Golden Threads

There's a golden thread that has run through my life; I just didn't always know it was there.

I started dancing and performing at age four. My childhood was built around costumes, stages, lights, sequins, auditions, audiences, competitions, and the steady rhythm of practice. Within that dedication was a dance studio, a close, joyful community where I felt seen and alive. Supporting us was also my Mom, who turned years of sewing our studio costumes into a full costume design and manufacturing business.

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Watching her navigate entrepreneurship in the 1980s filled me with pride. But running a manufacturing business is demanding, and her focus on her business pushed me toward early independence. I learned to figure things out on my own. That confidence carried me far, into college in another state, international travel, and work abroad. I forged my own path. But it also solidified into a habit of saying "I'm fine, I've got this" even when I didn't.

Two themes defined this chapter of my life. On stage, I felt whole, part of something bigger, surrounded by community and support. Off stage, I was the quietly ambitious student who wanted to lead. Year after year, I nominated myself for class president. During elections, we'd put our heads down on our desks and raise our hands to vote. Each time, I'd sit in the dark wondering: Does anyone believe in my leadership? Without ever winning, I eventually stopped raising my hand. I withdrew from leadership aspirations for more than a decade.

Instead, I poured myself into academics and later, my career. As dance faded, I chased the same sense of belonging and purpose through achievement. It worked, in some ways. I climbed into global people and operations management in my twenties. But the leaders around me didn't always model the kind of leader I wanted to be. The more I mimicked their style, the less like myself I felt. My independence kept me from asking for help, and quietly, I longed for support I didn't know how to accept.

I couldn't see the thread connecting all of this until 2019, when a leadership development retreat changed everything.

Through deep reflection and a framework called the Immunity to Change model, I found what my facilitator called "the gold in the shadow," the hidden beliefs and patterns that quietly shape our choices. The young dancer who felt alive on stage, the student who kept nominating herself for class president, the professional who worked hard but felt alone, they were all the same person, looking for the same thing. That retreat gave me permission to ask for help. It showed me that when you're ready for support, support shows up.

At the end of those three days, I made an unexpected commitment: to guide others through similar transitions. I started working with a coach and mentor. Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined leading that leadership training, yet three years later, I found myself presenting and guiding the same program. It is a testament to the transformative power of such a reflective and supportive space. Coaching offers that same kind of space, a trusted relationship where you can examine what's holding you back, reflect on your experiences, and move forward with more clarity.

Leadership, I've come to believe, isn't just about managing people or running organizations. It shows up in how we handle relationships, raise our families, show up in our communities, and relate to ourselves. Authentic leadership starts on the inside, with self-awareness, self-compassion, and a willingness to keep growing and seeking what is true.

That golden thread was always there. It runs through all of it, the dancer, the student, the manager, the coach. Every part of the story belongs.

Your thread is already there. Are you ready to follow it?