Childhoodtake2!

Every Friday we unite for five minutes. Only five minutes, that's all we get, that's all we have. And then, right where we are, no edits or second thoughts, we publish those words. This week, we write on approve.

My goodness, I spent too many years of my life seeking this.
Too many years begging for it.
And although it started with family, it bled into everything and everyone else.

If I'm being honest, it still does.
Part of me wants to be heard.
Part of me wants to be seen.
Part of me wants the ones that don't believe in me to go away, no matter where you fall in my life.
Just stop talking to me about how little faith you have in me.

But, if I dig a bit deeper.
I just want to approve and be proud of me.
I am using all of the negativity as a distraction and as an excuse.
Nothing anyone says should hurt me the way words hurt me.

If I just believed and approved of, me.

Someone made a comment, it was a throwaway comment, about how soft and strong water is.
At the same time. Water is soft, flowy, flowing, and soothing. It's also strong, can take the heat and the cold. Can be flexible, can change over and over again. It can erode earth, rocks, and hard surfaces.
Water is both.
And you instantly popped into my mind.

You, my daughter, my first, my mini me, you are water.
You are soft...easily affected. Easily hit where it hurts.
You cry effortlessly. You hear things and allow it to really flow through you and you react to it.
You also care deeply. You move people to care deeply.
You laugh, from your eyes, your toes, your whole face. You laugh when things move you to.

You, my daughter, my first, my mini me, you are water.
You are strong.
You stand for things, even when you are still trying to figure it all out.
You know who you are even when you are still trying to figure it all out.
You know your worth.
You know what you like and what you don't and you do not stand for what you don't.
You do not allow it to bring you down.

You, my daughter, my first, my mini me, you are water.
You move through this world with grace and without effort.
You will have it all figured out in due time, but you know you have the time, so you are enjoying the ride.
You are drawn to water; you love to see it and allow it to take over when you need it to.

You, my daughter, my first, my mini me, you are water.
You nurture, you feed, you are needed. You are necessary.
You are such an important part of life.

I hope you continue on with these two very important characteristics. Both of which just came to you and you are nurturing. I hope you are strong; I hope you can bend when you need to, I hope you let of steam when you need to, I hope you harden only when you need to, I hope you continue to sooth people when they need you to. I hope you continue to be exactly who you are.

On this first of many lasts that this year will bring.
This first day of senior year.
This last first day of school, I watched you drive off, car completely decorated with all of you in mind.
I watched you and I will always be drawn to you.

With love always...and forever carrying your heart.

Every Friday we unite for five minutes. Only five minutes, that's all we get, that's all we have. And then, right where we are, no edits or second thoughts, we publish those words. This week, we write on shit.

I, of course, am not ready. Nor is it time.
Everyone is starting to think about fall already, but I am still working on my tan and basking in the warmth of the sun.
The calendar isn't ready either. We have most of August left.
We are not ready to make the shift into fall.

I, of course, am not ready. Nor should it be time.
Today, you did your senior pictures.
You will have you last first day of school...you were always my first lasts.
You are filling out your applications and you wrote your essay.
You are ready.
The time is coming when I will no longer see you every single day of your life.
The shift is coming.

The one thing I have noticed most is that time does keep marching on and it forces us to shift with it. Even if we are not ready.
I believe that the hardest part of grief is watching the world march on and your loved one not holding your hand through it so you refust to shift.

This summer has been whimsical, fun loving, hard at time, full of joy and laughter, with a solid mix of anxiety and hormonal shifts.

Ready or not, time marches right on.

Every Friday we unite for five minutes. Only five minutes, that's all we get, that's all we have. And then, right where we are, no edits or second thoughts, we publish those words. This week, we write on outcome.

On Monday, July 6th, the US will play in a World Cup game and try to advance. They have had one hell of a run.
Despite the outcome of this match, this World Cup has had a profound impact on our citizens and country.

Being played on US soil, this game has brought Americans together. It has brought people from all over the world here, and they got to see the real us, and we got to see the real them.
We watched them dance in our streets, sing, chant, and have their traditions, their loud, crazy.
We got to celebrate with them, and we got to jump up and down. We got to go to watch parties, and as a family, we got to go to a game! Somehow, a game allowed us all to come together.
We all healed a little bit. We all remembered that politics is the issue, not the people.

Being played on US soil, around the fourth of July, has me missing my dad this year in a way I thought I had moved on from. He would be proud of this country. He would be pissed that Italy wasn't there, but he would be proud of the US for going this far. And I reminded myself that missing him, that too is healing.

The outcome of the matches mattered to those who came to support. Americans are ready for the USA to go far, especially this year, but the outcome of these games goes so much farther than scores and advances.

Somehow, a game brought the world together in peace and love. And we will forever cherish you for healing us.

Every Friday we unite for five minutes. Only five minutes, that's all we get, that's all we have. And then, right where we are, no edits or second thoughts, we publish those words. This week, we write on vibe.

Let's have this summer be a vibe.
It's our last before the big planning for your college years.
It's our last to rest, be, not be waiting for the change that will come.

Let's have this summer be a vibe.
Let's eat dinner outside.
Let's sit by our little pool.
Let's have our puppies run around with actual smiles on their faces.

Let's have this summer be a vibe.
Let's take in all of the Cape.
Let's eat all of the things we want.
Let's laugh, and walk, and paddleboard, and be with friends.

Let's have this summer be a vibe.
Let's have ice cream.
Let's have drinks.
Let's go out.
Let's stay in.
Let's build a fire.

Let's have this summer be a damn vibe.

"No one taught me how to hold myself, so I learned.
I had to sit in the uncomfortable with my feelings and understand their value instead of always trying to dismiss them. I had to build my own sanctuary, creating safety instead of indulging in chaos. No one taught me to love myself, so I learned. I had to trade the criticism, unless it was constructive, with gentle affirmation. I had to build myself up, break myself down, and learn to love myself from my own heart.

I needed love, I needed encouragement, I needed to be seen and understood. I needed the younger version of me to know that her feelings were valid, her sensitivity was her strength, and it wasn't her fault she had to break just to meet her authentic self, halfway. She was shrinking to survive, and she learned to read rooms before she could even read herself. So, I sat with her. I listened and spoke with gentle wisdom when it was asked for. I told her it was okay to say no without feeling guilty, and to leave any room that didn't make her feel safe. I had to remind her that healthy love would never make her compromise her morals, respect, or values. I didn't try to save her. I let her learn. I let her be imperfect." - Moonsoulchild from her upcoming book "a soft place to heal".

If there were ever words written to me, for me, these are them.
This spring, I heard a woman talk about how parenting her kids felt so natural, healthy, and how she wanted to do that for herself.
I sat and thought to myself, the times I feel most good about me, is in my mothering.
And I want to expand that in other areas of my life and if I can do it for them, can I do it for me?

With mothering, I make mistakes and do not linger. I apologize and move on. I feel uplifted, living a purpose, and like I am making the right choices, even when they are wrong.
I feel as though I am present, and watching, and not once blinking, so I don't miss a thing.
But I am also very aware of my window and am planning for a time when all of us, under one roof, will be memories.
I am planning for the excitement of our next chapters.

I love with crazy passion. I kiss noses, and give little guys, and hugs, and hold hands, and squeeze, and guide, and will close my eyes having zero regrets. Zero. I loved you as hard as I possibly could and I will never feel like it was too much. Like I couldn't be myself in my crazy affection and love. I am never too much with you, ever. And no one will ever convince me otherwise.

I raised you well, I was gentle, and I was explosive. I was a listener. I laughed with you. I held you. I let you figure it out. I asked what you needed, and I delivered. I put in the work and to be honest, it did not feel like work. It was hard as hell, but it always felt right.

And now it's time for me to do this inward. It's time I figure this out in other areas of my life and it's time that I learn to love myself as much as I loved you.

I will need to learn to hold myself. Pause, a lot more. Sit with the uncomfortable.
Question it when someone is asking me to shrink. Hold myself and ask who/what this is about.
I will need to lean into the feelings and try to make sense of them. For me.
I will have to remember how many mistakes we all make, so I'm allowed too.
I have to rebuild a sanctuary. The one I built was torn down, and that happens, but that does not mean we don't build again. We build and rebuild as many times as we have to.
I have mourned losses for years, and that means I am mourning real, true love. I had that. That's why it hurts so much; there was real, true love right there. And now I need to find it again.

Loves, it is time I hold myself.
Respect and learn to love myself.
It is time I parent the girl who needed it then and needs it now.

Every Friday we unite for five minutes. Only five minutes, that's all we get, that's all we have. And then, right where we are, no edits or second thoughts, we publish those words. This week, we write on deal.

To love like a mother is like nothing else in this world.
It is raw, and real, and all encompassing, while trying not to allow it to be all-consuming.
It's a balance, a constant balance.
It's breaking up with yourself, redefining yourself, refinding yourself.
It's falling asleep at the wheel, and dropping the ball, and picking it back up, and being so on, and all in.
It's not falling asleep at the wheel, and keeping all the balls in the air, and picking up everything, and being so on, and all in.

It's love. Pure love.
It's realizing your purpose, your meaning.
It's creating and letting go, and guidance and sacrifice.

It's a deal, one you make with yourself, the universe, the child.
I will love you from your first breath, and my very last.

May — Expand with Ease

Intention: Say yes selectively.
Follow curiosity and joy—without overcommitting.

I once wore being busy like a badge of honor. My calendar was filled with meetings and every moment had an agenda and a plan.
My whole body was heavy, exhausted, screaming at me.

I lived in constant, organized, full calendars.
I was in agony.
I said yes to anything that was asked of me.
Anything that was hinted as an ask, I jumped at the chance.
I lived for work and relished in busy.

I promise I was not trying to stay distracted, I just didn't see a way out.

But all of that changed. And I found a better way. A clearer way.

Saying yes is intentional now. Saying yes means something. It means I am saying no to something else, probably something that I want to do, so I better want and or need to be there. I better be learning a lot, moving a cause forward. I no longer say yes because I am programmed to do so.

I am learning what it means to expand with ease and be a little more intentional.
I am learning who else I am outside of my work, outside of my career and titles.
I am learning to be more whole and more at ease. I am taking so much time for myself.

I am learning to not fill my days up and brag about my schedule. I put that badge away. I did earn it, but it needs to be placed in the drawer, where it now belongs.

My days are becoming more mine.
I am learning what it means to expand with ease.

Every Friday we unite for five minutes. Only five minutes, that's all we get, that's all we have. And then, right where we are, no edits or second thoughts, we publish those words. This week, we write on decision.

2026 is my year of awakening, and I came to this difficult word by putting in a lot of hard work and deciding I need to move forward. I have gone away for quite some time, and I needed to wake back up, open my eyes, stretch a little, walk about the earth, take in some very deep breaths.

And part of that decision means I need to very carefully, over time, nurture myself back to life.

But the decision has been made. This is the year I have to shake off the cobwebs, I have to remember who I was, who I am, and who I want to once again be. No second thoughts because I am tired of being asleep in this world.

Every Friday we unite for five minutes. Only five minutes, that's all we get, that's all we have. And then, right where we are, no edits or second thoughts, we publish those words. This week, we write on beginning.

In the beginning, it was just you and me, and our little Mia made three. We were so simple, so easy, so full of joy, and loving the simple life all around us. Our weekends consisted of long walks for coffee, ice cream dinners, and lots of Chinese food. We watched all the shows and even more movies.

As time went by, our lives got more complicated, our connection a little foggy, and busy became our badge of honor. But it was the beginning of us that kept us grounded in who we actually are, even during the weeks, or months, or years, in which those two people felt like strangers.

As time continues to go by, we are finding our way back to the beginning. Back to the calm and joy and ease, just with lots of responsibilities and a few more wrinkles and grays. But, when we hold hands, and smooch, the beginning of us comes rushing back. Because at the end of this parenting life, we will be right back where we started. You and me and puppy makes three.

I

I am truly honored to be here and it is not something I take lightly.

I know the value of being surrounded by so many remarkable women and I want to thank you for breaking barriers, leading businesses, supporting communities, raising families, and still somehow finding the strength to lift others along the way.  

And if I’m being honest, I have sat in this audience for over 2 decades and never once thought I belonged on this stage, accepting any sort of award.

Because my story never started with, nor does it end in, confidence.

I have been defined by walking through fear.

Over and over again.

After spending more than 20 years loving my role in the nonprofit world, I heard an annoying voice telling me it was time to move on.

And I tried to squash it, I dug deeper into my work, thinking I could hard work the voice away.

At first, all I could think about was leaving behind a career that raised me, built me, and gave me the identity I had known for so long, but that voice wouldn’t stay quiet. And little did I know it was ambition and grit trying to break through.

I didn’t have all the answers, and shocker, I wasn’t overflowing with confidence. I just knew I had hard work wired in me; I knew that I cared deeply about people.

So I took the first step.
And then the next one and the next one after that.

But what I’ve learned is that courage isn’t about feeling fearless.
It’s about choosing to move forward anyway.

Even when your voice shakes.
Even when you’re unsure.
Even when it would be easier to stay where you are.

I want to be clear that my years in the nonprofit world shaped who I am. They taught me that when you invest in people, when you believe in them, and truly see them, you create something far greater than success. You create strength.

Capital CFO+ was built on that belief. But more than anything, it was built on relationships.

And for me, every step forward has always been rooted in people.

I would not be standing here without the people who have surrounded me along the way. Those who have believed in me, always more than I believed in myself. Specifically, everyone at tables 27, 28, and 18.

You protect my light.

You remind me who I am when I forget… hold space for me when things feel heavy… and encourage me to keep going, even when I don't feel strong.

Because the truth is, strength doesn’t always look the way we think it should.

Sometimes, it's is quiet and vulnerable.
Sometimes, it’s just taking the first and then next step.

For me strength is showing up. It’s kindness and resilience. Strength is having the courage to become exactly who you are meant to be.

To my daughter and my son, you are everything good. Everything I do is rooted in the kind of world I want you to grow up in… one where you feel confident, supported, and unafraid to take up space.

And to my husband, I no longer know how to say thank you but from the moment we met until the day we die, you are forever their hero and my coach.

This award means so much to me because it represents more than business success. It represents every moment where fear could have won, but didn’t. And it is not just mine. It belongs to the team, our clients, my family, and this incredible community. It belongs to those who believed in me.

So today, I just want to say thank you.

I want to end by saying to every woman here, please keep going.
Even when it’s uncomfortable.
Even when it’s uncertain.
Especially then.

Because sometimes the most powerful thing we can do… is take that next step forward anyway.

So, as the expression goes, here is to strong women, may we know them, may we be them, and may we raise the hell out of them.
Thank you so much.