One of those moments was when I learned that performance and promotions are not even the same systems. Of course, we could argue that these things aren’t even really linked. (It took me many years into my career to realize that just because you work hard does not mean you get promoted.)

But from where I’m standing, companies don’t reward “effort.” They reward perceived value, visibility, relationships, and alignment with those in leadership positions. As much as that might be difficult for us introverts, that’s just the way the corporate cookie crumbles.

Back in the day, I used to get to work super early, and I always wondered why one of my coworkers got there even earlier. I now realize that it’s probably because our boss got there really early. By getting there early, my co-worker received an unexpected advantage: visibility.

The crazy thing about visibility is that, for something that can elevate people while holding other folks back, its impact is surprisingly easy to miss. But once you start to see it happening around you, you can’t unsee it.

So, as I was navigating my career... getting my “meets expectations” and those other dangling carrots we often associate with progress, I started to pick up on a few hard truths.

Here are a few of those hard truths that I decided to turn into this week’s newsletter with the help of Adobe Express. #AdobeExpressPartner

💻 Corporate hard truths I can’t unsee

1. Blending in was not in the job description, but it’s absolutely necessary. There are many reasons we can choose to do this, and sometimes, it’s because standing out makes others uncomfortable. But it’s not up to you to make everyone comfortable. Take it from someone who spent years being the hardest working invisible person in the room…

2. You gotta listen to the words and watch behaviors, not smiles. And that can be a difficult soft skill to pick up. But notice the projects you’re excluded from, the vague answers, the feedback…or lack there of. Corporate communication may be indirect, but it’s not non-existent. Oftentimes, it’s just behind the smoke and mirrors and performative behavior.

3. Be loyal to yourself first. Don’t listen to the critique about job hopping. It’s just a ploy to keep you stuck where you are at a fraction of what you deserve. Even though it’s common for people to be too afraid or too comfortable to steer their own careers, I grew my salary 4.5x because I refused to build a future around 3% raises.

4. Your work doesn’t speak for itself. If you can’t talk about your contributions and results that came along with them, don’t be surprised when your name goes unsaid in rooms you’re not in. Be persistent about tracking your wins. Be intentional about quantifying impact and being able to name what has changed since you started whatever project, initiative, or effort.

5. Your manager isn’t your network. Even if you have the best boss in the world, it’s crucial to the future of your career trajectory to learn from your boss’s boss. If you build credibility across departments, opportunities circulate through relationships long before they hit job boards…and who knows where those might lead 3, 5, 10 years down the line?

6. Competence threatens insecure leaders. If a leader minimizes your contribution, withholds information, or labels your confidence a problem, take it as a sign. Sometimes the person meant to support you most wants to watch you crash. (Ask me how I know. 👀) But don’t let someone else’s insecurity convince you to shrink your work or your presence.

7. Don’t even think of success without THE PREP WORK. The promotion you’re chasing can actually damage your career if you aren’t ready. I know we are all rushing to get the check, but be mindful where your gaps are, what you need to improve, and understand what it will take to sustain your success once you’re finally there.

8. Meeting theater isn’t work. Entire days spent discussing work, preparing to discuss work, and scheduling the next discussion to talk through work isn’t actually work. At some point, all that coordination starts eating into the time people need to think, create, and execute. Then, everyone wonders why execution feels rushed while acting like they don’t know why.

9. High school never ended. We traded cafeteria drama for virtual conference room politics. Whether you like it or not, cliques still exist, popularity still counts — only now who’s in the room with influence can now shape your opportunities, your promotions, and your career.

10. Bonus: “You’re not strategic enough” is lazy feedback. Strategic can mean a dozen different things depending on the person saying it. Are they asking you to think further ahead, connect your work to business goals, or bring stronger recommendations to the table? Don’t leave the conversation with a vague label you can’t act on. Make them turn this feedback into something you can actually use.

P.S. All assets in this newsletter were created using Adobe Express. 🎨 As an #AdobeExpressPartner, I used it to turn my video series on hard corporate truths into a social carousel and a print newsletter. With Adobe, I was even quickly able to add my brand colors and use all those Adobe fonts that I looove. (Isn’t content repurposing just the best?)

Whenever I needed a little support, I turned on AI Assistant for help with design decisions and copy edits. I also spent way too much time playing with the text effects and one thing about me: I’m going to remove the background from an image. 😂

But Adobe Express makes it so easy! The best part is you can create once, resize your content, and share it across all your channels. Try it out for yourself today.

Circling Back

Stay observant. Stay prepared. Stay loyal to the person who has to live with every career decision you make. Yeah, I am talking about YOU.

I still find myself feeling like I am outsourcing decision making about my career to others and being disappointed when it doesn’t quite go the way I want it to. The hard truth is, once we know better, we have the opportunity to create better for ourselves.

And that’s a good Monday Me Problem to have. 😉

— Roxy

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A village is nice. Especially as a new mom.

Having people around who can carry some of the load. Who can hold the baby, cook dinner, answer the question, recommend the thing, or just make you feel a little less like you’re figuring all of this shit out alone?

I’m grateful for that.

But lately I’ve been realizing that having a village and having friends aren’t necessarily the same thing.

A lot of the relationships we call community are really acquaintances.

We bond over polite pleasantries and a few things we have in common. We see each other because our kids are in the same places, we work in the same industry, we live near each other, we go to the same church, or we’re navigating the same stage of life.

And that’s not a bad thing.

It just isn’t always that deep.

Some of those relationships may eventually become friendships. I hope they do. But I’m realizing there’s a difference between having people around and having people you’re actually close to.

Having a village is a blessing.

But I thought a village was what I was looking for.

I’m realizing that friendship, real friendship, is actually what I crave more at this age.

I’ve had good friends

At 38, I can honestly say I’ve had some really amazing friendships in my life.

The kind where you could stop by without texting first.

The ones where you stayed up all night laughing about absolutely nothing.

The friends you stood beside on their wedding day and tagged in an embarrassing collage on their birthday.

I’ve had good friends.

I can’t be the only person who has looked up one day and realized years have passed since I last talked to someone I once couldn’t imagine going a week without.

They stopped checking in with me.

I stopped checking in with them.

Eventually the happy birthdays disappeared.

Then the random “how have you been?” texts.

Until one day, you’re basically strangers who happen to know an incredible amount about each other’s past.

And if you met again today, you’d almost have to start over.

The Train Station Theory

I came across an idea recently that compares relationships to riding a train.

Some people get on early and stay for most of the ride.

Some sit beside you for only a few stops but become incredibly important during that particular stretch of your life.

And others get off somewhere you weren’t expecting them to.

The idea isn’t mine, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.

Especially this:

How much time do we spend looking at who got off instead of noticing who’s still on the train with us?

I’ll be honest: a lot of people have gotten off my friendship train in the last five or six years.

Damn you, COVID.

But if I’m being fair, COVID can’t take all the blame.

Life happened, too.

People got married. People had babies. People moved. Careers changed. Priorities shifted.

Sure, I can point to a few friendships and tell you exactly what happened.

But most of them?

I couldn’t tell you when we stopped being friends.

There was no fight.

No dramatic falling out.

No final conversation where we decided we weren’t going to be friends anymore.

We just talked less and less until eventually we didn’t talk at all.

And that’s the part I’ve been thinking about lately.

Because it’s easy to look around at 38 and wonder where everybody went.

It’s harder to ask myself how many times I was the one who stopped reaching out.

How many texts did I read, tell myself I’d answer later, and forget about?

How many times did “we should get together soon” never turn into an actual date?

How many friendships did I assume were strong enough to survive on history alone?

Funny enough, I basically called myself out on Instagram recently when I said:

“There is a major gap between what friendship requires and what we actually have to offer.”

Oof.

Maybe I’m part of the problem

Making friends when I was younger felt almost accidental.

School gave me friends.

College gave me friends.

Work gave me friends.

We were thrown into the same places over and over again until eventually the person sitting next to you became the person who knew who you were dating, what you were ordering for dinner, what your mom said that pissed you off, and why you were crying in the bathroom.

We didn’t have to work that hard to see each other.

We were already there.

At 38, there isn’t a built-in sleepover.

There isn’t a dorm room down the hall.

There isn’t always a happy hour after work.

And now there’s a baby. A business. A marriage. A house. A calendar that somehow fills itself before I’ve even figured out what month it is.

If I want friends, I have to make room for them.

And I’m realizing I haven’t always been very good at that either.

I don’t want to collect more contacts.

I don’t want to go to another networking event and leave with five new Linkedin followers.

I don’t want a calendar full of people I “should grab coffee with.”

I’m tired of knowing a lot of people and still wondering who I would actually call.

So what am I actually looking for?

I want the friend I can call when something great happens before I’ve figured out how to make it sound humble.

The friend I can call when something terrible happens and I don’t have to give the backstory because she already knows it.

I want someone who knows my baby’s name but also remembers who I was before I became somebody’s mom.

Someone who doesn’t care what I can do for them.

Someone I don’t have to perform for.

And I want to be that kind of friend to someone else, too.

Which is where I have to call bullshit on myself a little.

I can say I want deeper friendships, but am I actually being a good friend?

Am I sending the text?

Am I making the plan instead of saying, “We definitely need to get together” for the ninth time?

Am I checking in?

Am I making room in my life for another person when, quite frankly, my life already feels very fucking full?

Because wanting friendship and having the capacity for friendship are apparently two different things.

And maybe that’s what I was getting at when I wrote about the gap between what friendship requires and what we actually have to offer.

I want the friendship.

Now I have to decide what I’m willing to give to have it.

At 38, I’m realizing I don’t need a huge circle.

And I don’t need everybody who used to be in my life to come back into it.

I think I’m finally okay with some friendships being memories.

What I want now is to get better at noticing who’s still here.

To take better care of those relationships.

And maybe be brave enough to make room for a few new ones.

Because yes, I still want the village.

God knows I need the village.

But I don’t only want people who will help me carry the load.

I want people who know me well enough to notice when it’s getting heavy.

And I want to know them well enough to notice when theirs is, too.

-Roxy

For most of my life, I’ve felt like I was fighting for my place in the room. Like I didn’t quite have the upper hand in the conversation or even a leg to stand on.

And when you spend enough time feeling like you don’t belong, you learn how to shrink

You let someone else do the talking. You let someone else make the decisions. You trust that maybe they know better than you do.

And little by little, you stop using your own voice.

I grew up poor and was often surrounded by people who were much better off than I was. Several families took me in because I played sports with their kids. They fed me, drove me places, and gave me access to things my family couldn’t always provide.

I was grateful.

I also got used to adults speaking for me.

I remember the conversations.

“Can you believe she’s only 11? Really good arm for her age. She’s going to go far.”

“We hope she goes to X high school.”

Then it followed me through school.

“Roxy, you should go to this college.”

And eventually, into my career.

“You should just be grateful to have a job.”

“Be patient.”

“If X leaves then you are our top candidate.”

“What you want doesn’t exist.”

Different people. Different rooms. Same pattern.

Someone else always seemed to know where I should go, what I should want, how long I should wait, and what I should be grateful for.

For a long time, I listened.

Then I stopped.

And I became, quite honestly, insufferable.

I questioned everything. I pushed back. I stopped treating someone else’s experience as authority over my life. I stopped assuming that the person with more money, a bigger title, or a louder voice automatically knew what was best for me.

And that made some people uncomfortable.

Because I learned something when I finally started making my own decisions:

People can be incredibly invested in your success when they also get to define what success should look like for you.

The moment you define it for yourself, the dynamic changes.

Reclaiming your voice isn’t always graceful. Sometimes it looks like pushing too hard. Questioning too much. Refusing advice you probably should have taken. Sometimes you overcorrect because you’re still learning the difference between listening to someone and handing them the wheel.

I’m still learning that difference.

But I’d rather struggle with the responsibility of choosing my own direction than spend my life succeeding at someone else’s version of it.

Sitting in the driver’s seat of your own career is hard as shit when you’ve spent your whole life being told where you’re going.

But I’m driving now. Move out of my way. 💨

-Roxy

Work got busier, and the responsibilities kept piling up. My relationships required more intention than they had in my twenties. I got married, started thinking about kids, finally had a little money to travel, and took on more personal projects.

Some of these opportunities were things I used to dream about. They were once on my vision board, which was exciting as hell—until I realized they took up far more space on my calendar than I had ever imagined.

Sometimes, it feels like the life I worked so hard to build just keeps asking more of me. Eventually, I reached a breaking point where “more” no longer felt like the obvious answer.

Now, I want less on my plate—but I want what remains to be the good stuff. Less “circling back” and more sitting on the front porch with my man, my man. More walking behind my daughter in her baby walker as she helps me discover all the things we still need to baby-proof around the house.

I don’t want less of a life. I want more of my life to actually feel like mine.

TL;DR 👀

• It’s not too late to refocus on yourself

• Don’t be afraid to do something for you

• The hard truth about being a high performer

When ambition starts taking up too much space

There was a time when being “booked and busy” was goals for me.

A full calendar meant things were happening, and people wanted my time. With all those opportunities coming in, I had places to be, people to see, and work to do.

I made it the center of my universe for well over a decade, to be honest.

There were seasons of my corporate career when my calendar was basically a game of Tetris, and I was living for it: multiple projects in the works, dinners & happy hours, meetings and conferences around the country (and even the world), and probably a few things I had already committed to for the following week.

And I didn’t see any of this as a problem — it was quite the opposite.

Being busy made me feel important. It made me feel like I was doing something with my career, that I was somebody people wanted in the room.

There was a little bit of status wrapped up in it, too.

If my week was packed, I must be needed. If I was flying somewhere for work, something important must be happening that needed my presence. If I barely had time to catch my breath between one commitment and the next, well...that was just the price of being ambitious.

For a long time, I wore that pace really well. (I think that a lot of us Millennials did.)

And then, at some point, I realized I had gotten so good at filling my calendar that I had stopped asking whether I actually wanted everything that was on it.

Then, I became an entrepreneur and content creator, which was supposed to give me more control over my time.

And technically, it did.

The problem was that there was always something new demanding a piece of it…and most of the time, I was the one deciding what made it onto my calendar. But after spending so many years being busy, it was hard to resist the urge to keep filling the space.

I might have a new brand partnership to work on, a speaking opportunity to prepare for, an app idea to explore, or another business idea I felt excited to bring to life — even if it wasn’t necessarily something pressing that I had to do right now.

And I think that is where a lot of ambitious people get stuck.

We spend years training ourselves to say yes when a good opportunity comes along. We say “yes” because we want the experience, the visibility, the promotion, the relationship, or whatever else might move us closer to the life we are trying to build.

And for a long time, that can work. What we don’t always do is revisit that approach once our lives start changing.

At some point, being ambitious has to become less about how much you can fit in and more about being selective with what actually deserves your time.

I think that is the shift I am in now. I still want the opportunities, and I still have ideas I’m excited about. I’m just much less interested in saying yes simply because I technically have room on the calendar.

And if you are experiencing the same — where life looks full on paper, but you still feel like you have no time for yourself — it might be worth asking: Am I choosing what belongs on my calendar, or am I still saying yes out of habit?

Soundtrack to this newsletter

• “Time” — Hootie & the Blowfish

• “Sittin’ Up in My Room” — Brandy

• “For You I Will” — Monica

Your time should still feel like yours

I used to think being able to handle a lot was something to be proud of. And maybe it was in my 20s and early 30s.

But these days, I care less about proving how much I can juggle. I want to focus on whether the life I am building actually leaves me enough room to enjoy it.

There will always be another opportunity, idea, or reason to squeeze something in. That does not mean I have to keep making myself available for all of it. And you shouldn’t feel that way, either.

You are allowed to want a big life without giving every part of yourself away to create it.

— Roxy

A job was either the best opportunity of your life or the place that made you miserable. You either stayed because you loved it or left because you could not take another day.

Real life is rarely that clean.

I spent almost 15 years in corporate, and I can name plenty of things that frustrated me, wore me down, or made me question whether I still wanted to be there. But I can also look back and see how much that chapter gave me.

Leaving did not suddenly erase the parts I loved.

It is possible to outgrow a life that was once good to you for something new without rewriting everything that came before it as a mistake.

TL;DR 👀

• Your career only needs to make sense to you

• Building my own trajectory gave me certain advantages

• How I used corporate to take my personal brand seriously

What I actually loved about corporate

People love a clean exit story.

You left corporate because you hated it. You were burned out. The culture was terrible. Your boss was the worst.

Then you quit, chose yourself, and rode into the sunset.

(It sounds pretty romantic, doesn’t it?)

But…that was not exactly my experience.

I spent ~15 years in corporate before becoming a business owner, content creator, and, of course, my most cherished role of all time: mom.

Sure, there were things I didn’t love and moments when I knew I wanted more control over my time and the kind of work I was doing.

I mean, there are things I could even say I hated. There were the politics, the bad managers, the times I felt overlooked, and the constant pressure to navigate personalities on top of doing my actual job.

And still, I would never describe my corporate years as a complete waste of time. Like, not in the slightest.

For every experience that frustrated or upset me, there was another one that helped shape how I work, how I lead, and how I show up. Corporate gave me opportunities I did not yet know how to create for myself. It introduced me to people who challenged me, supported me, and even gave me the confidence I needed to change the direction of my life.

It also gave me a front-row seat to what ambition can look like in practice. I saw people advocate for themselves, take big swings, recover from mistakes (or sometimes, not), and figure things out as they went. I learned just as much from observing those moments as I did from doing the work itself.

Beyond the career lessons, corporate gave me a life outside of work.

It gave me the ability to travel the world. It helped me build stability for my family — something I wasn’t sure I would ever experience as a kid. It gave me the freedom to explore my creativity before I had any idea where it might lead.

So, when I think about what I left behind, I do not only think about what I was ready to escape. I also think about what I genuinely loved:

❤️ I loved the people and the access. I got to work alongside people who were genuinely good at what they did, and I learned a lot about myself because of them. Corporate also opened doors to opportunities I may not have found on my own. Some of those experiences humbled me, and a few made me realize I was capable of more than I had given myself credit for.

❤️ I loved the routines and the relationships. I liked getting dressed for work, making my coffee, and ending the day knowing I had handled what needed to be handled. Some of my closest friendships came from those years, too. There is a certain bond that comes from surviving the corporate chaos together — ya know, exchanging one look across the room when somebody says something completely out of pocket.

❤️ I loved what corporations made possible outside of work. My salary gave me stability, paid for my first (and second) home, and left room for me to enjoy my life as I slowly figured out what I wanted for my future. I could experiment with content and build a personal brand without needing every idea to generate income. Looking back, corporate helped fund the beginning of my next chapter.

❤️ I value the clarity corporate gave me. Over time, I became much more honest about what I wanted my work and my life to look like. I learned that a role can be impressive on paper and still not be the right fit for you. That clarity helped me recognize when I was ready to stop contributing to someone else’s vision and start taking my own more seriously.

I did not leave corporate because every part of it was terrible, but eventually, I just wanted something different.

There is no need to turn an old chapter into a villain just because you were ready to close it. Corporate gave me a lot. I can be honest about the hard parts, while being grateful for the good ones — and still know that moving on was the right decision.

Maybe that applies to more than just corporate. Sometimes we stay stuck trying to decide whether something was “good” or “bad” when the better question is whether it still fits the life we want now.

You are allowed to appreciate what something gave you and still decide you are ready for what comes next.

Want to hear from me more often?

This is still one of the platforms that’s newest to me, and somehow, more than 2.5K of you are already here. I am genuinely grateful that you are reading, sharing, and supporting me here.

And if you like the free newsletter, there is a whole other side of my Substack for paid subscribers.

Paid subscribers get access to additional posts, including my weekly advice column where I respond to a real workplace problem submitted by someone in this community.

You can upgrade for $80/year and get access to everything on the paid side. Either way, thank you for being here.

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You can be grateful and still move on

The older I get, the more I understand that gratitude and discomfort can coexist.

I can appreciate the people I met and the opportunities I had through my corporate career. I can also be honest about what no longer worked for me and why I was ready for something new.

Leaving did not mean all those years were wasted. Each passing one prepared me for the work I do now, even if I could not see exactly where they were leading at the time.

I think that is the real lesson for us all: You do not have to hate an old chapter to know it is time to close it.

— Roxy

So, how do you protect your reputation, hold onto your confidence, and keep doing your job when coworkers begin acting like they have authority they were never given? Let’s dig in.

The situation:

I’m the sole clinician at my location, and two coworkers who do not supervise me have begun interfering with my schedule and telling me which additional responsibilities I will be expected to take on. After I pushed back, they started making changes behind the scenes and portraying me as uncooperative to leadership. One of them now appears to be positioning herself for a management role by presenting herself as the person stepping in to support and train me. I have strong relationships with the families I serve and receive positive feedback, but this situation has left me anxious, exhausted, and afraid of what could happen if she becomes my supervisor. How do I protect myself without making things worse?

Facing a work problem of your own? Let’s chat through it together! Submit your story here 👉🏿Link to Form

Read more

I try to be real on my platforms, but I know I can still look polished from the outside. My hair is usually done, I’m wearing an outfit that makes me feel good, and my home office looks calm and put together.

Meanwhile, there is usually a lot happening just outside the frame. Lately, I’ve tried to be more honest about what that looks like for me as a new mom.

Of course, we don’t only do this online. We do it at work, too.

We show up to the meeting, give the update, congratulate someone on their promotion, and keep moving as though everything is going according to plan.

We ignore the unpolished parts like the stress, the doubt, the exhaustion, or the fact that we are barely holding it together that week. These things usually stay outside the frame.

TL;DR 👀

• Stop trying to be understood

• Accepting the performance of corporate

• The sidelines are crowded — it’s time to show up for yourself

A good life does not need to look impressive

There is a version of the “good life” that photographs well. 📸

It looks so damn good on camera.

It involves exciting plans, new restaurants, maybe catching flights not feelings, a busy social calendar, and enough milestones to make every catch-up feel like you have something life-altering to report.

It’s not necessarily fake…it’s just the version that is easiest to show.

The quieter parts of a good life are harder to capture: the routine you look forward to, the home you feel good returning to, and the ordinary moments that make your days feel like your own.

Those things may not sound impressive when someone asks, “What’s new?” But that doesn’t make them any less meaningful.

I think that is part of the reason people are responding so strongly to creators who leave a little more real life in the picture—the ones who admit their quirks, share some of the mess, and find beauty in the everyday.

I don’t think this means we need to share every hard or unflattering moment online. If you know me, you know I have strict boundaries about what I share.

But there needs to be a balance between the content we consume and the realities we actually live.

Showing up authentically does not require giving everyone unlimited access to you.

I think about this a lot as someone who shares parts of my life online. Sure, it can look perfect, but at the same time, it’s only one, very small part of my day. A blip.

You don’t have to be everywhere to be visible

There is so much pressure, especially for ambitious women, to make it look like we are always progressing. We should be working toward something, improving something, or preparing for whatever comes next.

Corporate life can reinforce that pressure. For a long time, I thought being ambitious meant being seen everywhere. You attended the event, joined the conversation, and stayed available so people knew you were serious about your career.

And honestly, I still believe visibility matters. People cannot advocate for work they do not know you are doing. But I have learned that being visible does not require being everywhere.

You can choose the rooms that matter and speak up when you have something worth adding. You can build real relationships without treating every conversation like a networking assignment.

I think about my content the same way. I share a lot of my life, but I also know what stays mine. I want to show up consistently without feeling like I need to perform every part of my day.

That is what resonates with me about so-called “cozy creators.” Top of mind since it’s almost cozy season again. YAY! Cozy creators are not hiding from the world. They are showing up on their own terms and building communities around lives that do not need to look louder, busier, or more impressive to be valuable.

The same can be true of your career. You can make your work visible without turning your entire life into proof of your ambition.

Not everyone wants a life that keeps getting bigger. Believe it or not, some of us just want one that feels good to come home to.

A smarter way to stay visible

Being visible online does not mean creating something completely new every day. In fact, treating every platform like it needs its own original idea is one of the fastest ways to make content creation feel unsustainable.

Most of the time, one strong idea can carry much further than you think. The key is adjusting it for the way people consume content on each platform instead of starting over every time:

1. Write out the full idea, then return to the hook. I usually get my thoughts down first and worry about the opening afterward. Once I know what I am actually trying to say, it is much easier to write a hook that pops.

2. Film one short-form video and share it wherever you regularly show up. For me, that includes Instagram, TikTok, YouTube Shorts, and LinkedIn. I am not creating a different video for each platform. I am giving the same idea more opportunities to reach people.

3. Use that script as the foundation for a LinkedIn text post. I might expand the point or change the phrasing slightly, but I am not rebuilding it from scratch. The video and written post can also run on different days, which gives the same idea another moment to connect.

4. Pull the hook out for Substack, Notes, and Threads. A strong opening can often stand on its own, especially when it introduces an opinion people want to respond to.

5. Turn the script into a deeper newsletter article. This is where I add the personal story, results, or context that could not fit into the shorter version.

That one script has now become at least five pieces of content. 🤯 I tend to think short-form first, but the same process works in reverse. You can start with a newsletter, podcast, or longer post and pull smaller pieces from it.

Repurposing is not about repeating yourself word for word but recognizing an idea strong enough to deserve more than one use.

A life you do not have to perform

The older I get, the more I realize how easy it is to confuse what looks good with what actually feels good. We notice the big moments because they are easier to explain, easier to celebrate, and much easier to post.

But the smaller things matter: the routine you look forward to, the home you feel good coming back to, and the parts of your life that may not sound exciting but still make your days feel like your own.

You do not have to stop wanting more. I just think it is worth asking whether the life you are building feels good to you, or only looks good from the outside. I should have held your hand when I said that last part. Sorry, friend.

Bye for now!

P.S I think the kinda chic trend on social is kinda chic..so here is my take.

Happy Monday! 🫶🏾

So, I started working on my thoughts on this from the airport in ATL and am finishing it the next day… also at the airport, but Philly this time.

My flight was diverted to Philly, so I spent the night in the City of Brotherly Love. This reminds me why I hate traveling for work. I know sh*t happens, you can’t predict the weather, and it’s show biz — but damn!

Every yes is a no to something else. And for me, that was spending the night in a random hotel I took an Uber to and prayed they had a room (because NO one answers the phone anymore!!) instead of tucking my baby in. Mom guilt is so real.

I did, however, meet someone on the way to ATL from Dayton who follows my content. I love running into people who enjoy my stuff out in the wild. It reminds me there are real people on the other side of the screen. Hey, teahmugsdraws on IG! 👋🏾

Back to Business

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I am not here to argue whether we should call it “personal brand,” “career brand,” “business brand,” or something else.

It doesn’t matter because at the end of the day, it is your business, and you need to own it.

A hill I will die on is hard work may get you results, but visibility gets you remembered.

And remembered people get the opportunities.

I know this because I lived it backwards. I spent years grinding behind the scenes — doing the work, knowing my stuff, showing up for people I cared about, working hard at my job — and practically nobody knew I existed. (OR maybe I was just easy to ignore.)

My work was effective but my visibility was non-existent. I was that person: good at what I did, terrible at letting anyone know about it.

Then something shifted. Not because I became more talented. Not because the algorithm finally blessed me. Not because I woke up with some magical new camera or editing software.

It shifted because I got visible. I started taking up more space inside my day job and outside of it.

Someone already needs what you know. But right now, they have no idea you exist yet. I always say what’s meant for you is for you BUT what if it can’t find YOU?

The Lies Keeping You Quiet

Before we go further, I want to address the specific thoughts that have probably kept you from pressing “post” a hundred times.

The Thought: “I have nothing unique to say.”
The Truth: Nobody has lived your exact experience. Nobody.

The Thought: “I need to figure it all out first.”
The Truth: People follow journeys, not finished experts. Your audience is either walking the same path you’re on today or following one you’ve already traveled. Either way, you can speak from a place of genuine understanding.

The Thought:“People at work will judge me.”
The Truth: Some will. But the right people will remember you.

The Thought: “Someone already said it better.”
The Truth: Nobody has said it like you would say it.

The gap between thinking “I should share this” and actually sharing is where everything lives. Shorten the gap between thinking & doing.

Three Things Actually Changed for Me

When I finally decided to show up consistently and strategically, I built a framework around three things:

Share That's A Monday Me Problem

• Clarity. I got crystal clear on what I actually believe in and who I’m really talking to. (Spoiler: it’s not everyone.)

• Consistency. I stopped waiting for inspiration to strike and started treating visibility like a skill — something I could practice and get better at.

• Sticky. I figured out how to be memorable — not through trying harder, but through repetition and actually letting people feel seen in what I shared.

Those three things are what turned showing up online from something that felt like performance into something that felt like connection.

And connection is where the real opportunities come from.

My favorite tool for creating graphics: Adobe Express

I am not a graphic designer and can sometimes get overwhelmed by the process of creating graphics for social carousels, my newsletter, and all the other places I show up.

I’m an #AdobeExpressPartner because it helped me to shorten the gap between thinking and doing and saved me so much time.

When I was creating my designs, I decided to start with AI Assistant to pull together my initial drafts because Adobe Express creates production ready content with AI-powered workflows and access to so many assets.

The best part is that it's completely customizable. I swapped in my own colors, fonts, and branding, so it actually felt like me.

That ended up being a lifesaver because I was scrambling to pull together assets for a personal branding workshop I wanted to host. I had the idea, but I definitely didn’t have the time. (If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s giving myself ambitious deadlines.)

Adobe Express closed that gap.

More than 120 people attended over two days, and by the time I was ready to promote it, all of my marketing materials were already done, thanks to Adobe Express.

Stay tuned for my next workshop & try AI Assistant in Adobe Express for yourself and REPORT back here on what you build.

Reality check:

You’re not failing because you’re not smart enough or talented enough. You’re being left out of opportunities because the people who could help you, collaborate with you, or hire you simply don’t know you exist yet.

That’s the problem visibility solves.

And when it comes to your career, it’s arguably the only problem that is actually worth solving.

Spend five minutes on LinkedIn or TikTok, and you’ll find no shortage of people telling you the signs it’s time to quit your job. Toxic manager? Leave. Burned out? Leave. No promotion in sight? Definitely leave.

And while a lot of that advice is valid, it also makes career decisions seem a lot more straightforward than they usually are.

This week’s problem is about the kind of career decision where there aren’t any obvious red flags. You genuinely enjoy your job, believe in the work you’re doing, and then a new opportunity comes along that makes you rethink everything.

The situation:

I’ve spent the last several years building a program in higher education that I truly believe in. I love the mission, I’m proud of the reputation I’ve built, and I can see the incredible potential for where this work is headed. But I’ve recently been offered a fully remote role with another organization that comes with significantly higher pay, greater flexibility, and opportunities to grow my career on a national level. My head says take the new job, but my heart keeps wondering if I’ll regret walking away from something I’ve poured so much of myself into. How do you walk away from work you genuinely love without feeling like you’re making a mistake?

My advice:

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Whether you’re burned out, you’re questioning your career, or you’re simply annoyed that your free time is over, it all gets labeled the same thing. Now, the Sunday Scaries are synonymous with this giant, ambiguous umbrella term that feels too definitive and consuming.

The problem is that not every version of Sunday dread is trying to tell you the same thing. Sometimes, it’s completely normal. Others, it’s trying to get your attention.

And if you can’t tell the difference, it’s easy to either overreact to something temporary or ignore something that’s been making you miserable for much longer.

TL;DR 👀

• What a Sunday reset looks like to me

• Managers make or break your job

• Monday is a good day to remember you’re more than your career

Not all Sunday Scaries are trying to tell you the same thing

I think there are two kinds of Sunday Scaries.

The first is the very normal, very human realization that the weekend is almost over, and you would simply prefer that it wasn’t.

You were finally getting into it. Maybe you slept in, saw your friends, stayed out too late, binged watched Love Island, hung out with your kids, or spent most of the day doing absolutely nothing.

Then, Sunday evening shows up with its little attitude 🙄, reminding you that tomorrow comes with alarms, calendars, and people asking if you “have a quick minute.”

I think that would bring out anxiety for anyone.

But that doesn’t mean you hate your job. It just might mean you like having control over your own time. (I mean, we’re only human, right?)

I think we forget that sometimes we’ve attached so much meaning to the Sunday Scaries that one bad mood at 6 p.m. can turn into a full career crisis by bedtime.

Suddenly, you’re on LinkedIn searching for jobs you don’t even want because you had the audacity to enjoy your weekend.

…But then there’s the other kind. 😬 The one that starts earlier. You can feel your mood change as soon as Sunday morning hits.

You remember the manager who leaves you questioning yourself, the workload that’s been unsustainable for months, or the role you’ve outgrown but aren’t sure how to leave. You are not wishing the weekend were longer because you had such a wonderful time. You are trying to delay whatever is waiting for you on the other side of it.

This is the Sunday Scaries that deserves a closer look.

I know this because I’ve experienced both.

There were jobs where I thought I had the Sunday Scaries, but what I really had was a great weekend. Monday rolled around, I got back into my routine, and by lunchtime, I was completely fine.

Yet, there was also a point in my career where no amount of rest changed the feeling of resistance and apprehension. I could have taken the best vacation of my life, and by Sunday afternoon, that knot in my stomach was back. I knew I was walking into another week where everyone was trying to stay on the right side of one toxic leader.

Decisions weren’t about doing great work anymore. They were about navigating criticism, being overloaded with work for my role, and figuring out which version of expectations we’d be held to that day. It was exhausting.

Looking back, I wish I had paid attention sooner.

The hard part is that both versions can sound the same in your head: I don’t want to go to work tomorrow.

So be real with yourself…is tomorrow just inconvenient, or does it feel heavy in a way you can’t talk yourself down from? Are you irritated that your free time is ending, or have you spent the entire weekend trying not to think about Monday?

I think this is where we get ourselves into trouble. We assume all Sunday Scaries require the same solution. (Spoiler alert: They don’t!)

The answer could be as simple as better boundaries. Or, it might take having a hard conversation or finally admitting you’ve stayed somewhere longer than you should have. But yeah, there are totally those times when you simply had a weekend that you didn’t want to end.

These are different problems that can require more than a Sunday reset routine and a cute new planner. At the same time, I don’t think every moment of Sunday dread needs to become a sign from the universe.

Sometimes the weekend was good, and you’re sad it’s over. That’s allowed.

The goal is not to become so obsessed with your career that Monday feels more exciting than the life you get to live when you’re off the clock. I actually hope there are Sundays when you would rather keep doing whatever you were doing than open your laptop the next morning.

The question is whether you’re holding out against the end of something good, or the beginning of something that has been making you miserable.

Because one kind of Sunday Scary means you need another day, the other might mean you need a change. So which one is it?

See you at Creator Economy Live East

If you’ve been waiting for a sign to stop treating your personal brand like a “someday” project, this is it.

I’ll be speaking at Creator Economy Live East in New York City on July 29. The New York Marriott Marquis will be the home base for hundreds of marketers, creators, agencies, and brands that are coming together to talk about what’s actually working in the creator economy right now.

I’ll be joining creators and brand leaders for a live conversation called “The Perfect Brief? What Do Brands and Creators Want?“

We’ll get into what actually makes a campaign brief work, where brands and creators tend to miss each other, and how to create partnerships that protect both authenticity and business goals.

If you’re a creator who’s ever wondered why a campaign felt impossible to execute — or you’re a brand trying to understand why your best briefs still fall flat — I think you’ll enjoy this debate.

📍 New York Marriott Marquis on The Growth Stage

🗓️ Wednesday, July 29

⏰ 4:00–4:30 PM ET

If you’re attending, come say hi after the session! I’d love to meet you.

So...what is your Sunday trying to tell you?

The older I get, the more I realize that paying attention is a skill: paying attention to what energizes you, what drains you, and what you’ve started calling “normal.” Most big career decisions don’t begin with certainty but with finally noticing a pattern.

You don’t have to have the answer today. But I do think you owe it to yourself to ask the question before another Sunday rolls around.

Bye for now!

No, but really, I have a feeling a lot of us have left a meeting lately and wondered if we somehow missed the important part. Everyone else is nodding, the slides keep moving, and somehow you’re left with more questions than answers.

It’s not that you don’t understand the words being said, but nobody has connected the dots between the big vision and the job you do every day.

This week’s submission reminded me just how exhausting that can be, especially when it comes to a big technological shift like AI.

The situation:

I work in an operational support role at a company that’s going all in on AI. My team has been given very little direction on how we’re supposed to support that shift, and recent planning meetings left us with more questions than answers. The only clear directive was to take on more work than we can realistically accomplish, so AI becomes a “forcing function” to increase productivity, and then find metrics to prove it’s working. It feels like the conclusion has already been decided, and we’re being asked to justify it while potentially automating parts of our own jobs. Morale is low, everyone feels directionless, and I’m struggling to stay motivated. How do you navigate a workplace where leadership seems more focused on proving AI’s value than giving people a clear purpose?

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Because I don’t think the hardest part of today’s job market is AI, layoffs, or even figuring out what comes next. I believe it’s letting go of the version of success so many of us spent years working toward.

I don’t think enough people talk about what it’s like to spend years working toward a version of success that just never existed for us Millennials. We chased the corporate job, sacrificed everything for office culture, and waited for the next rung on the ladder.

But recently we came to the stark realization that maybe the ladder wasn’t the only path. And I don’t know if we’ve really stopped to acknowledge how that feels.

TL;DR 👀

• Not wanting to climb the corporate ladder isn’t giving up

• Success needs a little bit of delusion

• Some opportunities will never be yours

The careers we were promised don’t exist anymore

I think a lot of millennials are still measuring ourselves against a career we were promised but never actually got.

We were told the path was pretty straightforward: get the degree, land the corporate job, work hard, and climb the ladder.

For a while, I thought every decision I made had to fit that story. If it didn’t, I assumed I’d somehow gotten off track.

Now I’m not so sure there was ever a track to begin with.

The version of success we grew up chasing was built for a different world. Companies were places you stayed for decades and where loyalty was actually rewarded. You could reasonably expect that if you worked hard enough, the next promotion would come. It wasn’t a guarantee, but it wasn’t an unrealistic expectation either.

Then Millennials (and Gen-Z) entered the workforce.

Suddenly, the companies we thought we’d build careers at were doing layoffs. Roles, teams, and entire departments disappeared overnight. Industries transformed faster than anyone could’ve predicted, especially with AI.

Changing jobs every few years stopped being a red flag and started becoming... normal. (And I’ve even argued in this very newsletter before that it’s where you’ll see your most significant pay raises.)

I don’t think enough of us have acknowledged how much mental whiplash that created. We spent years trying to force our careers into a shape that the working world itself had already abandoned.

When I wanted to get off the corporate ladder, I wished I had someone to tell me, “There’s nothing wrong with you.” Honestly, I was terrified of what people would think, and I was disappointed in myself for feeling that way. But my aspiration to climb died after years of putting my job first, saying yes to everything, and getting passed over for things I was breaking my back for.

Maybe that’s why I don’t really believe in “getting off track” anymore. The track assumed there was only one destination. Most of us are building careers in a world where the destination keeps changing. The people who seem to thrive are the ones who stayed curious long enough to recognize a new opportunity when it showed up.

If you’d told twenty-two-year-old me what my career would look like today, I don’t think I would’ve believed you. Featured in Forbes, creating content FT, partnering with brands, and building a business weren’t even on my radar.

And I don’t think I’m the exception anymore.

More people are building portfolio careers rather than climbing a single ladder. They’re consulting, freelancing, taking on fractional roles, launching newsletters, advising startups, or leaving corporate only to come back later in a completely different capacity. Starting over at 35 or even 45 isn’t viewed the way it used to be.

It’s just the way the job market is now. Some of us will spend our entire careers at one company. Others will have five careers in one lifetime. Neither is more “right” than the other.

The career we were promised isn’t the one most of us ended up with.

But maybe that’s left room for something even better: a career we get to define for ourselves.

Speaking of building a career on your own terms...

One thing I’ve learned is that in today’s job market, doing great work and making that work visible go hand in hand. The old advice was to keep your head down and let your work speak for itself.

Today, there are more opportunities for people who make their expertise easy to find.

That’s exactly why I’m hosting Camp Visible, a live lunch-and-learn this week. We’ll talk about finding the through-line that connects your experience, what to actually post (without spending hours creating content), and how to build a reputation that opens doors.

Whether you’re growing inside your company, exploring something on the side, or just trying to figure out what’s next, I’d love to see you there.

🗓️Date: Wednesday, July 15th OR Saturday, July 18th
⏰Time: 12 PM EST

Prioritize Your Visibility

Success looks different now

The careers we’re building may not look the way we imagined in our early 20s, but that doesn’t make them any less meaningful. If anything, it’s taught us that there’s more than one way to build a life you’re proud of.

And if that ain’t a word, I don’t know what is.

Until next week! 👋🏿

So let’s waste no time getting into this week’s submission. It’s for everybody who’s ever typed a resignation letter, deleted it, retyped it, and then stared at the send button like it owed them money.

Because deciding to leave is one thing, but actually walking out is a whole different skill. Let’s chat through it.

The situation:

I joined a small nonprofit less than a year ago, and in that time, we’ve experienced significant turnover to the point where I’ll soon be one of the most senior people on staff. The environment has felt increasingly unstable, and the leadership dynamic isn’t a healthy fit for me. There’s a blurring of professional boundaries — one minute I’m told I’m special, and the next I’m too young to know anything — and my input is often dismissed despite my education and background in this field. Even though I care about the mission, I’ve realized the situation is taking a real toll on me, and I’ve decided it’s time to move on. How do I resign in a way that’s professional, clean, and protects my peace?

My advice:

Let me start here: When you’ve been somewhere less than a year, and you’re about to be one of the most senior people on staff? Girl. That building has a revolving door for a reason, and I need you to trust what it’s telling you. Now, this boss. The “you’re special” talk followed by “you’re too young to know anything”... whew. I’ve seen this before! Hot and cold like that keeps you off balance and working overtime for approval that never actually comes around. And no paycheck covers the cost of chasing it.

But it seems like you’ve already made the right decision for your sanity. You said it yourself — you need to quit. Now, all we’re doing is making sure you walk out of there clean.

Here’s how:

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But this wasn’t always my reality. Before building a business around my own ideas, I was a middle manager. And if you’ve ever been one too, you might relate to what I’m about to say.

TL;DR 👀

• The mentor advice I wish I’d gotten sooner

• Job titles rarely tell the full story of what we actually do

• Is this really what it takes to get ahead at work?

Middle management was never just about management

Middle managers, are you out there?

It’s me, a former middle manager, and I think it’s time we have a chat.

No, really. Let’s talk about what we lose when we treat middle managers as an unnecessary layer, rather than the people who hold everything together.

And if you’ve ever sat in that role, you know the job description never tells the whole story.

Middle management means translating leadership’s vision — a new initiative, a reorg, or a last-minute priority shift — and figuring out what that actually looks like for real people with real workloads.

Honestly, that’s why I love the POV: You’re a Middle Manager, content I’ve been creating over the past year. It comes from a very real place.

If you’ve ever been a middle manager, you know that half the job is learning how to say what needs to be said without actually saying exactly what you mean.

Here are a few examples.

What we say:

“Let’s circle back on this.”

What we mean:

I need more information before I commit to anything on behalf of either side.

“I hear your concerns.”

What we mean:

I probably share some of them, but I also need to figure out how to move us forward.

“Let’s align offline.”

What we mean:

This conversation is about to go completely off the rails, and I would like to avoid that for everyone involved.

A lot of us learned how to manage up and down at the exact same time. We learned when to push, when to protect our teams, when to ask hard questions, and when to fix something before it became everyone’s problem.

We became translators, coaches, project managers, and sometimes unofficial therapists, all in the same week.

Maybe that’s why this conversation feels so relevant right now.

Gallup‘s latest workplace report found that manager engagement dropped from 30% to 27% in 2024, the largest decline of any employee group. Engagement among managers under 35 fell by 5 percentage points, and engagement among female managers dropped by 7 percentage points.

And yet, middle management has increasingly been framed as an unnecessary piece of the corporate puzzle. I understand the desire for flatter organizations. I mean, no one wants endless approval chains or meetings that could have been an email.

But I do wonder if we’ve started confusing bureaucracy with the people whose job was to connect strategy to execution.

Because somebody still has to answer the hard questions:

• What does this change actually mean for the team?

• What work gets deprioritized when a new priority shows up?

• How do we communicate difficult decisions in a way that builds trust instead of resentment?

So, if you’re a middle manager wondering whether all those years in the middle still matter, here’s my reminder: They do.

You learned how to influence without formal authority and navigate ambiguity. You even learned how to build trust with people who wanted very different things.

The org chart might change, but those skills you’ve acquired never go away. If anything, they’re becoming more valuable than ever.

What we’ll always carry with us

Maybe that’s the bigger lesson in all of this: Our titles were never the most important thing about us in the first place.

That’s actually why I was so excited to be featured in a recent Forbes essay by Alli Kushner, Your Employer Owns Your Title. It Doesn’t Own Your Credibility. It explores what it means to build a reputation and a career that exists beyond a single employer or job title.

Because the value was never just in the title, it was in what the role taught us and who it required us to become.

If today’s newsletter hit home, I think you’ll enjoy this one, too.

Check it out here

One more thing before you go

A job title can tell people where you sit on an org chart, but it says very little about the person you’ve become along the way.

To my middle managers: Thank you for keeping the trains running, translating the chaos, and somehow making everyone feel heard at the same time. Go Go Middle Manager (when you say it you must sing it to the Power Ranger theme song)

Enjoy the rest of your week, and I’ll see you next week for another issue of That’s a Monday Me Problem.

If anyone follows me on other platforms, you know I talk about bad bosses quite a bit. Some of the most trying (and significant) times of my career have been spent navigating a bad boss.

Let’s just say it out loud: Not every manager deserves to be a manager.

Most of us are taught that leadership problems can be solved with better communication, more feedback, or stronger relationships. Sometimes, that’s true.

But other times, the person above you is completely disorganized, changing direction constantly, doesn’t understand how the work gets done, and creates more problems than they solve. When that happens, middle managers often become translators, therapists, and damage control specialists all at once.

The situation:

I manage a small team, and for the past year, my boss has constantly changed direction, assigned work that doesn’t belong to our group, and thrown projects at us with little clarity on ownership or priorities.I’ve done my best to shield my team from most of it, but it’s left me working long hours and feeling completely overwhelmed.

Recently, my team sat me down and told me that I’ve seemed stressed and unavailable lately. They also said something I’ve been thinking about for a while: My boss doesn’t seem to understand who is responsible for what, and the constant shifts in direction are making everyone’s jobs harder.

The frustrating part is that they’re right. So how do you manage when your boss is the source of the confusion, and how do you keep leading your team without losing your mind in the process?

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A quick note on social media and why this series even exists — I saw a trend, recognized the opportunity, and instead of sitting on it, I just moved.

I don’t know who needs to hear this, but the distance between where you are and where you want to be is mostly just hesitation. Close that gap. Stop waiting until it’s perfect or until you feel ready. The moment you start acting on ideas instead of just having them, everything changes.

Anyways today, I wanted to take a breather, sit down, and talk to you about what my vision of success used to look like. I used to think I had to be the loudest person in the room to be effective, with the best ideas, fastest comebacks, and the ability to command attention just by speaking.

And you know what? It wasn’t until I learned to shut the f*ck up that I actually started to understand how power really works in corporate spaces

TL;DR 👀

• Silence can sometimes be golden

• Letting go of others’ perception of you

• It’s okay to believe in yourself (and other big sis career advice)

Silence is actually a power move

I used to think speaking up meant you had something important to say.

But in corporate, I learned quickly that’s not necessarily the case — people talk just to talk all of the time.

Tbh, one of the biggest life lessons I learned in my 30s was how to shut the fuck up, and it completely changed how I show up in any room.

As an Aries, it was hard to accept that not every moment needed my opinion, not every silent moment needed to be filled, and not every conversation needed my input, advice, or final two cents.

I was the girl who finished sentences, opened conversations when they were already closed, gave advice nobody asked for, and tried to put a bow on every discussion.

I thought it was me staying engaged, showing I cared.

But knowing when NOT to speak is one of the most important career skills you can develop.

Reading a room is a superpower. It means truly understanding the power dynamics and the unspoken tension of who actually holds influence. Sometimes, the most strategic thing you can do is sit back and observe. It lets the room show you exactly what it is before you decide where you stand.

When I got quieter, I started hearing people out, instead of just planning my next response. I could feel the room’s energy change because I stopped needing to be the one steering it.

It’s like when you’re driving to find someone’s house, and need to turn the music down to hear the GPS. The moment you stop the noise, everything becomes clearer. You can actually navigate rather than just assume you know the way.

The quieter I got, the more I understood which rooms were actually for me. And more importantly, which people deserved my energy and which ones didn’t. Once I figured that out, I stopped treating silence like a personal failure and feeling like I had to earn my seat at the table by talking the loudest.

If you’re someone who gets nervous in silence and feels like you need to fill the space to prove you belong, here’s what I want you to do:

Start by noticing the urge to speak without shaming yourself for having it. I used to feel panicked every time silence was about to happen. But I learned that noticing the panic and acting on it were two different things. One is an observation, while the other is a choice.

Next, pause for a few seconds before you respond. This is harder than it sounds, especially if you’re someone who fills space out of nervous energy. Yet, those few seconds are where you digest what someone’s really saying before you decide whether or not you really need to respond at all.

If you’re genuinely interested in adding your opinion after that, focus on making people feel heard when you speak up. This helps them to feel like you’re not simply waiting for your turn to talk.

For me, the biggest change came when I could finally tell the difference between speaking up because I had something valuable to add versus speaking up. After all, the silence was the deafening part. This one took me the longest to figure out, but once I could tell the difference, I only spoke when my opinion was needed.

Otherwise, my lips were zipped.

The benefits showed up almost immediately.

I had fewer misunderstandings with colleagues and also developed deeper relationships with the people who mattered. I’d finally stopped performing for the room (and appeasing my social anxiety). And counterintuitively, I felt like I had more influence, not less.

When you choose when to speak, people actually listen when you’re talking. You’re no longer adding noise to every conversation, but you’re contributing something intentional and valuable.

I won’t pretend it was easy. It felt uncomfortable as hell at first. But it fundamentally changed how I move through my career and professional relationships. Maybe — just maybe — it can do the same for you.

This or That

• Get public praise, or get a surprise bonus? The Roxy 10 years ago probably would have said the first, but at this big age, you know I am going to take the money, honey. I have a baby now, and they’re expensive (and worth every penny)!

• Be right, or be understood? I don’t need to be right every time because, as headstrong as I can be, I want to learn from my mistakes. I think it’s harder, and ultimately more valuable, to be understood. It just takes a lot of vulnerability and patience, but I think it’s worth the effort.

• Confidence, or competence? Not to cop out, but I’d say a mix of both — maybe, heavier on the competence side. Sure, confidence gets you noticed, but competence keeps you employed. Remember, confidence without competence is always exposed eventually.

Know when you need to be heard

Silence terrifies people. Most can’t sit with it because it means facing their insecurities.

Because the ones who can stop proving themselves to people don’t deserve their energy, they can just exist authentically as themselves. Then, suddenly, everyone’s listening.

Now don’t forget to save a plate for me from your family BBQ 👀, and I will see you next week for another issue of That’s a Monday Me Problem.

Hey everyone.

Today’s issue is pretty serious, so let’s just get into it.

When sexual assault happens at work, employers have clear legal obligations. Once someone in a supervisory role is alerted to allegations, the company has a duty to promptly take steps to end the harassment and protect the worker from further sexual harassment and retaliation.

But when a direct report actually comes forward and reports sexual assault, and the company chooses silence (or the bare minimum) over action, the people manager becomes the buffer between a traumatized employee and the organization. They are left to support the employee, manage the situation, and navigate the fallout, but I have a lot of thoughts about this unhealthy dynamic.

Read more

Hi, I’m Roxy! Welcome to That’s a Monday Me Problem, where I write for corporate millennials going through the messy middle and personal brand building as career insurance.

Y’all - My case of the Mondays started last week when I started feeling sick. One of my follower friends said it best, “It should be illegal for moms to get sick.” 🤧 Amen!

And I’m convinced urgent care is not a real place OR maybe it’s just a genius concept. I was in and out in minutes with a diagnosis and 3 prescriptions. Now we just pray that this, in fact, fixes my issues. 🤣 (upper respiratory & an eye infection in case you were curious)

Anyways, switching gears here. Let’s talk about something that’s been on my mind since the day I realized a company and a title didn’t define me.

Your credibility is your currency.

As your career grows, opportunities start showing up in places they didn’t before: new projects, new speaking engagements, and new requests for your time.

Most people assume growth comes from saying yes to more of them. But in reality, the people who build lasting careers are usually the ones who become more selective over time.

TL;DR 👀

• The messy part of betting on yourself

• Letting go of the idea that “this is just what it takes to get ahead”

• Confessions of a former corporate high performer

Saying yes is costing professionals more than they think

One thing I’ve learned over the years is that credibility is built just as much by what you say “no” to as what you say “yes” to.

When opportunities start coming your way, the hardest part is deciding which ones align with where you want to be.

It’s easy to convince yourself that every opportunity is a good opportunity. But every yes communicates something about what you value and what you want to be known for. (As a creator, I think the same is true for things like brand partnerships.)

The challenge is that saying yes often feels productive in the moment, while saying no feels like you’re leaving something on the table.

Whether you’re building a personal brand, leading a team, growing a business, or advancing your career, trust is one of the few assets that compounds over time.

Once people trust your judgment, opportunities tend to follow. But once they stop trusting it, no amount of success can replace that loss.

At the end of the day, the best opportunities reinforce who you already are, instead of forcing you to be someone else.

That’s become one of my biggest filters when evaluating my own opportunities, in corporate and now as a creatorpreneur. Before I say yes to something, I ask myself whether it aligns with the expertise I’ve built and the value I want to provide.

My recent brand deal with Amazon is a perfect example. Because of my background in e-commerce merchandising, A+ Content — Amazon’s tool that lets sellers enhance product pages with images, videos, comparison charts, and detailed descriptions — made sense to my brand as a corporate influencer.

I am selective in the brands I work with because I want that content to feel as natural and engaging as the content I make for free.

Don’t get it twisted, though — being selective doesn’t mean waiting around. It means being strategic.

You need to stop treating every opportunity as something you’re supposed to accept, and start treating it as something you’re supposed to evaluate.

Before I say yes, I usually run a quick gut check:

• Does this align with what I want to be known for — or pull me off course?

• Am I saying yes because it fits, or because I don’t want to miss out?

• Does this strengthen my credibility, or dilute it?

Most people lose credibility through a pattern of saying yes to things that don’t quite fit or reflect what they actually want to be known for.

Your credibility is the only currency that matters.

Guard it like your career depends on it. Because it does.

The line you don’t cross

Opportunities come and go.

What doesn’t change is how people experience you — whether they feel like you’re adding value or just taking up space.

Saying yes is easy. Knowing when not to isn’t.

The professionals making big moves are the ones who stayed consistent in what they stood for, even when it would’ve been easier not to.

That’s it for now! I’ll be back next week as always for another edition of That’s a Monday Me Problem.

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