Mantra #6: Stop Saying Just

Through my work as a career transition coach and resume writer, I’m lucky to meet and help amazing people from around the world.

I’ve met award-winning scientists, public servants, and program managers. Many of my clients are mid-career professionals, ready to make the leap to senior leadership of the C-suite.

But some men, and most of the women, use the word just a little too often.

In the span of one week, I heard:

“It’s just a bachelor’s degree.”

“It’s just a small side gig.”

“I’m just a mom.”

My heart hurts. Why does that word have such a hold on us?

No one is just anything.

Especially parents, and especially now, in the poop show that is 2025.

All of us are more than our labels: degrees, job titles, income. L

I know I need to remove just from my vocabulary. And, maybe you do, too?

We’ve worked too hard, for too long, for anything to be just.

Summer Reading

It finally feels like summer here Michigan. And for me, that means more reading!

Books are an integral part of my life & I’m always referring people to my favorites.

So, to support my local bookseller (Schuler Books), I’ve started a bookshop.org page that I hope you’ll check out.

My shop is full of personal and professional favorites that will leave you inspired, laughing, thinking, or all of the above!

Thanks for your support and happy reading!

Mantra #4: The Only Way Out is Through

Every time I look at social media (why do I keep doing that?) or read the news, there’s a new crisis.

It’s exhausting. And yet, it feels familiar.

We’ve have been here before (job loss, Covid, illness, injuries, etc.).

There is some comfort in that.

You have faced hard things before and you can do it again.

I originally wrote this post on March 20, 2020, as the pandemic was just beginning.

It applies to our current time as well. Replace Covid with 2025 and it works.

So, to help us through, here is Mantra #4: 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙤𝙣𝙡𝙮 𝙬𝙖𝙮 𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝.

The coronavirus changed our world in an instant. People are hurting. They’re scared for their safety and their livelihoods. They’re afraid for elderly parents and small children. These are not small things and they should not be diminished. Do not diminish others’ fears. Or your own.

Fear is pain. Unfortunately, we live in a pain-avoidant culture. Many people are afraid of pain- their own, their children’s, the world’s. They ignore it, numb it, try to out-drink or our out-run it.

Fear is good, actually.

Fear reminds us that we’re alive. That there’s something left to lose and something still to live for.

Fear is normal. Avoiding it is not.

It really stinks that this virus isn’t the hardest the thing that I’ve ever done. I’m not happy about that. I’m pissed, actually. Yet, I’m oddly calm, too. There is, for us, a sense of: “yes, we’ve been here before. We got through that, we will get through this.”

We were completely quarantined for months and practiced social distancing for over a year. And yet, even then, there were others forced to do even more work than us. Bone marrow transplant patients are often hospitalized for years. Some of my friends fought for years and still lost their children.

Shepherding my son through cancer treatment was hard. Getting “over it” was harder. This is not my default setting. I’m an east-coaster raised on grades, achievements, and busy. If you weren’t productive, you weren’t worth much.

I don’t “get over” stuff. I am a hanger-on-er. I love to revisit old wounds and dissect how I’ve been wronged. I tried that for years. It only brought more pain and more fear.

After years of denial, I realized that: The only way out is through.

I had to work through my fear, anger, grief, disappointment, rage, frustration. It was brutal. I hated it. I resented most of it.

And I am grateful for it.

The choice is the point. Especially now when it feels as if we have no choice. It’s normal to feel helpless and hopeless. Just don’t stay there.

Name your fears. Write them in a journal. Shout them into the wind. The more we name things, the less power they have to control us.

Go cry in your closet or bathroom. Throw stuff or punch a pillow. Then, wash your face, brush your teeth, and go for a walk.

The more we name our hope, the more inspired we are to act, too

You got this and I’m rooting for you.