Childhoodtake2!

"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.

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.

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.

Recently, I have been thinking about past loves.
And when your time together ends, where does all the love go?
For some, it is pushed out of their minds. Put into compartments.
That was then, with them...this is now without them.
For others, they can look back fondly and remember those times with warmth and gratitude but still move on.
And for others still, the love creeps up and comes out.

It comes up in dreams.
It comes up with tears flowing down your face during a run.
It comes up as you close your eyes at night.
It comes up on gray and rainy days.

For some, the love is lost.
For others, it remains a memory keeping you warm like a blanket.
And for others still, it feels a little too heavy to carry all of the time, so it comes out sideways.

And maybe grief walks you through all three stages.
There are days it feels too heavy, other days it feels gone, and others till where it feels warm and comforting.

Because to be loved and to love is truly beautiful.
It is so raw and real.
It should be a whole body experience where the I love yous just pour out.
To be surrounded in that beauty, even for a little while, is special.
And it's a special time with that person. You are sharing something together.
You are in on it together.
This connection, this bond, this feeling.

So if that time ends, if you are in a position of mourning that love, grieving that time, just make sure you handle it the way you feel you need to.
If you need to push it out of your mind to survive, then do so.
If you need to push it out of your mind because you have moved on and thinking about it differently is pointless, then do so.
If you need to linger and feel the weight of that love and cry yourself to sleep, then do so.
And if there are moments that it comes rolling back in, to remind you of a special time, with someone you loved, allow the memory.

Because for some...
The love is lost.
For others, it remains a memory keeping you warm like a blanket.
And for others still, it feels a little too heavy to carry all of the time, so it comes out sideways.

Gently Awaken

Begin without force, and let's take one small step toward what feels alive again.

One small step, like realizing my hard work and grit at work is being recognized, and allowing myself to feel the recognition.

One small step, like looking at my daughter, on the cusp of turning 17, and starting her college tours and experiences. Seeing the experience through her excited and new eyes. God, glorious daughter, you are magic.

One small step, like looking at my son who still smooches me goodbye in the morning. Who still tells me he loves me. Who wants to have our breakfast on Sunday traditions. God, wonderful child, you are sunshine.

One small step, like how alive I feel when I move this body that works so hard for me.

One small step, like how alive I feel when I write to you, leave you this part of me, these memories of us.

One. Small. Step.

To gently awaken and feel alive again.

One. Small. Step.

The only way to describe us in the very beginning is easy.

It was so easy to fall in love with you. Joy, laughter, lightness; it all came so easily for us.

Our days together were filled with easy living, with our only responsibility being city walks with a little dog we treated like our first baby.

Finding family with you was easy, too. You were my joy, you were filled with it, and you stole my heart with the ease you brought to my life.

You were my balance, my reason, my family.

As the fog rolled into our marriage and things got harder, it was harder to find us, but you quickly pivoted. You became our rock, you kept our feet on the ground, you were the one who held me, held us, and reminded me that we fit, our love fits, and phases come and go. You cleared the fog, not with your joy, but with love and strength.

As the pendulum now sits squarely in the middle, somewhere between finding the ease again, finding the joy and lighthearted couple we were, and times of such extreme hard it visibly ages us, you continue to be my balance.

You, Cory, are my reason. We joke about how you think I gave us this life. But look around us. Everything we have, everything we are, it is all because you believed in us, and believed we could. Your joy in the early days took away my fear of family and commitment, your love took away my fear of mothering and parenthood, and your stable foundation gave me all I never knew I always wanted.

You turned our house into a home. You said yes to puppy love, snuggles, and kisses. You made sure I became the mother I always wanted to be, and because of you, two of the best people I know came from our love and stand here with us as two of the most beautiful and kind-hearted people. Two people you see so much potential in, and because of you, will live up to it in every way.

Because of you, I am surrounded in love, joy, comfort, and family.

I owe you everything, my entire life. So the very least I can promise you is my everlasting love; I will love you until my very last breath.

You were, are, and will always be…

My balance, my life, my family.

Olive juice coach.

"You can't skip chapters, that's not how life works.
You have to read every line, meet every character.
You won't enjoy all of it. Hell, some chapters will make you cry for weeks.
You will read things you don't want to read, you will have moments where you don't want the pages to end.
But you have to keep going.
Stories keep the world revolving.
Live yours, don't miss out."

There are chapters I go back and re-read.
Over and over again.
Chapters like my college years.
Chapters like the beginning with Dad.
Chapters like the beginning with you both.
Chapters like our traditions, our trips, our Friday night snuggles.
Chapters like the adoption of all three of our puppies.
Chapters like all of your firsts, all of them.
Chapters like how long you lingered in childhood.
Chapters like how I would watch you sleep, and it was almost so precious that it hurt.

Then, there are chapters I wish I could skip.
But, if I skipped them, I would miss too much.
Like the seven chapters of fog that rolled in on us, if I never reread those pages, I would miss the beginning of Cole.
I would miss so so many firsts that I could not imagine pouring over those pages.
I would miss our first family trip.
I would miss so much joy.
And I would miss a very important lesson about family, how difficult things can get, but how loving they can still be.
I would miss the lesson that two things can always be true at the same exact time.

If I skipped the chapters of heartache, the ones where I had so much loss and disconnection...
Then I wouldn't have the chapters of love, warmth, and connection that brought on the heartache.
Heartache, grief, loss, it doesn't come without love, longing, and incredible memories.

So no, I can't skip those times..
I want to remember the good, even if it ended in ways I would not want.
Even if it ended in ways I would want.
I have to remember it all.
Luckily, my memory wouldn't allow me to forget.
I have it all locked in, at all times. Ready to recall.

I love you guys.
And if I don't say it enough, I'm so lucky to be your mom.
I am so proud of the books we have written together.
I cannot wait to see the ones you write on your own, but thank you for the most amazing library that fills our home.

Oh, I know it aches
How your heart, it breaks
And you can only take so much
Walk on, walk on

When I was in my 20s, I would take these long runs or super long walks in Rochester.
I was lost in my career, not loving my city, and had a lot to think about.
This song would come on, and I found myself hitting repeat.

Home, 'til I know where it is, I will have to be one

I finally spoke up and said that I needed to leave, I needed to find a new place to call home, I needed something different and I needed to move.
Move apartments, move cities, move on.
So, we walked on.

We landed in a town that immediately felt like home.
Warm, fun, inviting, busy, small, quaint, home.
But most of all, we found out so much more about us.

We found out how important connection is.
We found out how important family is.
We found out how much we could take, do, together.
We found out how much we could stand and we found out how important it was to always come back home.

Fast forward to my later 40s, and so much has changed.
Marriage, two kids, saying goodnight to our first puppy, adopting two more to fix the broken, a downtown apartment that we left for a house that turned forever home.

And so so much has stayed the absolute same.
I'm still the same person, taking those long runs and even longer walks.
This time, two puppies are by my side.
This time, thinking about things in my life that are harder to move on from.
I can no longer just change towns, locations, and I do not want to.

But, I still feel a little lost.
A little unsteady, and there is this voice creeping up, telling me the seasons are changing.
Summer is ending, fall is around the corner, and once again, I need to move on.

This is not a curtain call
This is the greatest act of all...
Walk on, walk on
Stay safe tonight

This time, I feel so content in my career.
This time, I love love love my city.
This time, I adore this home we built together.
But still, things need to change.
I need to change...again.

And if the dancer on the street
Wears a veil of tears
It's a dance no army can defeat
Love turns her fears
Into a kind of rage
That can't be kept inside a cage

I have a lot of moving on to do.
I have a lot I need to leave behind.
But, letting things and people go is not my strong suit.
I don't easily pick up and move on.

Yeah, I know it aches
Your heart, it breaks
You can only take so much

But sometimes, you don't have a choice. It is made for you.
Sometimes, people decide to walk on themselves - and you just watch them go.
And with it, a piece of your heart, your love, your precious, safe, and loving love.

Oh, I know it aches
How your heart, it breaks
And you can only take so much
Walk on, walk on

I spent my 20s building a life that I wanted.
Picking my family.
Picking my home.
Picking and selecting and curating and building.

All that you fashion
All that you make
All that you build
Whatever they break

And then sometimes, it falls.
Sometimes, it fails.
Sometimes, it gets wrecked.
Sometimes, it gets left behind.

And you are told to walk on and leave.
You are told to move on and go.
You are told to let go and so you do.

All that you dream of (walk on)
All you design (walk on)
All that you can't leave behind (walk on)
All that you reckon (walk on)
All that you dare (walk on)
All that you fought for (walk on)
When it wasn't there
All that you summoned (walk on)
The hills that you climb (walk on)
All that you can't leave behind (walk on)

All that you can't leave behind...walk on.

"Even though you didn't make it to the end of my story
I will always have the corners folded down on your pages
because they were some of my favorites."

I have worn my long black veil and mourned the loss of you.
And in this final chapter all I want is to remember my favorite parts.

The parts that were warm, loving, and forgiving.
The parts that felt like they were endless, we were endless, our time was endless, our love, too, would be endless.
The parts that felt young, and free, and fun.
The parts that felt serious, hard, and showed growth and depth.
The parts that felt like us, the ways we took such great care of each other, the ways we were always there.

I want to remember the memories the way a child does - just the good ones.
I want to remember the hard times, too, but only because we stood strong together in those times as well.
I want to remember real memories; they were made, and I cannot ever forget them.

I want to remember how warm it was to be in your glow.
How family was created, how love evolved.
How love transformed us.
How much love there was to give and receive.

You were not one for a season...we stood the test of time.
Until we didn't, or couldn't.
Until the chapter ended.
For no reason and all of the reasons, it ended.
The loss was painful. The kind of pain you think you cannot come back from.
The quiet that came after was deafening and defining.
I was now defined by what was and what is no longer.

But, in this final chapter, I want to remember all the pages I have folded down.
I want to go back and read them when I want to remember real love.
I want to go back and reread them time and time again.
Because they were some of my favorite.

I want to feel secure.
Not scared.
No longer anxious.
I want to find my way home.
I want to light my own way.
And mostly, I want to see and protect the light in me.

And I want my light to see and protect the light in others.
I want to find those that I want to protect too.
I want to feel connected again.
I want to find my way home.
I want to light my own way.
And mostly, I want to see and protect the light in me.

I want to feel lighter again.
I want to feel rested, well rested.
I want to feel okay with my choices.
I want to feel like I'm making the right decisions.
I want to find my way home.
I want to light my own way.
And mostly, I want to see and protect the light in me.

I want to go home.
Back to who I am.
I want to laugh hard again.
I want to feel close in my heart again.
I want to find my way home.
I want to light my own way.
And mostly, I want to see and protect the light in me.

I want to remember what closeness feels like.
I want to remember what true love and light feel like.
I want to remember why I love, and who I love.
I want to be bathed in that love.
I want to find my way home.
I want to light my own way.
And mostly, I want to see and protect the light in me.

I want to come home.
I want to remember who I am.
What I like about me.
I want to work on what I need to work on, but I am ready to see and protect my light again.
I want to remember my heart, my passion, my joy.
I want to find my way home.
I want to light my own way.
And mostly, I want to see and protect the light in me.

I want to light my own way and come home.