Finding My Voice (and Inviting You to Find Yours)

When I was little, my mom was my hero — and she still is.

How could she not be? She was strong, incredibly smart, generous, and took care of us. Until she married the man I would come to call “Dad,” she was a single mom raising two very headstrong kids. But we always had what we needed. She made sure of it.

My dad was more of a dreamer. He was the quintessential entrepreneur — always tinkering, always chasing the next big idea. He could fix anything and believed he could build anything. And in his own way, he did. When I was ten and wanted to learn to play piano, he traded something (I don’t remember what) for an old upright from a buddy. When we needed more space in the house, he didn’t hire anyone — he built another room.

But it was my mom who made things work. She was the responsible one, the one who provided stability. Naturally, I thought that’s who I needed to become.

So I got good grades. Worked multiple jobs in high school. Made detailed plans for my future.

I chased that perfect image of success — the corporate professional who was also the cookie-baking mom and the ever-reliable partner. I was determined to have it all and do it all, in the most responsible, “check-all-the-boxes” kind of way.

Fast forward a few decades, and my list of “accomplishments” looked a little different than I’d imagined: a failed marriage (or two), leaving the military after 11.5 years instead of retiring at 20, and moving back in with my parents with a four-year-old in tow.

Not exactly the shining example of responsibility I’d planned to be — but still, I kept trying to fit into that box.

I found a job at a local community foundation and quickly became a manager. This time, I told myself, I’d get it right.

Then my dad died.

And it rocked me to the core.

Like so many do after losing someone suddenly, I realized that tomorrow isn’t guaranteed. When I looked at who I was trying so hard to be — versus who I really was — it hit me that I’d been stealing my best years from myself, my family, and my community.

It took time to find my voice again. But I did.
And I found it through community.

Being surrounded by other women leaders — women who were also figuring out their paths, questioning expectations, and learning to trust themselves — gave me courage. It reminded me that I wasn’t alone.

And in that space of support and shared growth… I started a business.

If you’d asked me 15 years ago what I thought about entrepreneurship, I would’ve told you entrepreneurs were brave — but irresponsible. That it was a luxury for people who already had stability or money to fall back on. It was definitely not something I thought was for me.

But my mom — she would tell you a different story.

She’d tell you about a little girl who sold ice cubes to wedding guests for five cents each.
She’d tell you about that same girl riding in her dad’s yellow taxi, charming the passengers so much that she’d get the tip instead of him.

She’d tell you about a young woman who dreamed in vivid colors — who could see her future so clearly that you couldn’t help but see it, too.

She’d tell you that her daughter was a dreamer. A connector. An entrepreneur.

And she’d tell you how proud she is that her daughter finally leads in a way that’s true to her authentic self.

So, why am I sharing this with you?

Because while my story is mine, I know parts of it might sound familiar to you.
Maybe you’ve been playing it safe instead of taking the leap you know in your heart is calling you.
Maybe you’ve been wearing a mask to meet everyone else’s expectations — as a mom, a leader, a partner, a friend.

Here’s what I’ve learned:
You don’t have to do it alone.

In the Alma community, you have a space where you can explore who you’re becoming — not who you think you should be. Whether that’s through a conversation at the Luminary Conference, a quiet moment on retreat, or a deep dive in the Luminary Mastermind circle, you’ll find women who will walk beside you, challenge you, and remind you of your brilliance when you forget.

It’s where courage is contagious.
Where leadership looks like authenticity.
And where your story — just as it is — belongs.

If you’re ready to reconnect with that part of yourself that’s been whispering “there’s more,” come join us.

You don’t have to find your voice alone.