A story about leadership, burnout, and what actually creates clarity.

If you’ve ever lost someone, you know how grief works. It doesn’t arrive politely; it crashes in like a wave. Heavy, unrelenting, knocking the wind out of you before you even realize what’s happening.

In April 2019, when my nephew was stillborn, that wave hit all of us.
It wasn’t just grief for the baby we would never get to know, it was watching my family walk through an ache I couldn’t fix.
And in that moment, I felt the weight of something I couldn’t shake:
if life can end before it begins, what am I doing with mine?

That question pulled everything into focus. I realized that while I wasn’t absent from my family, I also wasn’t fully present. Have you ever assumed there would always be more time? Or said to yourself, “after the next project”, “after the next milestone”?

Grief stripped away that illusion. It made me see how easy it is, in leadership and in life, to let the people who matter most get what’s left of you instead of the best of you.

Not your family. Not your team. Not your colleagues. Not even yourself.

That realization left me unsettled, with more questions than answers. What version of success had I been chasing? How did I want to lead—not just at work, but at home, and in my own life? I didn’t know exactly what I was looking for, but I knew I needed space to sort through it all.

So I did what any sensible person would do after an existential crisis, and I booked a European vacation…JUST KIDDING!

I chose something infinitely more difficult and signed up for a transformation leadership course. The third in a series, actually. At the time I was still leading HR at PepsiCo and I knew from experience that when life cracks you open, you don’t always need a change of scenery—you need a change of perspective.

People always ask what the “magic” of HILS is. And it does feel like magic, because something shifts in you that’s hard to explain. But when I look back, I realize the magic wasn’t in some secret formula. It was in the pauses. The stillness. The moments of slowing down enough to actually hear myself.

And for me, that came alive in one meditation I’ll never forget.
When we were guided to start, I went in with a very clear intention: find myself.
And since I wasn’t new to meditation, I thought, perfect, I’ll figure this out in thirty minutes and be good to go. Wrong.

At first, there was nothing. Just darkness. In an effort to find myself I started naming who I thought I was. The good mom. The capable leader. The person who had it all together. But instead of calm, each label felt heavier—like pulling on clothes that didn’t quite fit. The more I reached for an identity, the tighter the grip became.

And for a moment, I panicked—what if I couldn’t find myself at all? What if there was nothing there?

Eventually, I had no choice but to let go.
The tightness softened, the silence stretched out.
And in that stillness, something unexpected began to take shape.

First impressions, then faces—familiar and grounding. My mentors. Close friends. My husband, Ryan. My daughters. One by one, they filled my mind’s eye, gently surrounding me. And the moment of clarity came: the answers I was chasing weren’t meant to come from me alone. They were always meant to be found in connection.

I know that might sound a little “woo” but science backs it up.
When we slow down deeply, our brain waves shift from the busy beta state into alpha and theta—the same states linked to intuition, creativity, and insight. And in that space, when we stop forcing clarity, clarity actually finds us.
The realization wasn’t about who I was supposed to be—it was about remembering I was never meant to do this alone.

Too often, we think leadership is about carrying it all, proving we have the answers, or being the one to hold everything together. But real leadership is the opposite. It’s creating enough space—within ourselves and with others—for connection to do its work. When we show up open instead of armored, we don’t just lead differently, we live differently.

And in true leadership fashion, I’ll share a metaphor to drive the point home
(because what’s a good leadership story without one, right?):

Think of the redwoods—some of the tallest trees on Earth, stretching over 300 feet into the sky. You’d expect roots at least that deep to hold them steady, but here’s the twist: their roots only sink about 6 to 12 feet into the ground. On their own, they’d topple.

The secret to their strength is underground: their roots spread outward, intertwining with the trees around them, creating a vast web that holds the entire forest upright. That’s leadership. That’s life. We don’t stand tall because of our own roots alone.

We stand because we’re connected—because we allow others to hold us steady.

So, what do you do with that truth, right now, outside of a program like HILS-3? You start with community. Not just professional networks, not just colleagues but the web of people who show up for you, and who you show up for in return.

For me, that looks like a mom community willing to pick up my daughter when she’s sick, a coaching community that reminds me of my impact when I doubt myself, a PTA community that steps in so no one carries the load alone, a work community that challenges and inspires me daily, and a family that has my back through every transition. Each of these is a root system that keeps me steady.

But I’ll be honest—there were seasons when I didn’t have that. I moved every few years to grow in my career—new roles, new responsibilities, the next step forward. It left me feeling isolated and convinced that I had to figure it all out on my own. If that’s where you are, you’re not alone. And it doesn’t mean you can’t build it. Start small. Reach out to one person. Join one group. Take one step toward connection. Community doesn’t arrive overnight, but every act of reaching out is a root extending to intertwine with another.

Key Leadership Takeaways

1. Presence over performance: It’s easy to give our families, our teams, and even ourselves what’s left of us instead of the best of us. Leaders must pause long enough to notice when they’re running on empty—because exhaustion doesn’t just cost you at home, it diminishes your impact at work.
2. Strength is shared, not solo: Like redwoods, the tallest trees in the world, leaders don’t stand tall because of deep roots alone. They endure because their roots intertwine with others. True leadership means building and leaning on connection with your teams, peers, and communities.
3. Clarity requires space: Answers rarely come from forcing. Whether through meditation, reflection, or intentional stillness, slowing down creates the conditions for clarity and insight. Leaders who carve out this space make better decisions and lead more authentically.
4. Community is the antidote to burnout: Isolation fuels burnout at every level of leadership. Building a network of people who challenge, support, and steady you is not optional—it’s essential.

If you’re in a season where community feels out of reach, please don’t hesitate to reach out to me. I’d be honored to listen, to support you, or simply to be an ear. Because who we are at work is never separate from who we are at home. Leadership and life are intertwined—and we lead best when we remember we don’t have to do it alone.