Receiving is Radical Leadership.

Some seasons don’t just disrupt your life. They demand a different way of leading.

Today marks eight years since my life split cleanly into a before and an after. The night I discovered my husband of nearly twenty years having dinner with another woman. It was a moment that was both an ending and a new beginning. It marked the beginning of a season filled with so much pain that also inspired me to receive help, support, and unimaginable love that forever changed me and the way I choose to lead.

It would be easy to get caught up in the details of that night. The questions people often ask. The parts that satisfy curiosity. But that’s not where the real story lives.

What mattered far more then, and still matters now, was what that moment would teach me about who I was, what I believed, and the kind of leader I wanted to be when everything I thought was stable suddenly wasn’t.

I was the girl who worked hard, sat in the front row of the class, took meticulous notes, and got the A. I believed that if I prepared enough, performed well enough, and did everything “right,” things would work out the way they were supposed to.

I had also built a career rooted in connection, relationships, and trust. My roles as a wife and mother were woven into my speaking, my training, and the way people understood my credibility.

Suddenly, I was faced with a fear I hadn’t named before.
That I might be disqualified.
That I might be exposed.
That I might no longer be trusted to lead conversations about life, work, and community.

What shattered wasn’t only my identity. It was the illusion that control equals safety. That certainty equals security. That doing everything right would somehow protect me from pain.

It didn’t.

In the days and months that followed, people had opinions. Lots of them.

They told me to fight.
To think about my kids.
To save my family.

And I did fight. Just not the way people expected.

I chose to fight for my peace.
I chose to fight for my integrity.
I chose to fight with grace and in a way that I could be proud of years later.

That choice didn’t come from nowhere. I had training as a coach. Over a decade of experience in self-development. A strong faith foundation I could lean into when the ground beneath me felt unsteady. And dozens of people ready to support me with any request I might have.

So instead of spiraling, I focused on doing the next right thing.

One decision at a time.
One day at a time.
One breath at a time.

It was so hard.

What I didn’t realize then was that I trusted myself enough to reach for support immediately and that choice saved me. I had always been the strong one. The capable one. The dependable one. The woman others leaned on. And without even realizing it, I had built a life around performing strength.

I focused on being strong, so no one worried about me. I over-functioned so I didn’t have to sit in uncertainty. I held emotional space for everyone else while quietly minimizing my own needs. I would stay busy so I didn’t have to feel what lived underneath the motion. I focused all my energy on leading, organizing, supporting, fixing… instead of receiving.

At the time, I called it resilience. What I didn’t see was how much of it was rooted in control. Control was my comfort zone. It always had been. It gave me a sense of safety. In the certainty it gave me, I felt protected. Staying in motion meant I didn’t have to sit with the not-knowing.

But eventually, that kind of strength becomes isolating. Not because you don’t have people around you. Often, you often have more people around you waiting for the chance to help than you can imagine. The isolation comes from not allowing yourself to be held by them.

And this is the part that still humbles me today. Community didn’t just support me during that season. Community saved me.

For nearly two decades, my work has centered on bringing women business owners together through connection, community, and shared opportunity. Out of that work grew a community built on giving each other the BOOST. Supporting one another. Opening doors. Sharing resources. Showing up consistently.

I didn’t realize how deeply I would need to live those principles until my own life demanded them. Requesting and receiving the boost saved me. And it was my very own community that I had founded just three years prior that showed up and showed up BIG. 

Betsy called every morning at 8 a.m., without fail, because she also knew mornings were the hardest. She was on call far beyond that, listening to everything, at any hour. Inez stayed on standby for the 3 a.m. panic attacks, when the world felt especially dark. Eva showed up in the mornings with a cup of coffee and a gentle lie that she was already in the area, because she knew mornings were the hardest and I shouldn’t have to face them alone. Adriana co-worked beside me, holding quiet space while I sobbed, stared at my screen, and felt completely stuck. Angelique stayed on the phone with me as I lay on the bathroom floor, sobbing, just so I wouldn’t feel alone. Deanna and I spoke for hours at a time. Nicole ordered dinner for me and my boys on the nights when deciding what to eat felt impossible. Lina guided me in how to parent through grief and uncertainty, helping me hold space for my sons when I wasn’t sure how. Helen reminded me, again and again, that the divorce process is never about the stuff. Adrianna met me weekly for hypnotherapy, helping my nervous system find its footing. Gaby took me out and reminded me that joy and laughter were still allowed. Caro shared her own story and held space for me the night before a keynote in Cincinnati, when I needed courage. Sheena reminded me that I had the power to assign new meaning to everything that was happening. Mari and Monica insisted I tag along to a girls’ trip to Sedona.

Each day, I requested.
Each day, I received.
Each day, I focused on grace and the love that was being poured into me.
Each day, I became a different type of leader.

The truth is that receiving is radical leadership.  When you refuse help, you don’t just deprive yourself. You deny someone else the opportunity to show up. And that is not only doing a disservice to you, but also a huge disservice to them.

When I got brave enough to say I wasn’t okay, became clear about what I needed, and allowed myself to receive, everything changed – for me and those who cared for me. And if it did for me, it will for you.

You might be the strong one. The capable one. The woman who juggles it all and rarely asks for help. You might be white-knuckling your way through a season because slowing down feels scarier than pushing through. You might be telling yourself you’re fine because it feels safer than being honest.

You probably are all those things and more. But too many capable, generous, high-performing women are leading everything and everyone around them, while quietly carrying far more than they should alone.

Leadership isn’t measured only by how much you can endure. It’s revealed by how you choose to sustain yourself.

Through this all, what I learned most is that receiving isn't a weakness, as my subconscious wanted me to believe. It’s discernment. It’s self-trust. It’s capacity. It’s allowing the community that I value endlessly to be reciprocal in nature – the way community has always been intended.

So let this be a gentle reminder: You get to be held too. And when you allow yourself to receive, you don’t lose your power. You keep it. You get to step into radical leadership.