own life.

Work is just one expression of your state.
Your life is the real ecosystem.

As the Holiday Season Approaches

This is the time to check in and reconnect with yourself.

This isn’t just a time to wrap up tasks or close out the year.
It’s a time to come back to you.

A time to check in, not with your productivity, but with your presence.

A time to notice:
Where am I contracted in my life? And is that contraction responsive or reactive?
Where do I need more breath, more space, more inspiration?
Where is my system asking me to soften, reset, or expand?

The holidays are a natural invitation to return to ourselves.
Yet so many of us keep ourselves busy, moving, doing, filling space, because slowing down can feel unfamiliar, or even unsafe.

But this is exactly the season that asks us to pause:
to rest, to regulate, to make room for ourselves…
and for inspiration to rise again
(more on the value of inspiration in a later post).

Give yourself permission to step into a state that supports not just your performance, but your whole life.

Your system deserves that.
Your relationships deserve that.
Your team and business deserve that.
You deserve that.

And your new year will be completely different if you enter it from expansion instead of exhaustion.

This fall, my life has been moving at a dead sprint — the kind of season where the suitcase never gets fully unpacked, and the airport feels more familiar than my own kitchen.

At RIPE, we’re in a momentum pocket — the kind founders wait years for. The opportunities are big, the pace is relentless, and the demand is outpacing the hours in the day. It’s the kind of busy I used to dream about.

And yet, somewhere between back-to-back speaking engagements and flights, I caught myself complaining — not about anything significant, but about the tiny logistics between the big moments. The packing. The planning. The constant toggling between work, family, home, self-care, the dog, and the hundred micro-responsibilities that glue a life together.

It was embarrassing to realize:
I was resenting the exact reality I once prayed for.

One night — nearly midnight, suitcase half-open on the bed, cold takeout on the counter — I finally saw it clearly.

I had two options:

1. Keep bitching about the chaos and let it drain me.
2. Or show the fuck up for the life I built.

Because there was never a third option.
And truthfully, there was only ever one.

That’s the thing about growth: it doesn’t arrive organized. It doesn’t present itself neatly, with open weekends and predictable rest. Growth is friction. It’s the stretch between your old capacity and the new one being demanded of you. It’s agitation — not because something’s wrong, but because something’s working.

During one of my presentations this season, I shared a line that hit me harder than anyone in the room:

“Don’t seek comfort. Seek clarity and improvement. Agitation is the evidence that you’re expanding.”

I tell founders this all the time — but that week, it became my own medicine.

I realized I wasn’t overwhelmed.
I was in motion.
I wasn’t drowning.
I was being stretched.
The difference was the story I was telling about it.

Because language is the internal weather system we live inside.
Your words aren’t observations — they’re forecasts.
Say “I’m exhausted,” and your body obliges.
Say “I’m in demand,” and your posture shifts.

I started shifting my own forecast:

“This is so much” → “I get to do this.”
“I’m overwhelmed” → “I’m activated.”
“I can’t catch a break” → “This moment is asking who I’m willing to become.”

Same circumstances.
New climate.

This is the busy I asked for.
The busy that says my ambition caught up with my effort.
The busy that proves the thing I built is moving — not slowly, not tentatively, but at full throttle.

And I refuse to waste this season wishing it felt easier.

I want to rise to meet it — grateful, grounded, and fully here for the version of my life that once existed only in my imagination.

If you’re in your own version of the “busy you asked for,” remember this:
It’s not chaos. It’s confirmation.
It’s not overwhelm. It’s expansion.
And you built this.

When I started Own Your Power, I never imagined how much it would shift not just my career, but my purpose.

The greatest gift is when your work is felt—when it transforms you just as deeply as those you serve. This work shakes me to my core. I think of the incredible women who have trusted me in this process, and I stand in awe of their evolution—as women, as mothers, as business owners, as whole human beings.

Quick pause before we dig into purpose—I’ve got big news. The final round of Own Your Power in 2025 is LIVE, and it’s bigger and bolder than ever. I’ve built new tools, upgraded the platform, and raised the bar. I’m sharper, more grounded, and I am bringing every ounce of what I have to help you get exactly where you want to go in life.

If you’re interested in stepping into this final round, I’m opening 1:1 conversations now. Feel free to learn more below about the cohort and click here to book our time together. This is your chance to see if Own Your Power is the right investment for you before the doors close.

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But what I want to talk to you about today is all about: Purpose.

Purpose doesn’t arrive in one lightning bolt.

It rarely shows up as clarity first—it shows up as a decision, a rep, a moment of trust. Purpose comes alive when you decide to take the next step—especially when you’re not sure where it’s leading.

And the bridge between where you are and where you’re meant to be? Self-trust.

Self-trust is the muscle that lets you keep moving, even when the outcome isn’t guaranteed. It’s what allows you to hear your own voice beneath the noise, to remember what you already know, and to act on it.

Naval Ravikant doesn’t call self-esteem a feeling. He doesn’t call it confidence. He calls it your reputation with yourself—your private scoreboard. You can fool others, but you can’t fool the one person who matters most: you.

Self-trust is how self-esteem is built. Every time you keep a promise to yourself, you strengthen that reputation. Every time you abandon your word, you weaken it. You always know which side of the scoreboard you’re on. The stronger your self-trust, the higher your self-esteem—and that’s the root of unshakable confidence.

This is what I’ve seen, not just in my own journey but in the clients I work with: self-trust doesn’t arrive in one big moment. It’s built rep by rep, choice by choice. That’s how confidence grows. That’s how purpose finds you.

Building Self-Trust: Reps Over Perfection

I didn’t know exactly how it would look, but I knew I would be here. Not with 100% clarity, but with a quiet knowing. That’s the thing about self-trust—it doesn’t demand certainty. It asks you to listen, to take the step in front of you, to keep showing up even when the full picture isn’t clear.

If we waited for perfect clarity, we’d never move. Clarity isn’t what creates trust—trust is what creates clarity. Each decision, each rep, each moment of following your inner voice builds the path beneath your feet.

So how do we grow self-trust? Like anything, through reps.

1. Uphold your values when it’s hard. Each time you choose your values over convenience or approval, you reinforce that you can trust yourself to be who you say you are. That integrity becomes your anchor.
   
   Example: Saying no to a client or partner who isn’t aligned with your values, even though the paycheck is tempting.
   

2. Choose a different direction when it feels right. Self-trust means backing your intuition even when it makes you the outlier. Over time, those moments build evidence that your inner compass is worth following.
   
   Example: Choosing to slow down in your business when everyone else is scaling fast, because you know sustainability matters more to you.
   

3. Step into discomfort and prove your capacity. Discomfort is the training ground. Every time you step into the stretch zone, you collect proof that you’re capable of more than you thought—making it easier to trust yourself the next time.
   
   Example: Signing up to speak at an event even though your hands are shaking, and realizing you had more to say than you imagined.
   

4. Keep the promises you make to yourself, even the smallest ones. This is the heartbeat of self-trust. When you follow through—on a workout, on rest, on writing the thing you said you’d write—you stack proof that your word means something.
   
   Example: Closing the laptop at 6 p.m. because you told yourself you’d be present for dinner, and following through on it.
   

5. See and value yourself, even when it feels easier to dismiss your worth.
   Self-trust isn’t just action; it’s self-regard. It’s deciding your needs, desires, and boundaries matter—and then acting in alignment with that truth.
   
   Example: Asking for the raise you know you deserve instead of waiting for someone else to validate your worth.
   

6. Keep momentum on your vision—even when no one else believes in it.
   Self-trust means holding faith in your vision when there’s no applause, no evidence yet. The rep is continuing anyway.
   
   Example: Continuing to work on your book when only two people are reading your blog, because you know the message matters.

Strengthen Self-Trust with the Components We Overlook

• Rest and recovery is a rep.
  Example: Taking a full weekend off when your default is to hustle, and realizing you return sharper and clearer.

• Grace and recommitment is resilience in action.
  Example: Admitting you didn’t keep a promise to yourself, and recommitting instead of spiraling in shame.

• Celebrating your wins and collecting data is essential.
  Example: Writing down three ways you honored your word this week, so you don’t miss the quiet proof of growth. (I celebrate daily!)

Each rep is evidence. Evidence that you can trust yourself. Evidence that your voice is worth following. Evidence that you can hold fear without letting doubt take the wheel.

That’s how self-trust grows—not in the big leaps, but in the everyday choices that stack into unshakable confidence.

Practice the Daily Self-Trust Check-In

(3 minutes a day to build your reputation with yourself)

Every evening, ask yourself:

1. Did I keep my word to myself today?
   (Where did I follow through? Where did I let it slide?)

2. How do I feel about the way I showed up?
   (Does my reputation with myself feel stronger or weaker right now?)

3. What’s one promise I’ll keep to myself tomorrow?
   (Keep it small, simple, doable—a rep you can win.)

This isn’t about shame or guilt on the days you slip. It’s about grace and recommitment. Each time you get back up, you prove to yourself that you’re someone worth trusting.

The more you commit to yourself and follow through, the stronger your self-trust becomes. The stronger your self-trust, the more your self-esteem grows. And the greater your self-esteem, the more aligned you are to meet your purpose.

Most people don’t fail to act because of fear. They fail because they don’t trust themselves enough to follow through. This daily check-in is how you change that—one rep at a time.

This Is The Work

You don’t need the perfect plan or the perfect moment. You just need the next rep. One more choice in alignment. One more moment of listening to yourself. One more act of trust.

That’s the work. That’s the journey. And that’s how purpose finds you. Because purpose doesn’t arrive all at once. It meets you in motion.

Own Your Power kicks off on October 15th. If you’re interested, you can learn more and apply through the link below. Questions? Reach out. Navigating something specific right now? Reach out! dolce@get-ripe.com

This round brings together a powerful group of women, each stepping into their purpose and power—so you don’t have to walk this path alone.

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