Every Role Informed the Other (Nothing Was Wasted)

 

What I thought was a company to help others share their stories became a deeper realization—that I am the bet, perfectly packaged, with nothing to prove.

    When I look at my life now, I no longer see fragmentation. I see formation. What once felt like too many roles, too many pauses, and too many pivots now reads as preparation. Mother, educator, writer, believer, survivor, each role shaped the next. None of them existed in isolation, and none of them were accidental.

    Being a mother taught me patience long before I ever named it as leadership. It taught me how to listen beneath words, how to respond instead of react, how to keep showing up even when I was tired. Being an educator sharpened my ability to translate complex ideas into language people can actually receive. Writing became the place where I processed what I couldn’t yet say out loud. Faith taught me how to trust seasons that didn’t make sense while I was living them and that all things work together for my good.

    Then came the roles I never asked for but still had to inhabit, patient, survivor, griever. Illness slowed me down in ways productivity never could. Recovery forced me to confront my limits. Grief stripped away any illusion of control. And still, even those roles informed the others. They deepened my compassion. They clarified my voice. They reshaped how I understand leadership, not as authority over others, but as stewardship of truth.

    At the time, it didn’t feel purposeful. It felt disruptive. Inconvenient. Like I was falling behind while everyone else was moving forward. But distance has a way of revealing design. What once felt like interruption now feels like instruction. The pauses weren’t gaps, they were classrooms. The lessons learned are invaluable. 

    This is why I no longer believe in wasted seasons. The work I do now is stronger because of everything that came before it. I can sit with people in uncertainty because I’ve lived there. I know fully the pain of rejection and what it's like to become ill and have to solely depend on others. I can guide others through storytelling because I’ve had to find language for my own becoming. I can lead without rushing because my life has taught me the cost of forcing outcomes.

    So when I say I am perfectly packaged, I don’t mean finished. I mean integrated. I mean whole. I mean I no longer need to separate who I’ve been from who I am becoming. The throughline was always there. I just couldn’t see it until I stopped trying to edit my life and started honoring it.