For years, I’ve wrestled with a question that countless others have faced: Why does building a business online feel like it demands a personality transplant? Six years ago, when I first tried growing a team, I was full of excitement. I believed in the products, and I loved the people. But the advice I kept hearing—host hotel meetings, call high school friends, casually pitch products at family gatherings—just didn’t sit right with me. I worked tirelessly, balancing endless social media posts, three-way calls, and strategies that felt outdated and uncomfortable. And despite having a degree in organizational leadership and working a decade in the world of high intensity business on Wall Street, I failed. With little to show aside from mounting frustration and time away from my young kids, it didn’t take long to realize the approach wasn’t sustainable—and certainly wasn’t for me. So I walked away. But I didn’t give up. Instead, I dove into online marketing in the free time I carved out, determined to crack the code for growing a business in a way that felt authentic and scalable. Years later after seeing so many others find success in the market, the surprise diagnosis after birth of Down syndrome with my fourth child reignited my now necessity to build something lasting. In spite of my past failures, I decided to rejoin the world of network marketing—not because I loved the “traditional” methods, but because I genuinely believed in the products and the opportunity. Still, the same old problems persisted. Sliding into DMs felt pushy, awkward, and emotionally draining. For me, reaching out to friends and family as a means of initial startup is beyond uncomfortable - and frankly embarrassing in all the wrong ways. Every lukewarm response made me question if I was cut out for this despite my knowing the structure for success has massive potential. I just couldn’t ignore my passion for building something meaningful—or the dream of creating a life where my family didn’t have to live paycheck to paycheck.

This is me in 1996. Just a young girl at the precipice of a journey she couldn’t yet see. I was gifted this 1979 CJ-7 Jeep Renegade on my 16th birthday from my grandfather—a man whose wisdom continues to speak, long after his passing, to the woman she’s become today. She loved worn corduroys, thrift store finds and skipping study hall to play with clay. A hard worker with deep emotions and an old soul. She didn’t realize it at the time, but she was at a crossroads… searching for purpose. To that innocent 16-year-old, who sat at the front of her algebra class and found solace at the pottery wheel: You won’t know where you’re headed for a long time. You’ll chase the paths others have tread before you, believing that the road they walked is the one you’re meant to follow. You’ll go to the alma mater of your grandparents, study business instead of art, convincing yourself it’s a bridge between your dreams and reality. But those dreams will shift and shatter, reforming in ways you can’t yet understand. You will love fiercely in your youth, trying desperately to rewrite a past heartbreak that lingers like a shadow. You’ll move too fast and, at times, get lost in a haze of substances meant to numb the ache within. You won’t realize it then, but you’re filling a void that only faith and purpose can heal. And yet, you will succeed. You’ll climb corporate ladders, securing a seat in high-stakes boardrooms and trading floors. You’ll manage millions, traveling coast to coast, living a life that seems glamorous on the outside. But inside, it will feel hollow—a loft filled with fine whiskey and loneliness. The walls may stand tall, but they won’t keep out the emptiness that gnaws at your spirit. Eventually, the house of cards will fall. You’ll be handed a box and a severance package on the same day you find out you’re carrying new life within you. And in that unraveling, you’ll discover what it means to sacrifice. This will be your awakening—a chance to turn toward the Lord you had long forgotten but who never let go of you.