I was sitting on the opening plenary of the Financial Opportunity Center 20th Anniversary Convening in Chicago. We had just finished our portion of the panel. I was settled into my seat, fully expecting the conversation to move on to the next part of the program. Then the CEO of Jane Addams Resource Corporation, who was sitting on the plenary with me, paused to thank me for the years of work I had given to this model. And before I could fully take in what she was saying, the room rose.

A standing ovation.

I do not remember a lot of details about my body in that moment. I think I may have looked down. I do remember the surprise. And I remember this very clearly. I cried. A few moments later, I was handed a welded plaque that one of JARC’s instructors had created by hand. The weight of it. The craftsmanship of it. The symbolism of it. It was almost more than I could carry standing up. I wrote about that day at the time in Honoring Legacy, Living Purpose, but I was not yet ready to write about what came after.

I have thought about that moment many times since. Not as a trophy. Not as a milestone. But as a question I have been quietly sitting with.

What does it mean to be seen, and what do we do when we are?

Because here is what I have noticed about myself. When recognition like that comes, I do not always know what to do with it. And much more often than I would like to admit, what I do with it is move past it. I share these reflections today because I do not think I am alone in this. I think there are many of you reading this who have been quietly building something meaningful for years, and when the recognition finally comes, something in you wants to set it down quickly and get back to the work. I want us to look at that pattern together. Because I do not believe it is serving any of us.

The Quiet Disappearance

Here is what the rushing past looks like for me. Sometimes I do not share the moment at all. The recognition happens, and I let it stay in the room where it happened. I do not post about it. I do not bring it up in conversation. I do not include it in the next email or the next update or the next reflection. It happens, and then it just lives in my own memory. Other times, someone else shares it. A colleague brings it up. A friend mentions it in a group. And in those moments, I say thank you, and very quickly I move us to the next topic.

I have done this for years. If I am honest with myself, I have not done it because I am afraid of being seen. I have done it because being seen has felt almost beside the point. The work was the thing. I did not do the work to be recognized for it. I did it because it mattered. And when the recognition comes, it can feel like a small detour from what actually matters, which is the work itself.

There is also another piece I want to name honestly. Sometimes pausing to share recognition feels self-promotional. And even though I know that is not what it would actually be, the thought of it still keeps me quiet. I share this not because I think I have it figured out, but because I am still learning this. And I suspect some of you are too.

Why We Shrink

When I have sat with this pattern long enough to be honest about it, I have come to recognize a few things that are true for me. They may be true for you too.

Visibility feels exposing when you have done quiet work for years. When you have spent a long time in the behind-the-scenes work of building, supporting, mentoring, advocating and serving, the spotlight feels foreign. Not because you do not deserve it, but because you are not used to it. The body remembers the shape of the work it has been doing. And quiet, faithful work has a particular shape. Stepping into recognition asks you to take on a different shape, even just for a moment, and that takes some adjustment. This is something I have been slowly learning to navigate, including in the lead-up to my first global speaking moment, which I wrote about in Ready Enough: What Happens When You Stop Waiting.

Receiving is harder than giving. Most women I know are practiced givers. We pour into our families, our teams, our communities, our clients, our missions. We know how to hold space for other people’s growth, other people’s celebration, other people’s wins. We are far less practiced at being on the receiving end. And being seen is a form of receiving. So when it comes, we sometimes do not know what to do with it because we have not built the muscle.

There is a fear of being seen as proud or as taking too much space. This one is real, and it is especially real for women in leadership. We have absorbed messages our whole lives about how much room we are allowed to take. And even when we know intellectually that being recognized is not the same as being prideful, the residue of those messages can still make us shrink. We can find ourselves softening our wins, qualifying our accomplishments or simply not naming them at all so we do not appear to be taking more than our share.

None of these reasons make us weak. They make us human. And they make us women who have been navigating a world that has not always known what to do with us when we step into the fullness of what we have built.

The Faith Layer

There is one more thing I want to name carefully, because it is true for me and I suspect it is true for some of you.

As women of faith, we have been taught well to give God the glory. And that is right and good. The work I do, the words I write, the moments I have been honored in, none of that exists apart from the One who called me to it. I know that, and I want to live that. But here is something I have noticed in myself, and I want to be honest about it. Sometimes I use giving God the glory as a way to skip past the moment instead of letting it land in me. The recognition comes, and I hand it off so quickly that it never has a chance to settle. I do not pause. I do not feel it. I do not let it shape me. I just route it past myself and keep moving. I am not sure that is what God is actually asking of me.

Giving God the glory and letting yourself be seen are not in conflict. You can do both. You were meant to do both. You can receive the moment fully, feel the weight of it in your body, let it reshape how you understand your own work and still know exactly who gave you the capacity to do that work in the first place. The deflection is not humility. The deflection is sometimes just another way of not receiving. And I am learning that receiving is part of the work, not a detour from it.

What We Miss When We Rush Past

When we rush past being seen, something is lost. And it took me a long time to be honest about what.

We miss the integration. Recognition has a way of reshaping our understanding of our own work. It tells us something we cannot tell ourselves from the inside. When someone reflects back to us what they have witnessed, we get to see ourselves through their eyes. That is not vanity. That is data. And when we rush past it, we lose access to it.

We miss the witness. The people who took the time to honor us did something meaningful. They paid attention. They chose to name it out loud. When we deflect too quickly, we are not just protecting ourselves from the discomfort of being seen. We are also unintentionally dismissing the gift they offered. Their seeing of us is worth honoring.

We miss the modeling. The women coming behind us, the team members watching us, the daughters and mentees and colleagues in our orbit, they are learning from how we receive. When we shrink, we teach them to shrink. When we receive with grace, we teach them they can too.

And here is the one that has been sitting with me most. We miss the chance to let God show us something through it. Sometimes the recognition is not just a nice moment. Sometimes it is God’s way of telling us something we have not been able to hear from ourselves. This matters. I see you. Keep going. When we rush past, we miss the message too.

What Sustainable Visibility Actually Looks Like

This year my word has been sustainable visibility. I have written about it as my intention for 2026, and it has shaped how I am showing up in every part of my work. But I want to be clearer about what it actually means in practice, because I think we sometimes confuse visibility with performance.

Sustainable visibility is not about posting more. It is not about being everywhere. It is not about claiming credit for everything or making sure your name is on the front of everything you touch. None of that is what I am talking about. Sustainable visibility is the practice of being seen and whole at the same time. It is letting the moment land when it comes. It is saying thank you and meaning it. It is staying in your body when someone is honoring your work. It is sharing the moment with the people in your life, not because you need them to validate it, but because part of what you are building is allowed to be witnessed. It is letting the recognition reshape how you understand yourself, not so that you can become arrogant, but so that you can become accurate. Receiving is its own practice, and like all sustaining practices, it has to be tended. I have written before about why we cannot pour from an empty cup and the same principle applies here. You cannot integrate what you do not let in.

You were not meant to do this work in the dark forever. The quiet seasons matter. The behind-the-scenes seasons matter. But there are also seasons of being witnessed, and those matter too. And when those seasons come, the invitation is not to shrink. The invitation is to receive.

A Word About the Next Time

I want to close with this, because I think it is the most useful thing I can leave you with. There will be a next time.

Maybe it is a small one. A colleague who says something kind in a meeting. A reader who emails you to tell you a post found them at the right moment. A friend who notices what you have been carrying. A coaching client who reflects back what you helped them see. Maybe it is a big one. A stage. A title. A piece of recognition you have been working toward for years that finally arrives.

When it comes, I want you to try something different this time. Do not rush past it. Do not deflect it. Do not change the subject. Do not move us to the next topic. Just for a moment, let it land. Say thank you, and mean it. Feel the weight of it in your body. Let yourself be seen. And then, if you want to, tell someone. Not to perform. Not to promote. But because part of what you are building is allowed to be witnessed, and you are allowed to honor what is being honored in you.

You were never invisible. The world is just slowly catching up to what God already saw.

So here is my question for you. What is one moment of recognition you have rushed past, and what would it look like to go back and let yourself receive it now, even quietly, even in your own heart, before the next one comes?

I have been thinking about that Tuesday a lot lately, because it captures something I want to talk about here. Something I have learned through years of coaching women, building a business, leading a team, and finding my own way through the seasons where showing up felt hard. Sustainable success is not built on intensity. It is built on consistent, aligned steps. And sometimes, showing up quietly when no one is watching is the most courageous thing we can do.

I want to be honest about what I mean when I say consistency, because I think we have been sold a version of it that sets us up to fail. The version that says you must show up every single day without exception, that gaps mean failure and breaks mean you have to start over. That version is exhausting, and for most of us, it is simply not sustainable. Real consistency is something quieter and more forgiving than that. It is not about doing everything every day. It is about returning. Returning to what matters, even after the pause, even when more time has passed than you intended. The goal is not the perfect streak. The goal is the relationship with the practice, and your willingness to come back to it.

There is also an important distinction I want to make between intensity and consistency, because they can look similar from the outside but they feel completely different from the inside. Intensity is that surge of energy that comes at the beginning of something new, the first week of a habit, the burst of momentum right after a breakthrough moment or a powerful conference. It feels electric. It is exciting and visible and it gets a lot of attention. But it does not last. And when it fades, many of us make the mistake of believing the fading means we have failed, that we did not want it badly enough or we are just not the kind of person who follows through. That is not failure. That is just the natural end of intensity. Consistency is what we build after the electricity fades. It does not have the thrill of a fresh start, but it is far more powerful over time. It is what compounds. It is what the life we are praying for is actually built on.

I also want to name how perfectionism gets tangled up in all of this, because it is one of the most common consistency killers I see in the women I work with and in myself. As I shared in From Perfectionist to Progress-Seeker, perfectionism kept me from launching my business because I was waiting until everything was in place. But perfectionism does not just keep us from starting. It also keeps us from returning. It tells us that if we cannot come back fully and perfectly, we should wait until we can. It disguises the avoidance as wisdom. And so we wait, and the gap stretches, and returning feels harder the longer we wait. The truth is that the re-entry does not need to be perfect or even impressive. It just needs to happen. A smaller, quieter version of the thing still counts. And the return, however imperfect, is always the right move.

This is where faith comes in.

I want to talk about this honestly, because I think it is the piece that makes this conversation uniquely ours. Secular content about consistency talks about discipline and habit formation and systems, and those things are real and useful. But what I have learned in my own journey is that showing up before you can see the results is not primarily a discipline issue. It is a faith issue. Hebrews 11:1 says, “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” I have read that verse many times, but I have understood it most deeply not in a Bible study, but in the experience of building something slowly, in the quiet, without confirmation that it was working. Every time I sat down to write for this blog when the audience was small, that was faith. Every hour I invested in my coaching credentials before I had a full client roster, that was faith. Every time I returned to this space after a long pause, trusting that these words reach the people who need them, that is faith. Consistency practiced with intention is the physical form of faith in motion. It is what we do while we are waiting for the evidence. It is how we tell God, and ourselves, that we believe in the outcome even before we can see it.

I think about the years I spent making student loan payments that barely seemed to make a dent in the balance. Month after month, year after year, with no end visibly in sight. There were moments when the progress felt so invisible that it was hard to believe it was happening at all. And then one day, the letter came. Forgiveness. Freedom. A number I had written down years before in a dream journal at a retreat, next to the words: I believe my student loans will be paid in full. I did not know exactly how or when. I just kept showing up, kept paying, kept filing the paperwork, kept believing. That is consistency as faithfulness. And it is quiet. It rarely looks impressive while it is happening. But it is some of the most courageous work we ever do.

It is also worth being honest about what breaks our consistency, because I think naming those things clearly is more useful than pretending they should not be happening. Three things come up again and again, both in my own experience and in my work with clients. The first is perfectionism, which I have already talked about, this idea that if we cannot return fully and completely, we should not return at all. The second is comparison, which quietly drains the heart. When we see someone else further along, more visible, producing more, something in us dims. We forget that we are not seeing their unglamorous Tuesdays or their seasons of doubt. We are seeing their highlight and measuring it against our behind-the-scenes, and that is never a fair comparison. The third is depletion, and I want to give this one particular attention because it is the one we talk about the least. Sometimes we lose our consistency not because we are lazy or unmotivated or undisciplined, but because we have been giving everything to everyone else and there is genuinely nothing left. That is not a discipline problem. That is an energy management problem, and it deserves to be treated as such. As I have written about before, you cannot sustain consistent action from an empty tank. Protecting your energy is not a luxury. It is a prerequisite for showing up for what matters most.

And I want to say clearly: there is a difference between a break and a breakdown. Sometimes the pause is wisdom, not failure. I have had seasons in this blog where I stepped away not because I gave up, but because I needed to be present somewhere else first. That pause was not abandonment, and the return was not starting over. In October I wrote about refocusing and recommitting, and the truth I shared there still holds. Recommitment is just consistency with a restart. You do not have to earn your way back or explain the gap or make up for the time that passed. You just have to come back.

For those of you who want something practical to hold onto, here is what has helped me build a consistency practice that actually holds. First, anchor new consistent behaviors to things you already do. A morning prayer, an evening reflection, a weekly review. Instead of building entirely new structure from scratch, attach the practice to something that already has roots in your day. Second, define your minimum viable action for the hard days. What is the smallest version of the thing you can still do when you are tired, stretched, or running low? Five minutes instead of an hour. One paragraph instead of a full post. One email instead of an entire project. The point is not impressive output. The point is staying in relationship with the practice so that returning tomorrow feels like continuation, not resurrection. Third, build accountability around encouragement, not judgment. The structures that last are the ones where someone celebrates your return, not tracks your absence. And finally, protect your energy like your consistency depends on it, because it does. Boundaries, rest, saying no to the things that drain you without giving back, these are not soft suggestions. They are the infrastructure that makes showing up possible over time.

What I most want you to take from this is something that I have had to learn slowly and return to often. The life you are praying for is frequently being built in the moments you almost skipped. The post you almost did not write. The call you almost cancelled. The return you made three weeks later than you intended, quietly, without fanfare, because something in you said it is not over yet. Consistency compounds. What feels invisible right now is accumulating into something real. I have watched this in my own life across many seasons, and I see it in the women I have the privilege of working with. The seeds planted in the unglamorous middle are the ones that eventually take root in ways that take your breath away.

I also want to leave you with this: some of the people who most need what you carry have not found you yet. Your consistency right now is faithfulness to them. The client you have not yet met, the conversation you will have that changes someone’s direction, the version of yourself you are still becoming through the quiet discipline of showing up, she is being built right now. In the ordinary Tuesdays. In the returns. In the moments no one applauds. Keep going. Not loudly. Not perfectly. Just faithfully. That is quiet courage, and it is enough.

So here is my question for you: what is one thing you have stepped away from that is quietly asking you to come back, and what would it look like to return to it this week, not when everything is perfect, but simply because it is time?

Posting this on December 5 feels like a fitting moment to pause and look back. The time between my birthday and the year’s end often inspires both gratitude for the journey so far and anticipation for what’s to come. Chapter 47 was filled with milestones, challenges, and moments of connection that reminded me of the power of community, resilience, and self-investment.

As I move forward, I want to share some of the most transformative experiences of the past year—insights that continue to influence my journey and my commitment to personal and collective growth.

Balancing Identities: Professional vs. Entrepreneurial Self

Navigating my dual identities as a nonprofit leader and the founder of Mission ENSPIRE has been both rewarding and challenging. Often, the line between my professional career and entrepreneurial journey blurs, each role contributing to my broader purpose of inspiring and empowering others.

In nonprofit spaces, I bring the structured leadership skills that have guided my career. Yet, as an entrepreneur, I lean into creativity and innovation, which refresh my approach in ways I carry back to the nonprofit sector. Through these roles, I continue to learn that while the paths may be different, the end goal remains the same: to create positive impact and encourage others to invest in their growth.

This dual identity was also explored in conversations I had as a guest on the Trailblazin’ Bosses Podcast with Veranda Adkins and in my interviews with CanvasRebel and Bold Journey. These opportunities allowed me to share my career insights and discuss how I’ve balanced strengths, tackled challenges, and found purpose in unexpected ways.

Through it all, my faith has been my anchor, reminding me that both my nonprofit leadership and entrepreneurial journey are part of a greater purpose. It has guided me to approach challenges as learning and growth opportunities and to view each role as a way to serve and uplift others.

Community Connections: The Power of Shared Histories and Collective Wisdom

The joy of reconnecting with my past was clear at my high school reunion this year, where over 300 alumni gathered in Atlanta to celebrate our shared history. It was energizing to see familiar faces, some of whom I hadn’t encountered in 30 years. As someone who attended Piney Woods School, a historically Black boarding school, this all-class reunion was particularly special, bringing together not just my fellow class of 1994 but alumni from various years. Reuniting with familiar faces was an unexpected and meaningful gift with a special milestone marking 30 years since graduation. The energy of the event was infectious, filled with laughter and shared memories, and it deepened my appreciation for the connections that have shaped who I am today.

In addition to the reunion, I participated in a three-day gathering of leadership team members from our Midwest Local Offices at LISC. This event was an incredible opportunity to learn from one another and engage with colleagues from the Cincinnati office, who generously took us on a tour of their work. Hearing firsthand from local partners about the impact of our initiatives reinforced the importance of community and collaboration in achieving meaningful change.

At this year’s Voices of Color Summit, I had the honor of sharing my “ENSPIRE Truth,” a deeply personal reflection on overcoming self-doubt and embracing purpose: “The biggest obstacle between you and your dreams isn’t lack of knowledge, resources, or opportunity—though these are real challenges we face as people of color. The biggest obstacle is often that voice inside telling you ‘not yet,’ ‘not enough,’ or ‘not you.’… You already have everything within you to start. You don’t need to be perfect; you just need to be purposeful. And remember—you don’t have to do it alone.”

From attending the Congressional Black Caucus Annual Legislative Conference to connecting with colleagues at LISC gatherings, I saw firsthand how the bonds we build with others help carry us through challenges and inspire us to dream bigger. These experiences reaffirmed that we thrive when we invest in our communities and allow ourselves to learn from the collective strength of those around us.

A Year of Firsts: Stepping into New Horizons

In Chapter 47, I embraced several “firsts” that symbolized my commitment to growth and stepping outside of my comfort zone.

Right after I turned 47 last year, I was given the chance to represent my organization for the first time as a speaker at Serita Love’s annual Success Junkie Summit. The talk, entitled “Entrepreneurial Leadership: Scoring Success with a Legendary Mindset,” felt monumental. I remember how Serita, my Brand Strategist, casually informed me I’d be speaking, and I thought, “Wait, I don’t think I agreed to this!” My identity as a facilitator and trainer made me hesitant; I didn’t see myself as a speaker. However, this experience taught me that I could step into that role with practice and support. The positive feedback I’ve received since has helped me embrace my abilities and recognize that I’m not just a facilitator; I’m also a capable speaker.

Taking on new challenges—like speaking for the first time at the Success Junkie Summit—required more than just preparation; it demanded faith. Faith that I was equipped for the task, faith in the people who supported me, and faith in the greater purpose that my work serves. This belief gave me the courage to step into the unknown and trust in the potential for growth ahead.

My time at the National FOC Convening in Mesa stands out as a highlight, where I had the opportunity to train others in using coaching within their supervision—skills that deepen my work in both nonprofit and entrepreneurial spaces. In an unexpected twist, I also experienced my first ride in a driverless car! This thrilling moment reminded me of the power of letting go and trusting in the unknown, a feeling that has fueled my entrepreneurial journey with Mission ENSPIRE. Just as I trusted the technology guiding me, I’m learning to embrace the unpredictable turns that come with pursuing growth and transformation.

Looking Ahead: Intentionality and Purpose

As I reflect on my journey and look ahead to the milestones of Chapter 48, my faith remains my compass. It reminds me to lead with gratitude, approach each day with purpose, and trust that every step—no matter how uncertain—is part of a divine plan. My faith also guides my commitment to using the gifts I’ve been given to uplift others and create meaningful impact.

Entering Chapter 48, I recognize that this milestone offers a unique opportunity to pause and assess the broader vision for my life and work. This isn’t just about setting goals; it’s about defining the legacy I want to create and the impact I hope to leave behind. Over the next two years, as I approach Chapter 50, I aim to lean into intentionality—aligning my decisions with my values and purpose.

For Mission ENSPIRE, this means dedicating time to refining my offerings and building stronger connections with the women, nonprofit professionals, and faith-based organizations that I aim to serve. It’s not enough to maintain the status quo; I want to expand my capacity to support others in transforming their lives. This includes exploring new workshops, creating additional resources, and seeking collaborative opportunities to amplify my reach.

Personally, I’m prioritizing self-care and reflection as essential parts of this journey. I’ve realized that stepping back to recharge isn’t a luxury but a necessity, especially as I balance the demands of professional and entrepreneurial life. The retreat I’m planning to attend will not only be a time to strategize but also a chance to reconnect with the “why” behind my work—reminding myself of the passion and purpose that fuel everything I do.

This chapter isn’t just about personal growth; it’s about showing up for others in more meaningful ways. Whether through mentoring, volunteering, or leading, I want to continue planting seeds of courage and confidence in others, just as mentors and supporters have done for me.

Conclusion: Gratitude and an Invitation to Reflect

In reflecting on Chapter 47, I am most grateful for the grace and guidance that have carried me through. My faith has been a constant reminder that even in challenges, there is a greater purpose at work. I’m overwhelmed with gratitude for the experiences, relationships, and growth that happened in my life. Each “first,” each challenge, each opportunity, and each moment of connection contributed to a narrative of resilience, joy, and transformation. These lessons remind me that every step—whether smooth or rocky—is a step forward, shaping the person I’m becoming.

As I move forward, I’m leaning on my faith to help me continue growing, learning, and serving. I’m carrying these lessons with me: the courage to embrace new roles, the wisdom to trust the journey, and the gratitude for every person who has walked alongside me. Growth is never a solitary journey; it’s cultivated in community, and for that, I am deeply thankful.

Now, I’d love to hear from you. In the spirit of reflection and shared growth, consider these questions:

• What community connections have been a source of strength for you?
• What lessons from your past year have shaped your growth?
• How do you plan to embrace the next chapter of your journey with intentionality and purpose?

Let’s inspire and encourage one another as we move forward. Together, we have the power to create transformative change—not just for ourselves, but for the communities we serve.

I look forward to hearing your insights and celebrating the paths we’re on together.