This is the fourth in a series of five posts, each focused on a single word. Words that cut to something real about how women move through their careers and lives. Last post: focus. This week: time. The word that determines what actually gets to matter.

There was an online sign-up sheet. That was all it took to volunteer in my daughter’s kindergarten classroom. Find the form, pick a slot, show up. Simple.

Except I hadn’t done it.

It wasn’t for lack of wanting. I was into a new job with more responsibility than I’d had before, managing a team while learning the role, while also tracking three kids across three different schools with three completely different schedules. Any given week included a performance, a doctor’s appointment, a permission slip I’d forgotten about, a dentist visit I’d rescheduled twice. My inbox didn’t stop at 5pm. Neither did my Slack. And 5pm is when the pace somehow accelerated with dinner, kids’ activities, homework, bedtime.

I wanted to go volunteer. I thought about it often. Pictured myself sitting in one of those small plastic chairs, helping a five-year-old sound out words, being there in the uncomplicated way kindergartners need you to be there. But somewhere between wanting and doing, the week would happen to me, and I’d arrive at Friday having given everything I had to everything except that.

One evening my daughter asked me again. She’d been patient, in the way that only children who love you can be, which is to say, not entirely patient, but forgiving. And then she said something that hit me hard.

She told me she knew how I could sign up. She’d figured it out. There was a form, she said. It was in my email.

My heart broke quietly, the way it does when something true arrives in a form you weren’t expecting.

She wasn’t telling me I didn’t care. She thought I just didn’t know how. She was trying to help me find my way to show up for her.

I knew how. That was never the problem. The problem was that my time had been shredded into pieces so small, so constantly interrupted and redirected, that I couldn’t seem to move from wanting to make it happen to actually doing it, even for the things that mattered most to me. I had a full life and no time that felt like mine to spend.

I didn’t have a time management problem. I had a fragmentation problem.

My daughter is in college now. But I still think about that evening. Because the fragmentation didn’t end as the kids grew up. It just evolved.

When Time Becomes Confetti

There’s a name for what I was experiencing. And chances are, you’re living some version of it too.

Brigid Schulte, in her book Overwhelmed: Work, Love and Play When No One Has the Time, coined the term time confetti, the idea that our time gets shredded into such small fragments that what remains are little bits of seconds and minutes, scattered and unusable. Not stolen in large chunks, but nibbled away continuously. A Slack notification here. A mental note to reschedule that appointment there. A context switch between a work problem and a school email and a text from a friend you’ve been meaning to reply to for three days.

The confetti metaphor is perfect because confetti looks festive and abundant. Until you try to do something with it. You can’t build anything out of confetti. You can’t rest in it. You can’t think deeply inside it.

And for women, the fragmentation runs deeper than the visible interruptions. There’s the layer underneath. The mental load of tracking everything, the cognitive hum that never fully quiets. The running list of who needs what, what’s almost out, what’s coming up, who hasn’t responded, what you said you’d follow up on. That layer is always running, even when nothing is visibly demanding your attention. It’s the background process that makes the foreground feel perpetually crowded.

Here’s what’s hard for me to understand: this is not a personal failure. Time confetti isn’t the result of poor planning or weak willpower or not having the right productivity system. It’s structural. Research backs this up. The fragmentation of time, particularly for women, is baked into the way we work, the way we’re expected to be available, and the way domestic and emotional labor is still disproportionately distributed.

And yet the solutions we’re handed are almost always personal. Get a better calendar system. Wake up earlier. Batch your tasks. Time block. We’ve been given efficiency as the answer, which is a band-aid on a structural wound. When we get more efficient, we don’t get more breathing room. We just get better at doing more things in the same fragmented way. We become efficient at the fragmentation itself.

It’s hard to do meaningful work, or live meaningfully, when your time is confetti.

Why Optimization Never Solves It

So what do we do when time feels like it’s never enough?

We optimize.

We download the app, redesign and color code the calendar, set the timer, batch the tasks. We treat time like a math problem: if we can just get more efficient, we can fit everything in. And for a moment, it works. The inbox hits zero. The to-do list gets shorter. For a moment, we feel gloriously on top of it all.

And then it fills back up.

This is what Oliver Burkeman calls the Efficiency Trap in his book Four Thousand Weeks: Time Management for Mortals. When you get more efficient, you don’t get more breathing room. You get more. More emails because you’re responsive. More tasks because you’ve proven you can handle them. More expectations because you’ve signaled availability. Efficiency doesn’t create space. It creates capacity for more demand.

Burkeman’s deeper argument is more philosophical, and more unsettling. If you live to 80, you have roughly 4,000 weeks on this earth. That’s it. And the response most of us have to that finitude is to try harder to fit more in, as if the right system will finally let us outrun the limit. But the limit is the point. Trying to do it all isn’t just exhausting, it’s a losing proposition from the start. There will always be more than you can do. Always another email, another ask, another opportunity that sounds important.

The sooner we stop trying to play and win that game, the sooner we can play a different one.

Optimization isn’t the answer to fragmentation. It’s a faster way to fragment.

Time Is Where It Becomes Real

Here’s where it shifts.

If the first two sections felt a little unsettling, good. That discomfort is useful. It means you’re seeing the system and your relationship with time more clearly. And once you can see it, you can choose something different.

In this series, we’ve been building something together. We started with Power and what it means to claim it rather than shrink from it. We moved to Purpose: the direction that grounds your choices. Last week, Focus asked where you intentionally put your attention.

Time is where all of that becomes real.

Purpose without protected time is just intention. Focus without protected time is just aspiration. Time is where your values either show up in your life or they don’t.

Focus determines attention. Time determines direction.

So the question isn’t how to manage your time better. It’s how to lead with it.

Playing Defense vs. Playing Offense

I’ve written before about the difference between playing defense and playing offense in how you show up and lead. I want to bring that same lens here.

When you’re playing defense with your time, you’re reacting. Responding to whoever asked most recently, optimizing around others’ demands, squeezing yourself into the gaps that remain after everything else has claimed its share. You’re accommodating, adjusting, surviving. You reach the end of the day having been busy, genuinely, exhaustingly busy, and yet somehow the things that matter most to you never quite made it onto the field.

Playing offense looks different. It’s not about doing more. It’s about deciding first.

Burkeman offers a counterintuitive move that I find oddly liberating: deliberately choose what you will fail at. Not accidentally, not by default, but consciously. Decide in advance what won’t get your best attention, so that what does is a real choice rather than whatever was left over. This isn’t resignation. It’s clarity.

Playing offense with your time means:

Deciding before the world decides for you. Your time will get claimed one way or another. The only question is whether you’re the one doing the claiming.

Protecting proactively, not reactively. This isn’t about being unavailable or ungenerous. It’s about putting what matters on the calendar before the requests arrive, and treating that time with the same respect you’d give any other commitment.

Choosing JOMO over FOMO. Committing fully to one path means releasing others. That release isn’t loss, it’s intentional focus. The joy of missing out is the joy of actually being somewhere, fully, rather than everywhere halfway.

Making room for what matters, not just what’s urgent. Urgency is loud. Importance is quiet and patient. Playing offense means you don’t make those important things wait forever.

None of this is easy. The demands are real. The pulls are constant. But there’s a difference between a life that happens to you and a life you’re actively directing. And time is where that difference is made.

You don’t get more weeks. But you do get to choose what lives inside them.

What Gets Your Time

You will never have more time than you have right now. Not because of poor planning or the wrong tools, but because time is finite, and the world will always ask more of you than you have to give.

That’s not a reason for despair. It’s a reason for intention.

Reclaiming your time doesn’t start with better systems. It starts with believing that your attention, your energy, and your life are worth protecting. That what matters to you deserves a place on the calendar before the requests arrive. That you are allowed to play offense.

The confetti will keep coming. It always does. But you get to decide what you’re protecting.

So here’s your question for this week:

What part of your life deserves more than confetti? And what would one small offensive move look like: something you choose, protect, and don’t apologize for?

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It doesn’t have to be big. It just has to be yours.

Keep carving your path.

This is the third in a series of five posts, each focused on a single word. Words that shape how women show up in their careers, their relationships, and their lives. Last week I wrote about purpose. This week: focus. The word that determines what gets your attention.

Years ago, I was in a women’s leadership program and I vividly remember an exercise we did. The facilitator passed out peacock feathers (full length 3-5 foot feathers) to each of us. She asked us to balance the feather on one finger. Being competitive, all of us dove in to see who could balance it first. And everyone struggled. We were diving around, catching the feather, trying to figure out how to do it, and then declaring that it wasn’t possible. Well, we all had instinctively focused on the point where the feather met our finger.

Then she asked us to change our point of focus, and lift our gaze to the “eye” of the feather (the beautiful, colorful part at the top). And instantly, we could balance it on our finger tip. Indeed it worked! We all were successfully (and much more peacefully) balancing this 4 foot feather on our fingertip.

The facilitator wasn’t teaching balance. She was teaching us the value of intentional focus. When you focus narrowly, on the immediate contact point, or on the urgent task, the fire in front of you, you lose the whole thing. When you shift your focus up and out, to the “eye” of the peacock feather, to the bigger picture, something counterintuitive happens: the whole thing stabilizes. The lesson was when you have the right focus, the broader, more expansive focus, and not the narrow, immediate or urgent focus, you are successfully able to achieve balance.

It was such a beautiful lesson to physically feel the difference in energy required to balance the feather. And something that stuck with me. Yet, I find myself wrestling with this in my everyday life. My focus and energy are drawn to the urgent issues, or demands and requests from others, leaving me feeling scattered.

Focus Is a Lens

I’ve thought about that peacock feather exercise many times over the years. Especially lately, as I’ve been contemplating this word: focus.

Not focus in the productivity sense. In the clarity sense.

Because when I started exploring the word itself, I was struck by how many of its definitions centered not on doing, but on seeing:

• to concentrate attention or effort

• to bring into clear visual definition

• a state permitting clear perception or understanding

That last one especially stayed with me. A state permitting clear perception. Not a technique. Not a discipline. A state. Something you arrive at, something you cultivate.

It reminded me of adjusting the focus on a camera lens. You turn it slightly one direction, then the other, fine-tuning until the image sharpens. Too narrow, and you lose perspective. Too broad, and nothing becomes clear.

The lens doesn’t force the image into focus, it creates the conditions for clarity to emerge.

Which brings me back to the feather. The facilitator wasn’t asking us to concentrate harder. She was asking us to adjust where we were looking. To find the right focal point. Not the urgent one, not the obvious one, but the one that let everything else settle.

Maybe that’s what focus really is. Not a productivity tool. A clarity practice.

Why Focus Feels So Hard

It’s easy to read about focus and walk away feeling like the problem is you. Like if you just downloaded the right app, batched your notifications, or woke up earlier, you’d finally be able to concentrate. The self-improvement industry has made a fortune on that premise.

But here’s what the research actually tells us.

Researcher Gloria Mark spent years studying how people work at UC Irvine and found that after a single interruption, it takes an average of 23 minutes to return to a task. Not 23 seconds. Twenty-three minutes. And most of us aren’t dealing with one interruption, we’re navigating a near-constant stream of them. (If this finding stops you in your tracks the way it did me, her book Attention Span is worth your time.)

I know this feeling: trying to think through a strategic decision while simultaneously tracking three other things I promised I wouldn’t forget.

That’s not a personal discipline problem. That’s a systems problem.

And women carry what researchers call “cognitive labor”: the invisible, ongoing mental work of tracking schedules, anticipating needs, managing emotional dynamics, and holding the details that keep everything running for our families and our teams. It runs in the background, always. Long before we ever sit down to “focus,” our attention has already been claimed.

Then comes the double bind: we’re expected to be responsive, available, and attuned to others, and then questioned for lacking strategic clarity or vision. We’re asked to focus while the conditions for focus are being systematically eroded.

This isn’t a willpower problem. It’s not a productivity hack problem. The difficulty is real, and it is structural. Naming it that way, and seeing it clearly, is itself an act of focus.

Where Are You Actually Looking?

Think back to the peacock feather. When we were asked to balance it, we all did the same thing: we looked down. At the point of contact. At the immediate problem. And the feather wobbled, lurched, fell.

That’s narrow focus. It’s not a character flaw. It’s a natural response to pressure. When something feels urgent or unstable, we zoom in. We react. We try harder, focused on the thing right in front of us. But narrow focus has a way of becoming its own kind of trap. When we’re zoomed in on the immediate point of tension, we lose sight of the larger picture. Like a camera lens pulled too tight, it distorts as much as it clarifies.

Expansive focus is the shift the facilitator asked us to make. Lifting our gaze to the eye of the feather. And here’s what’s important: expansive focus is not the same as distraction. It’s not losing concentration or letting everything go blurry. It’s widening the frame enough to see what actually matters. Your purpose. Your values. The relationships and long-term direction that give the immediate work its meaning. When you’re oriented toward those things, something counterintuitive happens: the details don’t disappear, they just find their right place.

Strong leaders know when to zoom in and when to zoom out. The skill isn’t choosing one over the other permanently, it’s learning to move between them with intention.

But there’s something that makes this harder than it sounds, and it’s worth naming directly. We tend to think of focus as a matter of duration — how many uninterrupted hours we can log, how long we can sustain concentration. The productivity world sells it this way: Pomodoro blocks, deep work sessions, distraction-free mornings. And those things have their place.

What the feather taught me is something different. And I think it offers two reframes worth sharing.

Focus is a direction, not a duration. The feather taught me that where you aim your gaze matters more than how long you hold it. The question isn’t “how do I focus for longer?” It’s “what is my eye of the feather?” What is the thing that, when you orient toward it, lets everything else settle?

Reclaiming focus starts with honest awareness. Before we can find our eye of the feather, we have to answer a harder question first: where is your attention actually going right now? Not where you intend it to go. Where it actually lands, day after day. This is where the reclaiming starts. Not with a new system or a better schedule, but with clear-eyed noticing. What are you centering by default, without having chosen to? Once you can see that, you can begin to choose differently.

Choosing What Comes Into Focus

Maybe focus isn’t something we force. Maybe it’s something we cultivate, by adjusting the lens, lifting our gaze, and returning, again and again, to the thing that actually matters.

The peacock feather didn’t require more effort. It required a different approach. And I think that’s true for us too.

Focus is not a fixed state. It’s an ongoing recalibration. We zoom in when we need to. We zoom out when we’ve lost the thread. We notice when our attention has been claimed by something we didn’t consciously choose, and we gently redirect.

What we focus on shapes what we’re able to see. And over time, it shapes our lives.

So this week, before optimizing your schedule or attempting another focus strategy, try something simpler: notice. Where does your attention go first in the morning? What claims it before you’ve chosen to give it? And is there an eye of the feather – something you could orient toward that would let everything else settle?

What are you focusing on?

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Next week: Time. Because once you have clarity about where you’re looking, the next question becomes: Do you actually have the conditions to look there? Looking forward to exploring it with you. Until then, keep carving your path.

This is the second in a series of five posts, each focused on a single word. Words that shape how women show up in their careers, their relationships, and their lives. Last post I wrote about power. This week: purpose. The word that grounds everything else.

There we were. In our standard spot on the high school bleachers. The whistle blew. They lost. The game was over. And since it was the playoffs, it meant the season was over too. And more than that: it was our last one. Our third kid to play at this high school, a senior, had just finished her final game. My husband and I looked at each other, tears in our eyes, neither of us ready to leave. After a decade of showing up at this school for our kids, cheering, driving, managing logistics, volunteering, worrying, hoping, it was over.

Other parents offered their consolations. Now you’ll have your evenings back! Free weekends! They meant well. They were in the thick of it, juggling multiple kids, multiple schedules, counting down to the day the calendar would finally breathe again. I remembered that feeling. I’d been there. But somewhere along the way, without quite noticing, the packed schedule had stopped feeling like something to escape and started feeling like something else entirely: a source of meaning.

For many years, so much of my “why” had been woven into showing up for my kids. Not just logistically, but intentionally. Cheering them on. Role-modeling what a meaningful career looks like. Earning an income that made their opportunities possible. My purpose wasn’t abstract or lofty. It was concrete. It showed up every Tuesday and Saturday and in every college application essay read at the kitchen table.

And now, quietly, it was shifting.

Not disappearing. Shifting. And I wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the word purpose lately. Not in the abstract, motivational-poster sense. In the real, lived, sometimes-elusive sense. The kind that’s easy to take for granted when life gives it to you clearly, and surprisingly disorienting when it starts to change shape.

Do you know those people who seem to emanate purpose? Who have one clear, driving cause that radiates through everything they do: the environmentalist, the advocate, the founder who knew from age twelve exactly what they were here to do? They talk about their purpose openly, effortlessly. It organizes their life.

That’s not me. It never has been.

What I’ve had instead are seasons of purpose. Times when my “why” was unmistakable: raising these three kids, certain chapters of my career, work that felt urgent and clear. And other times when purpose felt elusive, too big, or like it had been named by someone else and handed to me to carry. Times when I felt, if I’m honest, a little unmoored.

What I’ve come to understand, slowly, and still imperfectly, is that this isn’t a personal failing. It’s actually the more honest version of how purpose works. For most of us, and for women in particular, purpose isn’t a fixed destination we arrive at once and then simply live. It shifts. It evolves. It gets disrupted and rebuilt.

Sitting on those bleachers, not ready to leave, I wasn’t lost. I was at a threshold. And I’m learning that’s exactly where purpose asks you to pay attention.

Our Given Purpose

There’s a reason so many women have a complicated relationship with purpose. And it starts early.

From the time we’re young, we’re handed purpose in pre-packaged forms. Daughter. Student. Helper. Later: partner, mother, caregiver, team player, leader, the one who holds things together. These roles aren’t without meaning. Many of them bring genuine joy and satisfaction. Showing up for my kids, being present for my team, supporting people I care about: these things have mattered deeply to me. They still do.

High-achieving women often layer another version of this on top: purpose becomes tied to productivity, impact, title, output. If I’m not producing something measurable, am I even contributing? If I’m not advancing, am I falling behind? The metrics of professional success quietly take over the way we think about meaning. Clayton Christensen wrote about this in How Will You Measure Your Life? — that the same frameworks we use to drive results at work have a way of taking over the rest of our lives too, often without our noticing. His invitation was to consciously choose different metrics for the things that matter most. Easier said than done when you’ve been measuring yourself a certain way for twenty years.

And then there’s the double bind. Women who name an ambitious, self-directed purpose, who say “this is what I’m here to do, for myself, on my own terms”, can be perceived as selfish, single-minded, unfeminine. Women who don’t name it remain invisible, quietly in service to everyone else’s purpose. Neither option is particularly appealing.

So many of us end up shape-shifting. Adopting the purposes of the people and institutions around us. Doing meaningful work, genuinely, but work whose meaning was defined by someone else. And when those structures change, when the kids leave, when the role ends, when the organization shifts, we find ourselves at a threshold we didn’t see coming, without a clear sense of what our own north star actually is.

I’ve been at that threshold more than once. And each time, I’ve had to resist the urge to quickly fill the space with the next thing, the next role, the next version of being useful.

Purpose, I’m learning, doesn’t live out there waiting to be claimed. It lives in the asking. And the first question worth asking is: what do I actually want to be in service to?

There’s No Single Answer. There Are Seasons.

If purpose isn’t something we find once and hold forever, what is it exactly?

Here’s the framing that has helped me most: purpose operates on two levels simultaneously, and we need both.

There’s the macro purpose: your bigger why. Your values, your direction, the through-line of what matters to you across seasons of your life. In Start With Why, Simon Sinek argues that the most fulfilled people and organizations are those who lead from purpose rather than outcome, who know why they do what they do before they figure out how or what. It’s a powerful framework. But here’s what I’d add: your personal why isn’t a brand statement you craft once and set in stone. It’s a living thing. It breathes. It changes as you do.

And then there’s the micro purpose: how you show up each day. What you choose to care about in this conversation, this project, this ordinary Thursday. The small acts of attention and intention that, accumulated over time, actually are your purpose in practice.

We tend to fixate on the macro and neglect the micro. We wait to feel called toward something grand before we let ourselves feel purposeful. But Bill Burnett and Dave Evans, the Stanford professors behind Designing Your Life, offer something more useful: you can’t think your way to a meaningful life. You have to prototype your way there. Purpose isn’t revealed through enough introspection. It’s built through action, through small experiments, through paying attention to what energizes you and what doesn’t. You don’t find it. You make it.

This is the shift that changes everything: from purpose as a destination to purpose as a practice.

In my coaching work, there’s a question I come back to again and again, with clients and with myself: “What is this in service to?”

It sounds simple. It isn’t. When someone is stuck in a frustrating meeting, a draining project, a conflict that keeps circling, asking “what is this in service to?” does something quietly powerful. It lifts your focus from the immediate friction to the underlying meaning. It moves you from winning the argument to what outcome actually matters here. It reconnects you to the person on the other side, the customer whose problem you’re trying to solve, the team you’re trying to build.

But the deeper application is personal. Asking yourself “what is this season of my life in service to?” can be one of the most clarifying questions I know. It doesn’t require a perfect answer. It just asks you to look honestly at where your energy is going, and whether that’s where you’d consciously choose to put it.

For years, my answer was clear: my kids, my career, the intersection of the two. Now, as that season shifts, I’m sitting with the question again. Not with dread, instead with curiosity. Because the question itself is a compass. You don’t have to know the destination to start using it.

Joy Is a Signal, Not a Reward

What if joy isn’t the reward you get after you find your purpose? What if it’s actually the signal that points you toward it?

I’ve come to think that purpose and joy aren’t sequential: they’re reciprocal. The relationship runs in both directions, and it feeds itself:

You feel a flicker of joy

→ you follow it

→ it points toward purpose

You act from purpose

→ it generates joy

It’s an invitation to pay attention differently. To treat joy (real joy, not just pleasure or distraction) as data. As information about what matters to you, what you’re built for, where your energy is actually alive.

I started a practice a while back that I call Daily Delights. Each day, I try to capture one moment (often through a photo) that held some small, genuine beauty or meaning. A morning walk. A conversation that meant something to me. An experience shared with someone I love. It started as a simple habit. What it’s become is a kind of ongoing map of my own purpose, built in small increments. The things I keep returning to, keep noticing, keep wanting to hold onto, they tell me something. About what I value. About who I am when I’m not performing anything for anyone.

We often think we need to figure out our purpose in order to live more joyfully. I’d suggest the opposite: follow the joy carefully, and it will show you something true about your purpose. Let it be a signal, not just a side effect.

Purpose Isn’t Found. It’s Chosen. Again and Again.

You don’t need one perfect purpose.

You don’t need to have it all figured out before you’re allowed to feel purposeful. You don’t need to have arrived somewhere definitive, or to have answered the question in a way that would look good on a bio or a keynote slide.

You are not static. And neither is your purpose.

What I’m learning (slowly, in real time, on the other side of those bleachers) is that the most honest relationship with purpose isn’t one of discovery. It’s one of return. You return to the question. You return to what matters. You rebuild your answer as life changes the conditions.

Purpose isn’t a destination you arrive at once.

It’s a practice you keep choosing.

In big ways and small ones, across seasons, through transitions you didn’t see coming and thresholds you weren’t ready for.

When I sat in those bleachers not wanting to leave, I thought I was grieving the end of something. And maybe I was, honestly. But I’ve come to think I was also at the beginning of something. The next chapter of my own purpose, one I get to write intentionally.

That’s not a loss. That’s an invitation.

So here’s the question I’ll leave you with, the same one I ask my clients, and the same one I’m sitting with myself:

What is your life — your work, your energy, your next chapter — in service to right now?

You don’t have to have the answer. But it’s worth asking.

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Next week’s word: Focus. Because once you know what you’re in service to, the question becomes — where do you actually put your attention? Looking forward to exploring it with you. Until then, keep carving your path.

This is the first in a series of five posts, each focused on a single word. Words that shape how women show up in their careers, their relationships, and their lives. I’m starting with the one that makes a lot of us uncomfortable: power.

For a long time, I didn’t think of myself as someone who wanted power.

I wanted impact. Influence. Opportunity. The ability to make better decisions, create change, advocate for people, and help talented people grow.

But power? That word felt uncomfortable. Too sharp. Too political. Too self-serving. Too tied to images of dominance, ego, and people who wanted to win at someone else’s expense.

So like many women, I wanted many of the outcomes of power, without wanting to be associated with the word itself.

I don’t think I’m alone in that.

Women Often Don’t Reject Power. We Reject the Penalty.

Many women grow up receiving mixed messages about ambition, authority, and leadership.

Be capable, but not intimidating. Be confident, but not too confident. Lead, but stay likable. Speak up, but don’t take up too much space. Want success, but don’t look like you want it too much.

It’s a narrow path. And the stakes for stepping off it are real.

Researchers call this the double bind or the competence-likability paradox. Catalyst’s foundational study on women in leadership identified three specific traps that show up again and again: women are perceived as either too soft or too tough, never just right; held to higher standards but rewarded less; and seen as competent or likable, but rarely both. The research has been replicated across industries, geographies, and decades. The dynamic it describes has not gone away.

One of the most striking illustrations comes from a Stanford study. A professor took a Harvard Business School case study of a real, successful Silicon Valley entrepreneur named Heidi Roizen and split his class in two. Half read her story under her real name. The other half read the identical profile (same accomplishments, same decisions, same results) but with one change: her name was Howard. Both groups rated Heidi and Howard as equally competent. Howard was well-liked. Heidi was seen as aggressive and not the kind of person you’d want to work for.

Same story. Different name.

Men pursuing power are described as driven, strategic, leadership material. Women pursuing the same power can be labeled difficult, aggressive, political, cold, or “too much.” So many women learn an understandable lesson: want influence quietly, want advancement carefully, want power, but call it something else.

We aren’t anti-power. We’re often anti-penalty.

What Leadership Taught Me About Power

When I stepped into senior leadership roles, I began to understand something I hadn’t fully appreciated earlier in my career: power is real whether you acknowledge it or not.

My words carried more weight than I realized. My attention signaled priorities. My sponsorship could help open doors, and my silence could be interpreted too. People watched where I spent time, what I praised, what I challenged, what I ignored. And sometimes I wasn’t paying nearly enough attention to the impact I was having, precisely because I’d never fully claimed the power I held.

That experience taught me something important: power ignored is still power. It’s just unmanaged.

And power used intentionally can create real good. It can empower people. It can elevate talent. It can challenge outdated norms. It can move resources where they’re needed most. It can make systems fairer, faster, healthier, stronger. That’s when I began to rethink the word itself.

Maybe Power Isn’t Dominance. Maybe It’s Capacity.

What if power isn’t about control? What if power is capacity? The capacity to influence outcomes, make decisions, create change, help others rise, and move ideas into action?

Seen this way, power becomes less about ego and more about responsibility. And that matters, especially for women who care deeply about making an impact. Because when thoughtful people avoid power, power doesn’t disappear. It just gets concentrated elsewhere.

Competence Alone Is Not Enough

Work hard. Be excellent. Deliver results. That advice matters. Competence is foundational. But it’s not sufficient on its own.

Organizations are not pure meritocracies. Performance matters, but so do visibility, relationships, reputation, influence, and access. Many women were taught to master the work. Fewer were taught to understand the system around it.

Jeffrey Pfeffer, a professor at Stanford’s Graduate School of Business who has spent decades studying organizational power, makes a point in his book Power: Why Some People Have It And Others Don’t, that stuck with me: stop looking backward at what you’ve already proven, and start positioning yourself for what comes next. He calls it feed-forward instead of feedback. Rather than building a case for why you deserve recognition based on your track record, focus your energy on demonstrating what you’re capable of doing from here. For women who’ve spent years accumulating credentials to justify their seat at the table, that’s a quiet but meaningful shift. The question moves from “have I earned this?” to “what am I signaling I’m ready for next?”

That’s not playing politics. It’s organizational awareness. Understanding how decisions actually get made, where influence actually lives, and how to position yourself to shape outcomes rather than just execute them.

How to Build Power Authentically

Power doesn’t begin with a title. Long before formal authority, you can build real influence, and that foundation matters whether or not a leadership role ever follows.

Credibility. Become known for solving meaningful problems well. This is the core, and it’s one most women already invest in deeply. The question is whether it’s visible enough to people who matter.

Relationships. Build trust across teams, levels, and functions, not just within your immediate world. Power flows through networks. The people who can advocate for you, sponsor you, and open doors for you often aren’t in your direct chain of management.

Visibility. Here’s a line I come back to often with my own clients: it’s not who you know. It’s not even what you know. It’s who knows what you know. Visibility isn’t self-promotion in the uncomfortable sense. It’s making sure your expertise and contributions are findable by the people who need them. That might mean sending a brief note when a project lands well, speaking up in the meetings where decisions actually happen, or asking to be in the room for a conversation that’s relevant to your work.

Strategic communication. Speak with clarity. Share your thinking early, before decisions are finalized. Influence is easier to exercise upstream than downstream.

Understanding the system. Know who makes decisions in your organization, where resources flow, and how priorities actually get set. Competence doesn’t automatically come with this knowledge, you have to learn it deliberately. Which functional areas or specific leaders hold the most organizational power? Who approves what? Who needs to be in your corner? This is worth understanding clearly.

Presence. Take your seat at the table. Not the chair at the edge of the room. The one at the table, where you belong. Don’t shrink yourself in rooms you’ve earned the right to be in.

None of this requires becoming someone you’re not. It requires becoming more strategic about how the genuine value you bring actually gets seen.

A Better Question

Instead of asking “Do I want power?”, try asking “What could I improve if I had more of it?”

What team or effort could you better impact? What ideas could you accelerate? What career path could you shape? What doors could you open? For yourself, and for others?

A Different Kind of Power

When I look back at my own discomfort with the word power, I think what I was really rejecting was a version of it I didn’t want to embody: power as dominance, as ego, as winning at someone else’s expense. That version is real, and it exists in the world. But it isn’t the only version.

Power at its best is not domination. It is the ability to make things better. To have a meaningful impact. And the world needs more women willing to claim that. Not quietly, not apologetically, but with the full weight of what they’re capable of.

Maybe power isn’t the problem. Maybe our belief of it is.

Question for you: Where in your life or career do you already have more power than you think?

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Next week’s word: Purpose. The word that grounds everything else. Looking forward to exploring it with you. Until then, keep carving your path.

A note before we begin: this is landing in your inbox on a Friday, a little later than my usual Wednesday. Fitting, maybe, for a post about giving yourself permission to pause.

There’s a trail I come back to again and again.

It starts quietly.
You’re surrounded by trees and brush, your view limited to what’s right in front of you. Step by step, you’re just… in it.

And then, about half a mile in, the trail turns.

You round the corner, and suddenly everything opens up.

Cliffs stretching wide into the distance.
The ocean, vast and steady below.
Sky that feels bigger than you remembered.

Every time, without fail, I stop.

Take a deep breath.
Look out.
Let it all settle.

And in that moment, something shifts.

What felt close… expands.
What felt heavy… lightens.
What felt all-consuming… finds its place in a much bigger picture.

That trail has been on my mind this week, as I’ve stepped back into the rhythm of work after some time away.

Coming back with fresh eyes is its own kind of reminder: how much we all need those moments of perspective.

Not just the big getaways, but the simple, intentional pauses that help us zoom out.

Because most of our lives (and our leadership) happen in that first part of the trail.

Close in.
Focused.
Moving quickly from one thing to the next.

And when we stay there too long, everything starts to feel equally urgent.
Every decision feels heavier.
Every challenge feels bigger than it is.

We lose perspective.

I know this from experience. And not just the good kind.

There have been times when I’ve pushed through when I should have stepped back. A decision I was circling for days, weighing me down, suddenly became clear on a run. A team conversation I was dreading that untangled itself after I stopped trying to solve it at my desk and just went for a walk.

Not because I worked harder.

But because I gave myself space to see differently.

Here’s what I’ve learned: you don’t have to wait for a vacation to zoom out.

Sometimes it looks like stepping away from your desk when you’re stuck, even when every instinct says to push through.

Going for a walk.
Taking a run.
Letting your mind breathe for a moment.

And then somewhere along the way, something clicks.

An idea surfaces.
A decision becomes clearer.
A problem that felt tangled… loosens.

Not because you worked harder.
But because you gave yourself space to see differently.

Zooming out isn’t a luxury. It’s a leadership skill.

And like any skill, it helps to know when to use it. Here are a few moments to watch for:

→ When everything feels equally important

If it all feels urgent, that’s your signal to step back. Perspective helps you see what actually matters. And what can wait.

→ When you’re stuck in a loop

Replaying the same thoughts, circling the same problem. This is where distance creates clarity. The answer rarely comes from thinking harder. It comes from thinking differently.

→ When you’re reacting instead of choosing

Zooming out gives you back your agency. It creates space between what’s happening and how you respond. And that space is where your best leadership lives.

For me, that trail is a reminder.

Perspective is always there.
Sometimes you just have to walk far enough to see it.

And sometimes, you don’t even have to go that far. Just far enough to step out of the noise and back into clarity.

This week, as I step back into the rhythm of work, I’m holding onto that feeling.

The pause.
The breath.
The bigger view.

Clarity isn’t something you power through your way into.

It’s something you create space to receive.

Where do you go, or what do you do to zoom out and regain perspective?

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Before I could think, I heard myself say: “I work for my husband. I stay home with the family.”

I still cringe writing that. I had recently left a great job and the corporate world entirely to be at home with my kids. A decision that was deliberate, intentional, and completely mine. And yet, when faced with that question, I didn’t lead with any of that. I didn’t say “I left my career to raise my family” or even “I’m taking a break.” I said I worked for my husband. Because without a title, a company, a role to point to, I genuinely didn’t know how to answer the question: who am I? I thought my worth had just plummeted. It hadn’t. But it would take me years to really understand that.

There’s an equation most of us have quietly internalized:

Your title + your company + your accomplishments = Your worth.

Especially in tech. Especially for high-achievers. And especially for women. We don’t just believe it. We build our careers around it. We strive for the title, the role, the seat at the table. And we put an outsized weight on being the leader, the expert, the one who holds things together. It works, until it doesn’t. Until the scaffolding falls away. That’s when identity gets tested. When you leave the role, the company reorganizes, the title disappears.

And the question lands hard: who am I without this?

The Equation We Inherited

Culturally we are conditioned to believe what we do is our identity and our worth. It shows up everywhere: your resume, your LinkedIn bio, the inevitable dinner party question “so what do you do?” functioning as shorthand for “so who are you?”

Over time, we start to believe that our value is driven by external validation – the title we carry, and how others perceive it when we drop it in a social setting. We’ve also been taught to value WHAT we produce over HOW we lead. Output over presence. Deliverables over impact. This is the equation that quietly ties our identity to something that was never really ours to own.

Transitions Crack It Open

Losing your job. A re-org or restructuring. Changing functions. Pivoting careers. Each of these moves asks you to leave a role or title behind, and feel the vacuum that follows. When the thing that anchored you disappears, you can feel genuinely unmoored. Not because you’ve lost anything real, but because you built your foundation on something that was always temporary.

James Clear captures this precisely in Atomic Habits: the most resilient identity isn’t built around what you’ve achieved, it’s built around who you are. “I’m someone who leads with curiosity” holds up across every role. “VP of Engineering at [Company]” has an expiration date.

You Take Yourself With You

Here’s the shift:

Who you are is not your title.

It’s what you bring into every role.

We’re used to defining ourselves by what we do — the role we hold, the title we carry, the responsibilities we own, the output we produce.

But who you are shows up differently.

It’s how you think.
How you lead.
How you show up in the moments that matter.
It’s what people experience in your presence, long after the meeting ends.

That’s the part that doesn’t disappear when the role does.

Who you are is portable. You take it with you wherever you go — into new roles, new situations, new chapters.

Your skills. Your values. Your unique ways of showing up.

The things people say about you when you leave a room, don’t live in a job title. They travel with you.

You might be the person who brings clarity to complexity, or creates calm when everything feels on fire.

The one who connects people across silos, or makes others feel genuinely seen.

None of that comes from your title. It comes from you.

A Few Questions Worth Sitting With

If you stripped away your title…

• What would still be true about you?

• What do people consistently come to you for?

• How do you impact a room, a team, a conversation?

You don’t lose who you are when your role or company changes.

You just change the container it was expressed in.

And when you understand that, really understand it, you stop chasing identity through titles…

and start leading from something much more grounded.

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This question of identity is the one I keep coming back to. In the coming weeks, I’ll be exploring a few words that shape how we show up in our careers all through this lens. But first, I’ll be taking a week off for vacation. Looking forward to diving back in with you in a couple of weeks.

Keep carving your path,
Tracy

But one of the most powerful gifts we can receive is wisdom from other women.

Books have shaped my leadership more than almost anything else. The right words, at the right moment, can change how we see ourselves, how we lead, and what we believe is possible.

If you’re looking for inspiration, resilience, and a fresh perspective, these are five voices worth spending time with.

Nataly Kogan

Why read her? Nataly Kogan redefines success by focusing on joy, resilience, and avoiding burnout.

I first heard Nataly speak at a women’s conference, and her message stuck with me years later. Unlike traditional leadership talks, hers focused on happiness and positivity as a leadership skill. It reshaped my mindset entirely. Her concept of “emotional fitness” helped me navigate leadership and organizational changes, as well as my big career pivots.

📖 Happier Now and The Awesome Human Project help leaders stop struggling and start leading with intention and energy.

I follow Nataly on LinkedIn & Instagram for her bite-sized wisdom, and her workbook, The Awesome Human Journal, is a great companion for reflection.

Perfect for you if: You’re feeling burned out, seeking more joy in your leadership, or navigating significant professional changes.

👉 Try this: Start a 5-minute daily gratitude practice (one of Nataly’s core teachings) to shift your leadership mindset.

Nataly proves that emotional well-being isn’t just a personal pursuit. It’s the foundation for leadership that inspires and elevates everyone around you.

Fran Hauser

Why read her? Fran Hauser proves that you can be kind, ambitious, and successful—all at the same time.

My team and I invited Fran to speak at Intuit for an International Women’s Day event, and her message resonated deeply with our female leaders. She challenges the outdated belief that being “nice” is a career weakness, showing that authenticity and impact go hand in hand. Fran’s approach to combining warmth with strength helped me recently coach a senior leader to embrace and leverage her collaborative style of leadership.

📖 The Myth of the Nice Girl and Embrace the Work, Love Your Career help leaders grow their influence without compromising who they are.

I follow Fran on LinkedIn, where she’s a champion for women in leadership, sharing career advice, book recommendations, and insights from her latest projects. She’s also a Substack writer herself, sharing actionable career growth tips and book recommendations.

Perfect for you if: You’re struggling to balance assertiveness with authenticity, looking to amplify your personal brand, or seeking strategies to advance without compromising your values.

👉 Try this: Practice one of Fran’s techniques for expressing disagreement kindly but firmly: “I see this differently, and here’s why...” in your next challenging meeting.

Her practical approach blends ambition with kindness, proving you don’t have to choose between being respected and being liked.

Shannon Huffman Polson

Why read her? Shannon Huffman Polson teaches grit, resilience, and courage—essential traits for leaders breaking barriers.

Shannon’s story is one of perseverance. As one of the U.S. Army’s first female Apache attack helicopter pilots and the youngest woman to summit Denali, she knows what it takes to lead in high-stakes, male-dominated environments. Her message on resilience resonated deeply with me when she led a Grit Factor workshop for our women’s and military ERG network. The experience was unforgettable.

📖 The Grit Factor: Courage, Resilience, and Leadership in the Most Male-Dominated Organization in the World shares lessons from her journey and practical strategies for building resilience in leadership.

I follow Shannon on LinkedIn, where she shares insights on grit, leadership, and navigating challenges with confidence. She also leads The Grit Institute, helping leaders develop the mindset to push through obstacles.

Perfect for you if: You’re facing tough career challenges, need to build team resilience during difficult times, or want to develop the mental toughness required for breakthrough leadership.

👉 Try this: The next time you face a setback, ask yourself: What’s the lesson here? How can this make me stronger? Reframing challenges builds grit over time.

Her extraordinary journey proves that true grit isn’t about never falling. It’s about rising every time life knocks you down.

April Rinne

Why read her? April Rinne helps leaders develop a Flux mindset to navigate constant change with confidence and agility.

I met April when she spoke at our women’s ERG event during my time as the global network leader. Her unique perspective on navigating change—informed by her global travels and corporate leadership—offered refreshing insights on thriving in uncertainty.

Her concept of the Flux Superpowers (embracing uncertainty and seeing what’s unseen) shifted how I approach leadership in fast-changing environments.

📖 Flux: 8 Superpowers for Thriving in Constant Change is an essential read for anyone struggling with uncertainty and looking to develop adaptability as a leadership skill.

I follow April on LinkedIn for her thought-provoking posts about global trends, leadership insights, and yes, her impressive headstand photos from around the world! Her perspective on change as opportunity rather than obstacle continues to influence how I coach leaders through transitions.

Perfect for you if: You’re navigating career transitions, leading through uncertainty, or seeking to build adaptability as a leadership strength.

👉 Try this: The next time you feel overwhelmed by uncertainty, ask yourself: What if this change is happening for me, not to me? Shifting your perspective can unlock new opportunities, growth, and innovation.

Follow her work for a global perspective on leadership that balances wisdom with practical application.

Tiffany Dufu

Why read her? Tiffany Dufu empowers women to let go of perfection, focus on what matters most, and lead with impact.

I first heard Tiffany speak at a women’s conference where she shared insights from Drop The Ball. Her message didn’t just resonate, it shook my worldview. As a mother of three with a demanding career, her framework for strategic delegation was a game changer, empowering me to prioritize and let go of time-consuming tasks. Instead of striving for unrealistic perfection, I learned to focus my energy where it truly counts. This same principle transformed how I coach female executives battling perfection and burnout.

📖 Drop The Ball: Achieve More by Doing Less is a must-read for ambitious women who feel stretched too thin and provides actionable strategies for focusing only on what truly matters.

I follow Tiffany on LinkedIn and appreciate her continued advocacy for women and girls. Her concept of “dropping the ball” extends beyond home life into critical workplace skills—teaching the art of strategic delegation, boundary-setting, and focus.

Perfect for you if: You’re struggling with perfectionism, feeling overwhelmed by competing demands, or looking for a smarter way to manage your time and energy.

👉 Try this: Identify one task or responsibility you can drop this week—something that doesn’t serve your highest priorities. Let it go and see what shifts.

Her revolutionary approach proves that achieving more often requires doing less by creating space for the leadership impact only you can deliver.

Pass It On

These five women gave me gifts I didn’t know I needed: a reframe, a permission slip, a reminder of what I’m capable of. Sharing their work with you feels like the most natural way to close out a month all about giving.

If one of these books resonates, pass it on. Recommend it to a colleague, gift it to a mentee, or share this post with a woman in your network who could use the reminder that she’s not alone on this path.

That’s Give to Gain in action. Wisdom received. Wisdom shared. Impact multiplied.

Which woman’s wisdom will you pass on this week? I’d love to hear in the comments.

Leave a comment

Keep carving your path,

Tracy

There’s a moment I’ve seen play out in countless teams.

A meeting starts and someone says:
“Can someone capture the notes or next steps?”

Even in a world of AI note-takers, someone still ends up owning the follow-ups.

There’s a pause.

And then, almost automatically, one of the women in the room says:

“I can do it.”

No one explicitly asked her.
No one assigned it.

But somehow the responsibility quietly lands there.

It doesn’t stop there.

It’s organizing the team celebration.
Planning the offsite.
Remembering the birthdays.
Checking in when someone is struggling.
Mentoring the new hires.
Smoothing over conflict.

These things matter. A lot.

They build culture.
They build trust.
They make teams work.

But over time, something subtle happens.

When women give too much in the workplace, we often end up in this role: The Workplace Mom.

The person who keeps everything running smoothly behind the scenes.

Helpful. Reliable. Appreciated.

But rarely recognized as leadership.

When Giving Turns Into Invisible Work

Many of us were raised – and socialized – to be generous contributors.

To help.
To support.
To make things better for the people around us.

Those instincts are often what make women exceptional leaders.

But in many workplaces, especially in tech organizations where output and visibility drive recognition, those same instincts can quietly shift into invisible labor.

You become:

• The one who mentors everyone

• The emotional sounding board for the team

• The person who smooths conflict

• The organizer of team celebrations

• The one who remembers to buy the gift and cut the cake

• The one who stays late helping everyone else

None of these things are bad.

In fact, they are often acts of real generosity.

But when they happen constantly — and without intention — something else shifts.

Your leadership becomes less visible.

Your contributions become expected.

And your energy gets spread across work that isn’t always recognized, valued, or aligned with where you want to grow.

You are contributing a lot.

But you may not be building the kind of leadership visibility that moves your career forward.

The Goal Isn’t to Stop Giving

If you recognized yourself in that list, you’re not doing something wrong. You’re doing something human.

The answer isn’t to stop giving.

Giving is powerful.

It builds relationships.
It strengthens teams.
It creates the kind of cultures where people thrive.

In fact, earlier this month I wrote about the gifts women can give each other – the kind that build careers, open doors, and change the trajectory of someone’s path.

Those gifts matter deeply.

But leadership generosity works best when it is intentional.

Not automatic.

Not invisible.

Not self-sacrificial.

The goal isn’t to give less.

The goal is to give strategically.

From Invisible Giving to Strategic Giving

Strategic giving means directing your generosity toward the places where it creates the most leadership impact.

It means asking:

Where does my contribution create real leverage?

Where does my energy build influence, capability, or opportunity — for myself and for others?

Sometimes the difference is subtle.

Sometimes it’s about trading the task for the leadership. And sometimes it’s about redesigning how the task gets done altogether.

Instead of automatically taking notes in the meeting, you might facilitate the discussion. Or facilitate a way in which note taking is shared across the team.

Instead of organizing the offsite logistics, you might lead the strategy conversation that happens there. Or lead a team that organizes the offsite, building shared accountability for a successful experience.

Instead of mentoring everyone who asks, you might invest deeply in mentoring a few rising leaders. Or identify and enlist other leaders to mentor alongside you, scaling the impact and giving them the empowering experience of mentorship too.

Instead of being the one who cuts the cake, be the one who presents the team’s results.

The generosity is still there.

But the leverage changes.

Your giving becomes connected to leadership impact. That’s how you move from being the Workplace Mom to showing up as a strategic leader.

Your Strategic Giving Filter

Before saying yes to something, it can help to pause and ask a few simple questions.

1. Is this visible?
Will the impact of this work be seen by decision-makers or leaders?

2. Is this valued?
Does this type of contribution actually matter in how leadership is evaluated in my organization?

3. Is this aligned with the leader I want to become?
Does saying yes move me toward the kind of leadership role I’m building?

4. Could someone else grow by doing this instead?
Am I stepping in because it’s easier for me to do it – or because it truly requires my leadership?

That last one can be especially revealing.

Many of us fall into what I sometimes call the “hero trap.”

We think we need to do it because:

“No one else will.” Or, “No one else will do it as well.”

But leadership isn’t about doing everything.

It’s about building capability around you.

Sometimes the most strategic move isn’t doing the task yourself, it’s giving someone else the opportunity to step into it.

Your Generosity Is a Gift

Your willingness to give is a strength.

It’s part of what makes women such powerful leaders.

But your leadership is a gift too.

And leadership grows when your energy is invested in the work that expands your impact – not just the work that keeps everything running smoothly.

The goal isn’t to stop supporting others.

It’s to make sure your generosity isn’t quietly pulling you out of the leadership roles you’re meant to play.

This month we’ve talked about the gifts we give each other, the gift of your own superpower, and now this: the way you give matters as much as that you give. That’s the full picture of leadership.

Give generously. But give strategically.

Because when your giving aligns with your leadership, the impact multiplies. For you, for your team, and for the women coming behind you who are watching what leadership looks like.

Where in your work right now are you giving automatically instead of intentionally? Share in the comments below.

Leave a comment

And if you’re ready to look at this more closely, I have a few complimentary Carve Your Path coaching sessions remaining this month. Sometimes it takes a thinking partner to see the pattern clearly. Reserve your spot here.

Until next time… keep carving your path.

— Tracy

Out in front was a little boy, maybe four or five years old, wearing a full superhero costume – cape and all. Not Halloween. Not a costume party. Just a Tuesday morning, and he was fully committed. Cape trailing behind him, chest out, chin up, strutting like he had somewhere important to be and everyone should know it. Like the sidewalk was his runway and the rest of the world was lucky to witness it.

And I just... stopped. Mid-thought, mid-worry list, mid-everything. And I thought, man… if I could take some of his superhero energy, even just a fraction of it, into my day – I’d have a great day slaying all those big work problems.

That little kid had something most adults leave behind somewhere along the way: complete ownership of his superpower. The truth is, we rarely walk into work feeling superhero energy or even fully embracing our unique strengths or superpowers.

What would it look like to walk into work with even a fraction of that energy?

The Gap: We Can’t Name Our Own Strengths

In a recent women’s leadership group I was facilitating, we were doing an activity where each person shared something about themselves. When the questions were “who do you admire and why?” or “what is a mistake or learning?” the group could easily answer it and share examples. However, when the question was “what is your superpower?” each of the women paused and seemed to struggle to answer it. In almost every case, they finally answered it with the preface “something I’ve heard people say about me is…”. The answers sounded something like this:

“Something I’ve heard people say about me is that I’m good at connecting people.”

“I guess people say I bring calm to chaotic situations.”

“Someone once told me I’m really good at seeing the big picture.”

They all seemed unable to, or uncomfortable naming their superpower strengths.

The pattern was striking:

Easy to name people we admire.
Easy to name mistakes we’ve made.

But when it came to naming our own strengths, the room went quiet.

The theme of external permission: the “something I’ve heard people say about me” signals that we need external permission or validation to claim it.

If we can’t name our superpower, how can we use it? And if we can’t use it, how can we give it to others?

Why This Is Especially Hard for Women

This hesitation isn’t accidental. Many women have been quietly trained not to claim their strengths directly.

Some of it is modesty. We’re socialized from a young age to deflect praise rather than receive it. Someone tells us we did something well and our instinct is to redirect: “oh, it was a team effort” or “I just got lucky with the timing.” We’ve been taught that claiming credit is unseemly, so we hand it away before we’ve even held it.

Then there’s imposter syndrome – that quiet voice that whispers “I’m not sure this really counts as a strength.” Even when the evidence is right in front of us. Even when others have named it for us repeatedly. We find a way to explain it away: I just got lucky. Anyone could do that. It’s not that big a deal.

And layered on top of that is the fear of being seen as arrogant. I’ve coached women who can rattle off their gaps and growth areas without missing a beat – but go completely quiet when asked what they’re genuinely great at. Not because they don’t know. But because claiming it out loud feels like too much.

Over time, this conditioning creates a strange paradox:

We work incredibly hard to develop our strengths…
but feel uncomfortable naming them.

You Can’t Give What You Don’t Claim

And that discomfort has a consequence. You can’t give away what you haven’t fully claimed.

This year’s IWD theme is “Give to Gain”. And in our hearts, most of us genuinely want to give. But how do you give your best when you haven’t named what your best actually is?

When you don’t know your superpower, you operate on default.
You respond to what’s needed. You fill gaps. You help where you can.

But that’s not the same as intentionally bringing your best strength into the room.

Your superpower isn’t just a personal asset.
It’s what you have to offer your team, your peers, and the women coming up behind you.

Naming it isn’t ego.
It’s stewardship.

How to Find and Name Your Superpower

If you’re not sure what your superpower is, here are a few places to start looking:

The compliment pattern: What do people repeatedly thank you for or come to you for?

This reframes the “something I’ve heard” instinct as a data source, not a crutch.

The effortless excellence clue: What do you do that feels easy to you but seems hard for others?

The energy test: What tasks leave you energized rather than drained?

Ask directly: A script: reach out to 2–3 people and ask “When have you seen me at my best?”

Strengths Assessment: Complete a strengths assessment like DiSC or Strengths Finder with a leadership coach.

Owning Your Superhero Cape

That little boy I saw didn’t question whether he deserved the cape.

He didn’t wait for permission.
He didn’t ask if others agreed with his superhero status.

He just wore it.

Maybe leadership requires a little more of that energy.

Not arrogance.
Not ego.

Just the willingness to claim the strength you bring. And offer it freely to the people around you.

Your Turn

It’s genuinely hard to name your superpower publicly. I know. I’m with you on this. So I’ll go first.

Mine? I bring steadiness. In rooms where everything feels urgent and chaotic, I’m the person who slows down, listens, and helps others find clarity. It took me a long time to claim that — it didn’t feel flashy enough to matter. But I’ve watched it change the energy in a room more times than I can count.

Now it’s your turn.

What is your superpower? Not the thing you think you should say, but the strength people consistently experience from you. Share it in the comments.

Leave a comment

And if you’re still not sure, that’s a worthy place to start. Sometimes we need a thinking partner to help us see what we can’t see in ourselves. To work through the compliment patterns, the energy clues, the effortless excellence you’ve been quietly dismissing. That’s what coaching is for.

This year’s IWD theme is “Give to Gain”, and I’m taking that seriously. I’ve set aside a few complimentary Carve Your Path coaching sessions this month to give back to this community, and a handful of spots are still open.

If you’re ready to name what you bring, I’d love to be in that conversation with you.

Claim it. Then give it.

Share

Keep carving your path,

Tracy

In December, during the season of gift giving, I wrote about the gifts we can give ourselves — reflection, courage, investment in our own growth.

But leadership doesn’t stop with what we cultivate internally.

One of the most powerful things we can do is pass those gifts forward.

This year’s International Women’s Day theme is Give to Gain. When I first heard it, I thought: that’s exactly what women do for each other when we’re at our best.

In that spirit, I’ve been thinking about the gifts we can give other women — at work, in our communities, and in the everyday moments where leadership shows up.

These gifts don’t require money, titles, or formal authority. They are centered on simple actions. Things you can actually do to lift another woman up.

In a moment when progress for women feels uncertain, these acts of intentional generosity matter more than ever.

Gift #1: Amplification

Use your voice to elevate another woman’s ideas.

It happens in rooms everywhere. A woman speaks, the moment passes, and minutes later someone else says the same thing and gets the credit. If you’ve experienced it, you know exactly how it feels. If you’ve witnessed it, you know how easy it is to let the moment slip by.

Amplification is the antidote.

Simple phrases can make a difference:

• “I want to build on what Sarah just said…”

• “That idea came from Maya earlier — I think it’s worth exploring.”

These small moments of credit restore visibility and ensure women’s ideas don’t disappear in the noise. And sometimes this is harder than it sounds — not because we don’t want to lift someone else up, but because it requires consciously redirecting attention away from ourselves in a moment when we might also want to be recognized.

Sometimes the most powerful leadership act is simply making sure another woman’s voice is heard.

Gift #2: Opportunity

Recommend someone for a role, project, speaking opportunity, or introduction. Many capable women are sitting on the sidelines, unsure of how to break in. If you have the position, authority, or access – use it. Give another woman a seat at the table, make the warm intro, put her name forward for the project or opportunity.

I was helping organize our company’s strategy and presence at a large conference. One of our confirmed speakers for a highly visible session had to cancel at the last minute.

We had two options: remove the session from the program entirely, or find someone new to step in.

I immediately thought of a woman in our community who had deep expertise on the topic but hadn’t yet spoken on a stage like that.

When I reached out, she was both excited and terrified.

She ended up delivering an incredible talk.

Watching her stand on that stage — owning the moment — was a reminder of how powerful it can be when someone simply opens a door.

In another instance, I was organizing a high-visibility event featuring our CTO. I could have been the one on stage as the CTO’s interviewer and host. Instead, I invited a senior manager on my team to take that role. She was extraordinary, and it opened doors for her that I couldn’t have predicted.

You don’t always need to be the one in the spotlight. Sometimes the most powerful thing you can do is hand it to someone else.

Gift #3: Sponsorship

Sponsorship means intentionally making another woman visible. Publicly crediting her work, saying her name in the rooms that matter.

You’ve likely heard of mentorship. But sponsorship is different, and the distinction matters. Mentorship is what happens when she’s in the room with you. Sponsorship is what happens when she’s not — when you’re the one advocating for her, saying her name, and making sure her work is seen by the people who matter most.

One senior VP I worked with was exceptional at this. A brilliant, quietly competent leader on his team was developing breakthrough strategies and leading data analysis in genuinely innovative ways. He made it a point to always say her name, credit her work, and shine a light on her approach — in meetings, in leadership forums, in conversations she wasn’t part of. I watched her rise from near obscurity to increasing responsibility, high-visibility presenting opportunities, and eventually a promotion.

That’s what sponsorship looks like in practice.

And it doesn’t require a senior title or an in-person meeting. You can do it on LinkedIn, in a Slack channel, in the comments of a shared document. Anywhere her work shows up — make sure her name shows up with it.

Gift #4: Honest, Specific Encouragement

Tell someone what you see in them.

We often skip this because we assume she already knows. Or that someone else has told her. But here’s the truth: many women have been conditioned to downplay, or outright doubt, their own value. She may not see what you see. And until someone names it, she may never fully claim it.

Early in my career, a senior leader pulled me aside and described something specific she had noticed. She told me I had a rare ability to work seamlessly across teams — proactively communicating decisions, changes, and implications in ways that brought people along rather than leaving them behind. She described the impact: less confusion, faster responses, fewer missteps across the organization.

I remember thinking: that’s just what everyone does, isn’t it?

It wasn’t. It was a strength I hadn’t named or claimed as my own. Her words changed that. That cross-functional ability became something I consciously leaned into for the rest of my career. A thread I could trace through every role, every team, every challenge.

That’s the power of a specific compliment. Not “you’re amazing,” but “here’s exactly what I watched you do, and here’s why it matters.”

She may not know she’s doing it. Tell her.

Gift #5: Permission

Sometimes the most powerful gift we can give another woman is permission.

Permission to try something new.
Permission to speak up.
Permission to lead differently.

Often that permission doesn’t come from words.

It comes from watching another woman do something brave.

One reason I write openly about my own leadership journey — the uncertainty, the pivots, the messy middle — is because transparency can create possibility for someone else. When I reflect on my own path, I realize how powerful it was to hear the full story of another woman’s career. Not just the polished ending or the bio-worthy highlights, but the setbacks, the uncertainty, and the messy middle along the way. Hearing those stories gave me permission to try something new, to lean into uncertainty, to push myself to grow.

They modeled courage. And in doing so, they gave me permission to find my own.

Now, when women tell me that something I shared openly changed how they saw their own path, that’s when I understand the true impact of a single act of honesty.

You don’t have to have it all figured out. You just have to be willing to share where you are.

One Small Gift

In December, during the holiday season, I wrote about the gifts we can give ourselves — investing in our growth, honoring our own path, believing in where we’re headed.

The gifts we give ourselves build confidence.

The gifts we give other women build something bigger.

This month, consider one small gift you could give another woman. A word of recognition, an introduction, an opportunity, or simply the courage of your own example.

None of these gifts cost money. They require something more valuable: attention, intention, and a willingness to use your voice, your platform, and your story in service of someone else.

You may never know the ripple effect it creates.

That’s the thing about momentum. It compounds quietly, long after the moment has passed.

Which of these gifts do you most want to give? Or receive? I’d love to hear in the comments.

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A Small Gift for Women This Month

In the spirit of International Women’s Day and the theme Give to Gain, I’m offering a limited number of complimentary Carve Your Path Coaching Sessions this month — my gift to women who are ready to invest in themselves.

These are 45-minute, one-on-one sessions with me. Space to think through whatever leadership or career challenge is most alive for you right now. A transition, a decision, a moment of uncertainty, or simply a desire for more clarity on what’s next.

Spots are limited. If this resonates, sign up here.

📌 PS - One more gift you can give: If this post resonated with you, share it with a woman in your life who needs this reminder?

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Forward it to a colleague, restack it on Substack Notes, or share it on LinkedIn. Spreading the word means more women get these reminders when they need the most.

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I had just stepped away from the corporate workforce, leaving a great role, and a career I had spent years building into bigger and bigger leadership opportunities.

It felt like career suicide. Like I had stripped away a part of my identity.

In my head (and heart), I had a dozen reasons why it made sense for me to step away and be home with my kids. I had a mental slide deck ready – a list of justifications to prove I hadn’t “failed” or “quit.” I felt the urge to give a five-minute presentation on my rationale and thinking behind the decision.

But honestly? The fear wasn’t really about them. It was about what I might believe about myself if they agreed with my worst thoughts. Their disapproval would have felt like evidence.

I hesitated because I realized something important: I was looking for their approval of my decision, rather than owning the decision itself.

In that moment of silence, I understood:

If I don’t provide the headline, they’re going to write it for me.

And their version will never be as accurate—or as powerful—as mine.

The Narrative Vacuum

In tech, and especially for women navigating their careers, we fear judgment around layoffs, pivots, restructuring, or stepping away/across/down for family or personal reasons.

We worry:

What will they think?

Will they think I couldn’t hack it?

Will they think I’m less committed?

When we leave a “gap” in our story or offer a defensive explanation, we create a Narrative Vacuum.

When you don’t define your story, people fill in the blanks.

And they rarely fill them in generously.

Human brains hate ambiguity. In the absence of a clear narrative, others will construct one. Often shaped by their own assumptions and biases.

This isn’t a confidence problem.

It’s conditioning.

Women in particular are often socialized to justify choices that diverge from expected paths. A leadership move that looks bold on a resume can still require explanation in conversation. Maternity leave length. Stepping back. Pivoting away from a prestigious title. These decisions carry a subtle cultural tax, one that trains us to pre-defend our choices before anyone even challenges them.

And yet – strength isn’t about having a perfect, linear resume.

Strength is about being the first to define your Why.

The Framework: Past → Choice → Direction

Stop explaining and start authoring. Over the years, I’ve coached dozens of women through layoffs, pivots, and career transitions. The most confident communicators use a simple structure to own their story:

Past → Choice → Direction

1. The Past: Briefly acknowledge where you were.

2. The Choice: State your transition as an intentional decision, not something that “happened” to you.

3. The Direction: Point toward where you are going.

The Power of Brevity

High achievers often suffer from Explanatory Debt. The feeling that we owe everyone a detailed justification for our decisions.

The truth? Explaining is often a form of seeking permission.

Brevity is how you demonstrate that. When you keep your narrative concise, you signal that the matter is settled. You aren’t looking for a second opinion; you are stating a fact. A short, confident sentence is much harder to pick apart than a long, rambling defense.

Ownership in Action

See how the energy changes when you trade “justification” for “ownership”:

The Layoff:

• Old way: “I was part of the cuts, so I’m just looking for something similar.”

• The Owned Way: “The recent restructuring gave me the perfect opportunity to explore xyz or pivot. I’m now focusing my search exclusively on [Specific Goal].”

The Career Gap or Maternity Leave:

• Old way: “I’ve been out for a while with the kids, so I’m trying to get back into it and catch up.”

• The Owned Way: “I intentionally stepped away to lead my family through a transition. I’m returning with a sharper focus on [Skill/Impact].”

The Pivot:

• Old way: “I’m trying to see if I can move from Engineering into Product Management.”

• The Owned Way: “My engineering background gave me a front-row seat to product development. I’m now bringing that insight and lens directly into product management.”

Carving Your Path

Owning your story doesn’t mean having a perfect explanation.

It means deciding what matters. And saying it with clarity.

Every transition I’ve made has required this shift:
from explaining… to owning.

That’s what Carving Her Path looks like in real life — not a perfect resume, but a story you are willing to stand behind.

Practice your Headline: What is a transition or choice you’ve been “explaining” lately? In the comments, rewrite it as a Power Statement: 1–2 sentences, zero justification, 100% ownership.

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I’m Tracy Stone, a leadership coach who helps women leaders navigate career challenges and own their next chapter with clarity and confidencel. If you’re ready to stop explaining and start authoring the next chapter, I’d love to connect.

Keep carving your story and your path.

Recently I’ve been watching the students I mentor ask for letters of recommendation for college programs and scholarships.

The email sits drafted longer than it should. They reread it three times before hitting send.

Would you be willing to write me a letter of recommendation?

They know it’s reasonable. They’ve worked hard. They’ve built the relationship. The teacher or mentor would likely say yes without hesitation.

And still.

Will they say yes? Do they feel I’m worthy? Is this an inconvenience? Am I asking for too much?

I coach them through it easily. Of course they’ll say yes. You’ve done the work. This is part of their role. People want to support students who show initiative.

And yet I know exactly how they feel.

A few years ago, I was going through a director-level promotion process and was told the approval wasn’t likely. Not because of my performance, but because I didn’t have enough visibility or support for the work I was leading. I had to go back to my manager and ask: What would need to be true for this to be approved? Then I had to reach out to senior leaders and ask for their advocacy. Ask for the opportunity to present my work to a broader audience. Ask people, directly, to go to bat for me.

I knew it was reasonable. I’d done the work. And still, the same questions creep in. The ones I so easily help others dismiss.

Am I imposing? Will this make me look less capable? Should I just figure this out myself?

It’s funny how clearly we can see courage in someone else… and how complicated it feels when it’s our turn.

The Pattern: Independence Gets Rewarded Early

Many of us were rewarded early for being independent. Engineering and tech cultures are built around problem-solving. You were hired for your ability to figure things out. The harder the problem, the more capable you looked when you solved it alone.

So competence becomes part of our identity. Being reliable, low-maintenance, the one who doesn’t need much — that’s the brand that gets you noticed, promoted, trusted with more.

And for many high-achieving women in these environments, there is an extra layer: belonging often means being capable without appearing to need much. Asking for help may confirm a doubt someone might already have.

The trap is subtle. The very traits that carried you forward — self-sufficiency, grit, the ability to figure it out — quietly become the things that make asking feel dangerous. Like exposing a gap. Like admitting the problem-solver can’t solve this one alone.

If I were truly good enough, shouldn’t I be able to figure this out myself?

Asking for Help Is a Leadership Skill

Here’s what I’ve come to see:

Independence builds competence.
Asking for help builds capacity.

Early in your career, the question is: Can I do this myself?

As you grow, the question shifts to: Who should I involve?

And at the leadership level: How do we do this better together?

Independence → Collaboration → Leverage.

Leaders don’t get ahead because they know everything.

They get ahead because they know who to involve.

Asking for help accelerates learning, increases visibility, invites sponsorship, and builds advocates.

Senior leaders ask for help constantly. They just call it collaboration.

High performers don’t wait until they’re overwhelmed to ask.

They ask early.
They ask clearly.
And they ask in a way that makes the other person feel valued — not burdened.

That’s not weakness.

That’s strategic maturity.

The Career-Changing Asks

We often think of asking for help as something small: “Can you sanity check this?”

But some of the most career-changing moments begin with a clear ask:

• “Would you be willing to advocate for me for this role?”

• “Is there an opportunity for me to present this work to the broader team?”

• “What would need to be true for me to be considered ready for X?”

• “I’d like to expand my scope. Where do you see opportunity?”

Those aren’t dramatic confessions of inadequacy.

They’re signals of ambition.

They’re invitations.

Those were my asks.

My promotion was approved.

Not because I suddenly became more capable, but because I became more visible and more supported.

The students asking for letters of recommendation are learning something powerful early:

You don’t get opportunities just because you’re capable. You get opportunities because you’re capable and you ask.

That’s true at every stage of your career.

Small asks build visibility. Visibility builds advocacy. Advocacy builds trust. And trust opens doors that capability alone never could.

The ask you make today (even a small one) is rarely just about what you need right now. It’s laying the groundwork for what comes next.

You Don’t Carve Alone

We talk a lot about carving our own path.

But no one carves alone.

Every meaningful step in your career has likely been shaped by someone who opened a door, gave perspective, offered feedback, or advocated on your behalf.

The next version of your path might not require more effort. It might require one clear, courageous ask.

So I’ll leave you with this: Where might asking for help make this easier right now?

Not because you can’t do it alone.

But because you don’t have to.

Keep carving your path, Tracy

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We love the moment of arrival. The visible success.

What we don’t see are the years before that moment. The small decisions. The quiet work. The failed attempts and redirections. The long stretch where effort feels high and results feel… invisible.

Success often looks like an iceberg. What’s visible above the waterline — the promotion, the new role, the polished ending — represents only a small fraction of what’s actually there.

Below the surface are the early mornings. The awkward networking conversations. The proposals that didn’t land. The skills being sharpened in rooms no one else noticed. The redirections that felt like setbacks at the time.

We celebrate the tip. We rarely talk about the base.

So it’s easy to believe success happens suddenly.

But most of the time, it doesn’t.

More often, success is simply compound interest on consistent action.

And what if we approached our careers and leadership growth the same way we approach investing — understanding that small, steady deposits create exponential returns over time?

The Power of Small Deposits

When we invest money, we don’t expect immediate results. We understand that growth happens gradually. We make regular contributions, trust the process, and allow time to do its work.

But in our careers, we often expect immediate payoff. We assume one big opportunity, one bold move, or one perfect decision will change everything.

In reality, leadership growth rarely comes from a single moment. It comes from hundreds of small ones.

A conversation where you speak up instead of staying quiet.
A skill you practice before you feel ready.
A relationship you invest in before you need something from it.
A moment where you choose to show up just slightly differently than before.

Individually, these moments feel small. Almost insignificant.

Over time, they compound.

James Clear writes in Atomic Habits about the idea of getting one percent better every day — that small improvements, repeated consistently, lead to remarkable change. Leadership works the same way. The goal isn’t dramatic transformation overnight. It’s consistent movement in the right direction.

The magic isn’t in intensity. It’s in consistency.

The Leadership Portfolio: Are You Over-Leveraged in Competence?

Another thing we understand intuitively about investing is diversification. We don’t put everything into one place and hope for the best.

Career and leadership growth work the same way.

There are multiple areas where your investments compound:

Skills and expertise: the capabilities you continue to build and refine
Relationships and network: the people you connect with and support over time
Visibility and voice: how you share your perspective and make your work seen
Self-awareness and knowledge: understanding how you lead, what energizes you, and where you grow best

Many high-performing professionals over-invest in one area — usually competence. We work hard, deliver results, and assume that will be enough.

I recently worked with a senior leader who embodied this imbalance. She was exceptional at her craft and deeply trusted by her team, but largely invisible outside of it. She didn’t need to become better at her job. She needed others to see the capabilities she already had.

We started with one small deposit: sharing her work more proactively and bringing other leaders along in what her team was building. Nothing dramatic changed overnight. But over time, visibility compounded. Leaders began seeking her out for more complex work, and opportunities followed. The skills were always there. The momentum came from making them visible consistently.

This is what happens when your portfolio is balanced. Relationships create opportunities to showcase skills. Visibility strengthens credibility. Self-knowledge helps you invest your energy more wisely.

These investments don’t just grow independently. They multiply each other.

The Messy Middle: When Effort Outpaces Results

The hardest part of compounding is that you don’t get immediate feedback.

Early returns feel invisible. Effort increases before results do. This is the messy middle — the part where it’s easy to wonder if anything is actually working.

It’s tempting to interpret this phase as failure or stagnation. But often, it’s simply the stage where momentum hasn’t caught up yet.

The long game isn’t about waiting. It’s about continuing to invest even when the returns aren’t obvious.

Over time, something shifts.

The conversation leads to another introduction.
The skill you’ve been practicing becomes second nature.
People start to associate your name with a certain strength or expertise.

What once required effort begins to feel easier.

That’s compounding at work.

I saw this firsthand when I was leading efforts at Intuit to increase representation of women in technical roles. For months — even years — the progress felt marginal. We introduced new programs, changed hiring practices, invested in development and sponsorship, and the needle barely moved.

Then something shifted. Multiple percentage increases started happening at once. Leaders began asking what the silver bullet was. There wasn’t one. It was all those strategies compounding together. Years of small, consistent changes finally gaining momentum. Over time, representation increased by more than six percentage points, something rarely seen in the industry. The results looked sudden from the outside. From the inside, it was years of steady deposits finally compounding.

Creating Your Momentum

Start by noticing what you’re already doing.

What small deposits are you making today that future-you will benefit from?
What conversations, habits, or practices are quietly building momentum?

Celebrate those first. Progress is often happening before we recognize it.

Then choose one area to invest in more intentionally. Not everything at once. Just one.

What is the smallest consistent action you could take? Fifteen minutes of learning each week. One intentional conversation each month. Sharing your thinking more regularly.

Small enough to sustain. Consistent enough to matter.

For me right now, it’s this newsletter. Some weeks I wonder if anyone’s reading. But I trust that these weekly deposits — sharing what I’m learning, what I’m observing — will compound in ways I can’t predict yet. That’s the commitment I’m making.

And when things don’t go as planned, resist the urge to see it as failure. In both investing and leadership, adjustments aren’t losses — they’re data. They help you decide where to invest next.

Getting the Flywheel Going

Over time, compounding stops feeling theoretical and starts feeling like momentum. Jim Collins describes this idea in his book Good to Great as the flywheel effect. At the beginning, it takes enormous effort to get it moving. Each push feels heavy. Progress feels slow.

But with every push, momentum builds.

Eventually, the wheel begins to turn on its own. The same effort produces greater movement. What once felt hard becomes self-sustaining.

This is what happens when your small deposits compound.

Your network starts introducing you to opportunities without you asking.
Your skills become visible and trusted.
Your confidence grows, making the next step easier than the last.

From the outside, it looks like sudden success.

From the inside, it’s years of steady motion finally becoming visible.

Trust the Compounding

Q1 is often when motivation is high but results still feel far away. If that’s where you are right now, it doesn’t mean you’re behind.

It may mean you’re exactly where compounding begins.

You don’t need a dramatic reset.
You don’t need a perfect plan.

You just need another small push on the flywheel.

The work you’re doing today may not be visible yet. That doesn’t mean it isn’t compounding.

This is something I remind myself of often — in my coaching practice, in my exercising, in writing this newsletter each week. Progress rarely feels dramatic while it’s happening.

But over time, the small deposits add up. The path becomes clearer. The flywheel starts to turn.

And that’s what Carving Her Path has always been about — not sudden breakthroughs, but steady movement toward the life and leadership you’re building, one small step at a time.

If this resonated with you, share it with someone navigating their own messy middle.

Keep pushing,
Tracy

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Here we are… we made it through January (whew!) and are into February. Those goals that felt exhilarating and new just a few weeks ago are starting to feel a lot like obligations. The New Year resolution adrenaline has worn off, and we’re left with a long list of tasks that feel more like a heavy backpack than a launchpad. It’s that familiar, heavy refrain:

“I have to prep for the exec review, I should manage this conflict, I need to get this done so I can make it to the soccer game.”

I have to…

I need to…

I’ve got to…

I must…

I should…

This language turns choice into obligation. It drains joy from things we once wanted. It frames leadership as burden instead of earned responsibility.

The Shift

Recently, I caught myself doing exactly this.

I was connecting with friends I hadn’t seen in a while, catching up on life during a particularly busy season. I found myself sharing exciting work opportunities and a bunch of events and travel coming up to support my kids. It was a lot… and it came out as sort of a laundry list of everything hitting at once.

My friend stopped me and said something like, “Ugh… do you really have to do all of that?”

I took a beat, caught myself, and said: “Yes. I get to do all of it.”

It was such a powerful moment to stop, reflect, and realize… wow, what an opportunity to have exciting work opportunities AND to be able to figure out ways to show up for my kids.

I realized that the “have to” or “should” mentality turns choice into obligation. It drains joy from the things we once aspired to. It frames leadership as a burden instead of an earned responsibility.

We often complain about the very things we once dreamed of and then worked so hard to achieve.

Two Things Can Be True at the Same Time

You can feel the weight of everything AND feel the excitement.
You can be exhausted AND grateful.
You can want a break AND recognize the privilege.

“I get to” mentality underscores agency and ownership. It’s empowering. When we say “I have to,” we are victims of our schedules. When we say “I get to,” we are the CEOs of our lives.

We’re choosing to lead from ownership instead of obligation.
We’re intentionally choosing the lens we lead from.
We’re remembering how we earned this seat.

Pressure is a Privilege

Tennis icon Billie Jean King has a famous quote: “Pressure is a privilege, and champions adjust.”

High-pressure situations—like those you “get to” experience as a leader—are opportunities you have earned. Someone (likely many people–including yourself!) believed in you enough to put you here. There was a time when you were on the sidelines watching others do exactly what you’re doing now, dreaming of your chance. Remember what it felt like to think, “Put me in, coach!”

You earned this seat. You earned the opportunity to lead, to give that big presentation, to drive that strategic effort.

The pressure you feel isn’t a burden, it’s proof of your influence. Pressure only exists where there’s opportunity for impact. If no one expected anything of you, there would be no pressure.

Champions don’t avoid the big moments, they show up for them. Not because they’re fearless, but because they recognize the opportunity. You’re in the big leagues now. Celebrate that. Own it.

The Strategy: How to Audit Your Language

To move from obligation to ownership, try this three step audit:

1. Catch it: Notice when you say “I should” or “I need to.”

(“I have to prep for the big exec review meeting.”)

2. Flip it: Literally say “I get to” out loud.

(”I get to present our team’s work to the executive team.”)

3. Trace it: Why do you “get to”?

(”I get to do this because I’ve built a team that trusts me to represent our work at the highest level.”)

The third step is crucial. It reconnects you to the reason you have the opportunity in the first place.

Where This Reframe Has Limits

“I Get To” isn’t an excuse to say yes to everything. It’s not a ticket to erase or blur your boundaries. It’s a tool to appreciate what you’ve chosen to keep on your plate.

If you can’t find a way to say “I get to” about a task, maybe that’s a sign it’s time to delegate or delete it. This reframe is most powerful for the work that matters to you but has started to feel like a drag. But if you try to reframe something and it still feels wrong? Listen to that. Not everything deserves to be a “get to”.

Finding Your “I Get To”

Were are you saying “I have to” this week?

What changes if you try “I get to” instead?

Your turn: What’s one thing on your list this week that feels like a “have to” but is actually a “get to”? I’d love to hear how you reframe it in the comments.

Leadership isn’t just about what we carry—it’s about how we carry it.

This year, I’m paying attention not just to my goals, but to the language I use as I move toward them. What will you pay attention to?

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Remember, you are the one holding the tools. Every time you reframe an obligation into an opportunity, you are making progress. Keep carving your path–honoring both the weight of the work and the privilege of the seat you’ve earned.

I’m Tracy, a leadership coach for women in tech who are navigating the balance between dedicated careers and full lives. Through Carving Her Path, I share frameworks, stories, and strategies for leading with intention—because your path doesn’t have to look like anyone else’s.

If this resonated with you, I’d love for you to:

• Share this post with a colleague who needs the reminder

• Subscribe to receive weekly insights on intentional leadership

• Comment below with your “have to” → “get to” reframe

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New here? Welcome! Every week I publish reflections on leadership, growth, and carving your own path in tech and beyond.

There I was, walking into the room for the first rehearsal of a community choir—completely nervous and unsure of what I had signed up for. What started as a slightly crazy idea to find something new and energizing as I stare down this empty-nester chapter of life had suddenly become very real. The evenings that used to be filled with kids’ activities and logistics were quieter now, and I found myself asking: What do I want to do with this next season?

Still, as I stood there, I couldn’t help but wonder: What am I doing? Who do I think I am?

I hadn’t sung in a choir since high school. Sure, I love music and I sing along to the radio in the car—but an organized choir? Learning music? Performing? All three of my kids chose sports over music, so I’d grown far more comfortable on the sidelines of soccer fields and cross-country meets than in concert halls. Somewhere along the way, I had become an excellent spectator. (A sports spectator, to be clear.)

And now here I was, standing in a room full of strangers, wondering who would be there, what we would sing, and whether I would be able to hang.

I realized how comfortable I’d become cheering from the sidelines. And how rusty I was at stepping into something new myself.

What does it take to add your voice when you’re not even sure it belongs?

Learning My Part

The repertoire our director handed out that first night was... ambitious. We’d be learning songs in different languages. Several pieces were a cappella, meaning no instrumental safety net. We’d be singing in four-part harmonies, sometimes six parts. With a choir of only about 25 people, there was nowhere to hide. Each voice truly mattered. You couldn’t just blend in and hope for the best. You had to learn your part.

What surprised me most was the work outside of rehearsal. I found myself practicing at home, replaying tracks, breaking down complicated sections, repeating unfamiliar words and pronunciations. I didn’t anticipate this, but found it satisfying. It was exhilarating to be stretched and challenged in a completely new way—not in my professional domain, not in parenting, but in something entirely different.

There’s a particular vulnerability in being a beginner again. Those early rehearsals were humbling. How were we going to pull this off? Had we taken on more than we could handle? But gradually, week by week, something shifted. Anxiety gave way to growth. Uncertainty turned into capability. I was learning my part. Not just the notes and words, but what it meant to contribute my voice with confidence.

And here’s something I didn’t expect: I started hitting notes I didn’t think I could reach. With proper technique and practice, my range expanded. The metaphor wasn’t lost on me.

How often do we underestimate what we’re capable of until we actually try?

Carried and Accountable

One of the most powerful parts of the experience was the community itself. The choir was made up of people of different ages, backgrounds, and experience levels. Some were seasoned singers; others, like me, were finding our way back to music after a long break. We were welcomed exactly where we were.

Our director emphasized something that stayed with me: each of us was personally accountable for learning our part. AND the group would carry us when we faltered. If you lost a word or missed a note, the music didn’t stop. The collective sound held you until you found your way back in.

It was a beautiful paradox: held accountable, and held up, both at once.

I learned how much my part mattered. Not because it was the loudest or most impressive, but because it contributed to something bigger. When all of our voices came together, the result was something none of us could have created alone. Hearing the harmonies lock in for the first time felt almost magical.

We sounded stronger together than any one voice ever could.

Taking the Stage

Soon enough, concert day arrived, and we were lining up on stage. I hadn’t performed music in front of an audience in a long time, and standing there was both exhilarating and surreal. The role reversal was almost comical—my kids were in the audience filming ME on stage.

Friends were there too, including the couple who’d heard us share this “crazy idea” over dinner weeks earlier. They showed up to support what had started as curiosity and become commitment.

And then there was another group I hadn’t quite expected. A handful of students from the Stanford GSB Women in Management small group I facilitate had driven down from campus to be there. I had mentioned this choir experience almost in passing—one of those new, slightly scary things I was trying as I stretched myself. When they asked about the concert, I brushed it off, insisting they didn’t need to come. But they did. They showed up to support me, and their presence meant more than I can fully put into words.

As we began to sing, I felt that familiar mix of nerves and excitement. But I also felt something I hadn’t anticipated: pride. Not pride in being perfect, but pride in showing up. Pride in learning something hard. Pride in adding my voice to something beautiful.

The Leadership Lesson I Didn’t Expect

Somewhere between that first nervous rehearsal and taking the stage, I realized this wasn’t just about singing.

It was about leadership.

Adding your voice: Leadership isn’t about having all the right notes. It’s about the courage to contribute your unique part, even when you’re uncertain. Especially then.

Beginner’s mindset: The best leaders stay willing to be beginners, to learn in entirely new ways and be vulnerable in unfamiliar domains. Growth requires us to step into spaces where our usual strengths don’t carry us and curiosity has to lead.

Collective impact: One voice singing alone is just a voice. But many voices, each holding their part while supporting others? That’s harmony. That’s the power of connection through shared creation—and how teams create something none of them could achieve alone.

Belonging through contribution: I belonged in that choir not because I was perfect, but because I showed up, learned my part, and added my voice. The same is true in leadership. We earn our place not through flawlessness but through committed participation.

Leadership isn’t just about finding your voice.

It’s about adding it—alongside others—to create something bigger than yourself, even while you’re still learning the notes.

Finding Your Voice in Community

So many leaders (especially women) wait to have the “perfect” voice before speaking up. We practice in private. We hesitate. We hold back until we’re certain we won’t miss a note. We stay comfortable as spectators, watching others perform.

But leadership, like choir, doesn’t work that way.

It doesn’t happen in isolation. It happens in community.

What made my choir experience transformative wasn’t just that I learned to sing better. It was that I learned with others—people who were also stretching, also uncertain, also adding their imperfect voices to something bigger. We grew stronger together, not because we were all perfect, but because we showed up for each other.

That’s what community does. It holds space for you to try. It carries you when you falter. It reminds you that your contribution matters, even when—especially when—you’re still learning.

Where might you be trying to go it alone?

What would change if you found your people? The ones who will practice alongside you, who will hold you accountable and hold you up?

This is why I believe leadership grows fastest in community, not isolation. When we practice together, challenge ourselves alongside others, and create something bigger than ourselves. That’s when real growth happens.

So I’ll ask you what I asked myself standing outside that rehearsal room: What does it take to add your voice when you’re not sure it belongs?

Maybe the answer is simpler than we think:

It takes showing up. Not alone, but with others who are also showing up.

It takes practicing your part. While others practice theirs.

It takes trusting that you’ll be both held accountable and held up by the people around you.

That’s not just courage. That’s community.

P.S. This experience reminded me why shared spaces for growth matter so much. More on that soon.

Thank you for reading Carving Her Path! This newsletter is for leaders who are ready to lead authentically, build from their strengths, and create the impact they’re meant to have.

If this resonated with you, I’d love to hear from you. Comment below and tell me: Where are you ready to add your voice? What’s holding you back from stepping off the sidelines?

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The work I do is about helping leaders find their voice—and the community that helps them use it.

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Keep carving your path, Tracy

“So how will you celebrate this?”

Silence. A confused look. Then: “Celebrate? I... haven’t thought about that.”

This happens in nearly every coaching session. Smart, accomplished leaders who’ve mapped out intricate strategies, anticipated every obstacle, prepared for setbacks, but never considered celebration.

When someone else names your progress as worthy of celebration, it lands differently. An invitation to celebrate lands differently when it comes from someone else.

The Celebration Gap

I live this. Last year, when planning family vacation, I casually suggested we skip celebrating my anniversary and birthday since they fell at inconvenient times as we were working to align schedules. My husband stopped me: “We’re not doing that.” He saw what I couldn’t: I was treating my own milestones as negotiable, as less important than logistics.

It wasn’t the first time. And it’s not just big occasions. When I take a courageous step—sending a scary email, having a difficult conversation, putting myself out there—my immediate self-talk is: “It wasn’t a big deal. You should have done more. Wait for the real outcome before you celebrate.” I’m quick to dismiss my own progress. I see this same instinct, this minimizing, show up again and again in the leaders I coach.

We are so focused on big milestones, like promotions, new jobs, product releases, that we forget the incremental wins along the way. In fact, we sometimes don’t even label them as “wins”. So when we ask ourselves (or are asked) “how will you celebrate?”, it often stops us in our tracks.

The pattern shows up in different ways:

• We celebrate the finish line but not the training runs that got us there

• We wait for “big enough” before we feel we deserve acknowledgment

• We confuse celebration with self-indulgence, and guilt creeps in when we even consider it

• We have an instinct to minimize ourselves and our work. We’ve been trained to make ourselves smaller, to not take up too much space.

• We fear looking arrogant or being “too much”

I used to think celebration meant something flashy or excessive. But what I’ve learned is that celebration can be quiet. Intentional. Symbolic.

What We Lose When We Don’t Celebrate

Momentum dies in the middle: Without celebration, the gap between “I started” and “I finished” becomes a joyless slog. No wonder we lose steam.

We reward outcomes instead of building capacity: When we only celebrate finish lines, we’re reinforcing a fixed mindset, that results are what matter. But growth happens in the effort, the tries, the incremental progress. When you celebrate taking the scary step (regardless of outcome), you’re telling yourself: this is what I value. This is what builds capability. You’re training yourself to show up courageously again.

We forget our own capability: When you don’t mark progress, you lose evidence of your growth. Six months later when you’re facing something hard, you’ve forgotten you’ve already done hard things. When you do celebrate, you build the muscle memory of recognizing and honoring brave action.

We model the wrong lesson: Especially for leaders, when we don’t celebrate ourselves or our teams, we teach our teams that achievement without acknowledgment is normal. We perpetuate the very culture we’re trying to change.

We disconnect from joy: The “pressure is a privilege” reframe only works if we actually experience the privilege part. Celebration is how we feel that.

Reframing Celebration

Celebration is:

A pause

A marker

A moment of acknowledgment

A signal to yourself (and others): this mattered

Here’s what shifted for me: Celebration isn’t about the size of the moment. It’s about what you’re signaling. To yourself, and as a leader, to your team.

Celebration is not a reward. It’s not external recognition. It’s internal acknowledgment.

It’s not self-indulgent. It’s strategic. Celebration creates positive reinforcement and models what you value, the behaviors you want to perpetuate for yourself and your teams. It builds the courage muscle you need for the next yes. It’s data, proof that you can do brave things.

It shapes what you (and your team) value. When you celebrate progress, not just outcomes, you signal that the journey matters. When you honor effort and courage, you create permission for others to try. The steps along the way aren’t just necessary, they’re worthy of recognition. As a leader, every celebration is a teaching moment about what matters in your culture.

It doesn't have to be big. It has to be intentional. The difference between celebration and just "doing something nice" is the naming. When you say to yourself (out loud or internally), “this is because I did that hard thing”, you transform an ordinary moment into a marker. Your regular coffee becomes a ceremony. Your afternoon walk becomes evidence. The act itself matters less than the meaning you give it.

It’s not about being worthy. It’s about being human. We don’t celebrate because we’ve earned it. We celebrate because we’re honoring the courage it took to try—even, especially, when the outcome is still uncertain.

Celebration doesn’t mean you’re done. It means you noticed yourself.

Celebration In Practice

Micro-celebrations (for daily/weekly wins):

• Tell someone what you did

• Take a photo for your Daily Delights with a caption about why

• Closing your laptop and actually taking that lunch break you earned

• An extra Daily Delight—the afternoon walk you don’t always let yourself take

• Send yourself a text or voice message: “I did it!”

• That special coffee/tea ritual

• Text a friend: “I did the thing!”

Milestone markers (for bigger breakthroughs):

• Schedule time on your calendar (even 15 minutes) to reflect

• Write yourself a letter about what it required of you

• Share it with your community/newsletter/trusted circle

• Do something that creates a memory anchor

The celebration plan: When you set a goal, simultaneously answer: “When I make progress, I will celebrate by _____.”

Your Celebration Invitation

Last week, I wrote about saying yes without qualifiers. What I’m realizing now: every yes costs you something. Courage, comfort, certainty. It deserves recognition.

Every time you say yes to something that scares you—to the conversation, the application, the ask, the boundary—you’re spending courage. And courage, like any resource, needs replenishing.

Most of leadership—and most of life—happens in the space between start and finish.

Celebration isn’t the reward for being done. It’s the fuel for keeping going.

I’m learning to catch myself when that voice whispers “keep your head down, wait for something bigger to celebrate.” Because that voice? It’s kept me small. It’s made the middle miserable. It’s stolen joy from the very journey I chose.

So I’m practicing. The intentional coffee. The note to myself. The text to a friend. Not because I’ve arrived, but because I’m making progress. Not because it was easy, but because it was hard and I did it anyway.

What’s one small win from this week that deserves acknowledgment? Drop it in the comments or hit reply. I want to celebrate with you.

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P.S. Still not sure what counts as celebration-worthy? Here’s my rule: If it required courage, it counts. If you had to talk yourself into it, it counts. If you’re tempted to dismiss it as “not a big deal”—it definitely counts.

P.P.S. If you’re finding it hard to recognize your own progress or celebrate the wins along the way, let’s talk. Building this muscle is exactly what coaching provides: someone to help you see what you can’t see on your own.

I’m Tracy Stone, a leadership coach who helps leaders build momentum and confidence—through coaching, intentional development, and creating space to recognize your progress along the way.

Until next week, keep carving your path. One celebration at a time.

📌 If this resonated with you, would you share it? Forward it to someone who needs permission to celebrate their wins, share it on LinkedIn, or restack it on Substack Notes. Your shares help me reach more leaders carving their own paths.

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It’s mid-January, and I find myself reaching for a book I’ve read more than once. Shonda Rhimes’ Year of Yes. Not because it’s new, but because it meets me where I am, every single time.

As the glow of the holidays fades and the new year starts to feel real, moving from “Happy New Year” into routines, goals, and expectations, I notice the same question surfacing: What am I holding back from? What am I quietly not saying yes to?

That question is at the heart of Rhimes’ journey - her year of committing to saying yes and changing her life. And while her story is powerful, what stays with me isn’t the scale of her yeses, it’s the courage behind them. The willingness to stop qualifying, postponing, or explaining. To simply choose.

This year, as I cracked open the book again, I realized something: I’ve gotten better at saying yes over the years. But I’m still catching myself adding qualifiers, hedging my bets, building in escape routes. And I know I’m not alone in this.

The Qualified Yes (or Outright No)

How many times have you backed away from an enthusiastic yes when a new opportunity or experience arises? Maybe it’s not even an explicit question, but it’s something inside of you that you aren’t letting yourself dream.

This has happened to me more times than I care to admit.

One that stands out was when I said yes to co-founding a non-profit. I had never been an entrepreneur. I had spent my career in large companies with entire departments supporting the work: product development, finance, legal, HR, marketing. Suddenly, I was doing all of those things. I was writing curriculum, developing partnerships, learning grant writing, handling payroll and invoicing, teaching, hiring — and figuring it out as I went.

I didn’t say yes because I felt ready. I said yes because something in me knew it mattered, even though I had no idea how it would all work.

It would have been easier to wait. Easier to convince myself I needed a plan, more experience, more confidence. Easier to protect myself from failing. But growth rarely asks us to wait until we feel prepared.

And yet, even after that experience, I still catch myself hedging. Last fall, when I received an email asking if I’d speak to 450 first-year engineering students at Purdue (my alma mater) about interviewing with confidence, my immediate internal response was a flood of qualifiers: Yes, if I can figure out how to make this content work for such a large audience. Yes, when I have a detailed outline approved. Yes, but I’d need to figure out the logistics & time to prep.

Then I stopped myself. I knew this material. I’d coached countless people through interviews. And this was exactly the kind of opportunity I’d been hoping for - a chance to give back, reach young students starting their engineering journeys, connect with my university.

So I replied with just: Yes. I’d love to!

Developing and fine-tuning my presentation took time, at an especially busy season. Standing in front of 450 people was intimidating. But that simple yes, without qualifiers, without escape routes, forced me to trust myself in a way a qualified yes never would have.

Or take something much smaller: a few weeks ago, when my husband suggested trying a crazy new experience for our weekly “50 New Things This Year” commitment, my first instinct was “Yes, but let me check my calendar.” Why? The calendar was fine. I was just automatically hedging.

The common refrain (or excuse) you may be telling yourself could be:

• “Yes, but I need to finish X first”

• “Yes, if I can find the time”

• “Yes, when I feel more ready”

Or the outright dismissal could be:

• I don’t see how that would work.

• I’ve never done that before.

• I’m too busy.

This comes from fear. From uncertainty. From all the unknowns swirling in our heads. We haven’t done that before - how do I know I can? What if I fail? It’s actually much easier to not even try, to not set ourselves up for failure, embarrassment or disappointment. So we respond with a flat out no, or a qualified yes.

The Full Sentence Yes

Remember those themes that matter most to you in this season? The values and intentions you want to build from? Saying yes is how you actually live them, not just write them down.

Growth and comfort don’t coexist. And perfection is not the price of entry.

Yes can be a full sentence by itself. And it is incredibly powerful.

Think about how it feels when you ask someone something and they respond with a simple “Yes.”

Not “Yes, I think so.”

Not “Yes, probably.”

Not “Yes, but let me check with...”

Just: Yes.

There’s confidence in that. Commitment. Clarity.

Now think about the last time YOU gave someone (or yourself!) a full-sentence yes. When was it?

When you say yes as a full sentence, you are saying:

• Yes to yourself (not just others)

• Yes to growth (even when it’s uncomfortable)

• Yes to opportunity (before you feel ready)

This clarity - knowing what you’re really saying yes to and what needs to be a no - is often the first work we do in coaching. Because you can’t say a full-sentence yes when you’re unclear about what energizes versus drains you.

What Saying Yes Requires

A full-sentence yes doesn’t require certainty. It requires:

Courage - Not the absence of fear, but the willingness to move forward alongside it. Like saying yes to that stretch project before feeling ready.

Agency - You are choosing this. For yourself. You own this yes. You are not waiting for permission or validation.

Self-acceptance - Letting go of waiting for the “perfect” version of yourself. You are ready enough right now.

Your Yes for 2026

As this year unfolds, I’ll leave you with a few questions:

• What yes are you holding back on?

• Where are you adding qualifiers that don’t need to be there?

• What would change if you let one yes stand on its own?

I’m asking myself these questions too. The opportunities I’m hesitating on. The new service offering I keep saying “not yet” to. The creative risks that feel too vulnerable.

What’s your yes?

Last week was about naming what energizes you.
This week is about choosing it.

Yes.
Full sentence.
Full stop.

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P.S. If you’re struggling to identify which yeses align with your strengths and where you should be saying no, let’s talk. This is exactly the clarity work coaching provides. Reach out to learn more.

I’m Tracy Stone, a leadership coach who helps leaders move from hesitation to action - through coaching, intentional development, and creating space to figure out what your full-sentence yes actually looks like.

Until next week, keep carving your path. One courageous yes at a time.

📌 If this resonated with you, would you share it? Forward it to someone who needs permission to say yes, share it on LinkedIn, or restack it on Substack Notes. Your shares help me reach more leaders carving their own paths.

The Year Isn’t Asking You to Fix Yourself

January has a way of whispering the same message every year:

Do better.
Be more disciplined.
Fix the parts of yourself that didn’t quite measure up last year.

Even when we say we don’t buy into “New Year, New You” energy, it sneaks in anyway. Through goal lists, habit trackers, and quiet self-judgment about what we should be doing differently.

But what if we started the year from a different place?

What if this year wasn’t about fixing yourself—but about building from your strengths?

Build Forward From What’s Already Working

So many resolutions are rooted in perceived deficits:

• I didn’t do enough.

• I wasn’t consistent.

• I should be further along by now.

But growth doesn’t actually require self-criticism.
It requires awareness.

Before rushing into goals for the year ahead, it’s worth pausing to ask:

• What worked last year?

• Where did I feel most energized?

• What strengths showed up again and again?

When we build from strength, we’re not lowering the bar. We’re choosing a foundation that’s sustainable.

Today Is Where Your Book Begins

There’s a lyric I’ve always loved from Natasha Bedingfield’s song “Unwritten” that comes back to me this time of year:

“Today is where your book begins.
The rest is still unwritten.”

I find this comforting, not because it means “anything goes,” but because it reminds me that:

• You are the author.

• You don’t have to have the whole plot figured out.

• You’re allowed to write one chapter at a time.

This year doesn’t need a perfect plan.
It needs intentional direction.

A Simple Framework: Choose Your Themes

Instead of setting dozens of goals, I like to anchor the year around 3–5 personal themes that are guiding principles that shape decisions, priorities, and energy.

My own themes for this year are the 5 C’s:

• Create

• Contribute

• Connect

• Curiosity

• Consistency

This year, create means challenging myself with new forms of content and creative pursuits. Contribute looks like expanding my workshop offerings. And consistency? I’m learning to hold it more lightly after rigid weekly publishing taught me that sustainable beats perfect.

What matters most isn’t the specific themes. It’s being clear on what they mean to you in this season.

For each theme, ask:

• Why does this matter to me right now?

• What would it look like to live this out—not perfectly, but intentionally?

From there, you can set a few intentions or goals that bring each theme to life.

Not as rules.
As direction.

Don’t Skip the Celebration Step

Before moving fully into the year ahead, there’s one step many of us skip—especially high performers:

Acknowledging what we’ve already accomplished.

Take time to reflect on the past year and name your successes:

• moments of courage

• growth you didn’t fully recognize at the time

• ways you showed up differently than before

And just as important, decide how you’ll celebrate progress this year.
Not just at the finish line, but along the way.

Maybe it’s calling a friend and sharing your win. Taking yourself out for coffee after a tough conversation. Or capturing it in your Daily Delights.

Celebration isn’t indulgent.
It’s how we teach ourselves that progress counts.

Measure What You Can Control

One final reframe that’s especially important this time of year:

Focus less on outcomes—and more on inputs.

We can’t fully control:

• job offers

• promotions

• external recognition

But we can control:

• the conversations we initiate

• the work we raise our hand for

• the habits we practice consistently

Inputs compound.
Outcomes follow. Many times later than we’d like, but rarely without the groundwork.

Accountability doesn’t have to be harsh to be effective.
It can be steady, compassionate, and grounded in action.

An Invitation for the Year Ahead

So as you step into this new year, here’s a different question to hold:

If this year were about becoming more of who you already are—rather than fixing who you aren’t—what would you choose to build?

The page is blank.
The pen is in your hand.
And the rest is still unwritten.

Leave a comment

I’m Tracy Stone, a leadership coach who helps leaders build from their strengths - through coaching, through intentional goal-setting, through creating space to figure out what they actually want. If you’re ready to start 2026 by building forward instead of fixing backward, I’d love to support you.

Until then, may your year begin with clarity and self-compassion. Keep carving your path. One intentional choice at a time.

📌 PS - If this reframe resonated with you, would you share it with someone starting their year?

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Forward it to a colleague who needs permission to build from strength, restack it on Substack Notes, or share it on LinkedIn. Your shares help me keep creating content that supports leaders carving their own paths.

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I didn’t plan on doing a year-end “wrapped” post.

But as the year winds down, I found myself reflecting. Not just on what I did this year, but on what I committed to. And one commitment stands out: I said yes to writing. Publicly. Consistently. Even when it felt uncomfortable.

So here it is: Carving Her Path, 2025 Wrapped.
Not a full year. Only four months. And somehow… a lot happened.

📅 When It Started

I launched Carving Her Path in September.

At the time, it felt like standing at the edge of something without knowing how deep the water was. I had ideas. Lessons. A point of view shaped by years in tech leadership, coaching, parenting, and navigating transitions.

What I didn’t have was certainty.

Would anyone read it?
Would I run out of things to say?
Would I regret putting my thinking out there?

I dove in anyway.

✍️ The Commitment

I made myself one promise:
Write and publish every week.

No perfect drafts.
No waiting until it felt “ready.”
No disappearing when life got busy.

Just show up.

Some weeks, the words flowed easily. Other weeks, I wrote between meetings, late at night, from a hotel room, or with a knot in my stomach wondering if this one would land.

But I kept going.

📊 What Happened

In four months:

• Weekly posts, published consistently

• ~250 subscribers and growing

• Conversations that extended beyond comments - DMs, emails, coffee chats

• Posts forwarded to colleagues, friends and “someone who needed this”

But the numbers tell only part of the story.

💬 What Meant the Most

The messages that started with:

• “This felt like you were writing directly to me.”

• “I’ve been struggling with this and didn’t have words for it.”

• “I forwarded this to a friend because it said what I couldn’t.”

That’s when I knew this wasn’t just content.

It was connection.

🌱 What This Year Taught Me

This short season reinforced a few truths I already knew, but needed to live again:

Consistency builds confidence.
Not talent. Not perfection. Just showing up.

You don’t need the full map.
Clarity follows action.

Sharing your thinking is leadership.
Especially when it’s honest and human.

The path reveals itself as you walk it.
Even, maybe especially when, it’s uncertain.

🧭 Looking Ahead to 2026

I’m committing to continuing Carving Her Path into 2026.

More writing.
More reflection.
More conversations about leadership, growth, self-belief, transitions, and the quiet courage it takes to choose yourself. To define, honor and carve your path.

Not louder.
Not flashier.
Just deeper.

Does this scare me? Absolutely. Do I still feel like an imposter? All the time. But I’m showing up anyway. Carving my path.

❤️ A Thank You

If you’ve been here since the beginning — thank you.
If you joined last week — welcome.
If you’ve ever hit “like,” replied, shared a post, or simply read quietly — I see you.

This has become something meaningful because of you. You showed up, and that made all the difference.

We’re carving our paths together.

What about you?

What are you committing to in 2026? What path are you carving? I’d love to hear in the comments.

Leave a comment

And if this post resonated with you, would you share it with someone who’s defining their own next chapter? Forward it to a colleague, restack it on Substack Notes, or share it on LinkedIn.

Thanks for being part of this journey. Let’s keep carving our paths together.

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I’m Tracy Stone, a leadership coach who helps leaders invest in themselves and carve paths that are authentically theirs. If you’re ready to stop carrying everything alone and create what matters most to you in 2026, I’d love to support you.

Until then, keep carving your path. I’ll be right here doing the same.

What about the gifts we rarely give ourselves?

Not the bubble bath or face mask kind (though those have their place), but the deeper investments. The ones that change how we show up, lead, and handle the inevitable challenges of work and life.

As the year winds down, here are five gifts worth giving yourself. Meaningful, entirely within reach, and powerful enough to carry with you long after December ends.

Grace

The gift of being human.

This one comes first because it’s foundational to everything else.

The gift of grace is treating yourself the way you’d treat a good friend. When you make a mistake, miss a deadline, or fall short of your own expectations - what do you say to yourself? If it’s anything harsher than what you’d say to someone you care about, that’s your signal.

We are ruthlessly hard on ourselves in ways we’d never be with others. We replay our missteps, catalog our failures, hold ourselves to impossible standards. And for what? It doesn’t make us better leaders or better people. It just makes us exhausted.

Grace is the practice of acknowledging you’re human. That you’re doing your best with the information, energy, and capacity you have in any given moment. That perfection isn’t the goal. Growth is.

I catch myself all the time with the harsh self-talk. “OMG how did you let that happen?” or “What were you thinking?” or my personal favorite at 2am: “Who am I to think I could do this?”. And then there’s replaying conversations, rehashing what I said (or didn’t say) always thinking of the perfect response hours too late.

I’m learning to catch that voice and edit it in real time, like it’s running across a teleprompter in my head. What would I say to a friend in this situation? How would I talk to someone I care about who just made the same mistake? That’s the edit. That’s grace.

It’s not natural yet. But it’s the practice.

What would change if you gave yourself the same compassion you readily extend to others?

Connection

The gift of people who lift you up.

Not networking. Not obligation-based coffee chats that drain you. I’m talking about intentionally finding and nurturing connections that genuinely energize you.

The people who inspire you, challenge your thinking, make you laugh, remind you why you do this work in the first place. The conversations that leave you feeling more alive, not depleted.

Too often, we treat connection as transactional - something we “should” do for our careers. But the most valuable relationships aren’t built on what someone can do for you. They’re built on mutual respect, shared values, genuine curiosity about each other’s journeys.

Here’s what I’ve learned to look for: people who make me feel like the best version of myself. People in whose presence I’m sharper, kinder, more creative, more myself. The ones where I leave the conversation liking who I was in it.

Surround yourself with people you genuinely admire for how they show up in the world. People whose values align with yours, who inspire you to think bigger, who challenge you in ways that feel amplifying rather than diminishing.

This is why I talk so much about building a “Personal Board of Directors”, not a collection of prestigious names and titles, but people who truly know you and are invested in your growth. People you can learn from. People you can be real with about the hard stuff, not just the highlight reel.

The gift here is being intentional. Who fills your cup? Who do you leave feeling energized after spending time with them? How can you make more space for those connections and less for the ones that feel like obligations?

Connection isn’t a luxury. It’s essential fuel.

Belief

The gift of believing in yourself. Especially when no one else does.

This one’s hard to write about without sounding like a motivational poster, but stay with me. Because there will be moments in your career when you’re the only one who can see what you’re capable of. When you’re reaching for something that looks too big, too risky, too much of a stretch. When the external signals aren’t encouraging.

Those are the moments that define your trajectory.

Believing in yourself isn’t about false confidence or ignoring real feedback. It’s about knowing - deeply knowing - that you can figure things out. That you’ve done hard things before. That being uncomfortable is part of growth, not evidence you’re in the wrong place.

I’ve made big career pivots that were risky. Leaving the corporate world without knowing exactly how or when I’d return. Starting a non-profit. Going back to corporate and believing I could build something meaningful from scratch. And most recently, leaving again to build my own business.

Every single time, there were voices - well-meaning voices - telling me why it wasn’t the right move. Too risky. Too uncertain. Why would I leave something secure? But I knew what I needed, even when I couldn’t fully articulate it yet. I believed the path would reveal itself if I just took the first step.

And it did. Every time.

You’ve got this. Even when it doesn’t feel like it. Even when it’s messy and uncertain. You can do hard things.

Give yourself the gift of believing that.

Time

The gift of space to slow down and breathe.

Time that’s unstructured. Time to breathe, think, and just be. Time that isn’t optimized or productive or in service to anyone else’s agenda.

I know, I know. Where exactly is this magical time supposed to come from when you’re already maxed out?

That’s the real gift. Giving yourself permission to strategically drop something, delegate something, or simply say no to create that space. Not everything on your plate is as essential as it feels in the moment.

What could you stop doing? What could someone else do? What are you holding onto because you’ve always done it, not because it actually matters?

One of my favorite ways to gift myself time is protecting time for reading. Whether it’s a leadership book that stretches my thinking or fiction that lets me completely escape, reading is time that’s intentionally mine. It’s both an investment in myself and a break from the relentless pace of everything else.

For me it’s reading, but the real practice is carving out time that’s yours. Time where you’re not “on” for anyone else. Time to let your brain wander, make unexpected connections, or simply rest.

You need this time. Not as a reward for getting everything else done, but as a non-negotiable part of how you sustain yourself.

Coaching

The gift of not figuring it out alone.

This may be the most surprising gift. And one of the most transformative.

The gift of coaching isn’t just about working with someone like me (though I’d love to work with you). It’s about the gift of investing in yourself. Of taking your own development as seriously as you take developing your team.

Coaching is the space where you can:

Get clarity on what you actually want, not what you think you should want

Explore new ways to approach problems that keep showing up

Build self-awareness about your patterns, strengths, and blind spots

Work through the messy middle of a career transition or leadership challenge

Give yourself permission to want more, dream bigger, or simply figure out what’s next

Here’s what I know: coaching amplifies all the other gifts. It helps you practice grace with yourself. Identify which connections matter most. Strengthen your belief in your own capabilities. Protect your time for what actually matters.

The people who invest in themselves this way show up differently. Clearer on their boundaries, more confident in their decisions, better equipped to navigate the inevitable uncertainty of leadership.

It’s not a luxury. It’s leverage.

These aren’t one-time gifts you check off a list. They’re ongoing practices. Commitments to yourself that compound over time.

As this year winds down, I’m thinking about my own gifts to myself. Grace for the messy parts of building my business. Time to think without an agenda. Belief that the path I’m carving is exactly right, even when it feels uncertain or unfinished.

What gift do you most need to give yourself?

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I’m Tracy Stone, a leadership coach who helps women leaders invest in themselves - through coaching, through building intentional connections, through creating space to figure out what they actually want. If you’re ready to stop carrying everything alone and start building what matters most to you, I’d love to support you.

Until then, may your December include gifts to yourself. Keep carving your path - one intentional gift at a time.

📌 PS - One more gift you can give: If this post resonated with you, would you share it with someone who needs this reminder?

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