Who I Am: A Roadmap For The Woman I’m Becoming

​There comes a moment when you stop asking, “Who should I be” and start getting real about “Who am I actually becoming”. I’m in that moment right now. Not the polished, put-together version of me, but the real one. The one who’s learning, unlearning, softening, growing, and finally paying attention to the woman underneath the responsibilities.

I’ve spent so much of my life mastering strength. Humor. Productivity. “I’m fine.” But vulnerability? That’s the one emotion I’ve tried to keep at an arms length. Lately, it keeps tapping me on the shoulder, whispering that maybe I don’t have to carry everything by myself. Maybe letting someone show up for me doesn’t make me weak. Maybe it just makes me human.

If my future self could come back and correct one thing, she’d probably snatch the “I’ll handle it” badge right off my chest. She’d tell me to sit down somewhere and let life support me for once. She’d remind me that the next level of my life won’t come from doing more… it’ll come from doing less of what isn’t mine to carry.

Somewhere along the way, I forgot about one of my greatest strengths. Connection. It comes so naturally that I assumed everyone had it. But they don’t. I’m the person who pulls people together, who creates belonging, who can walk into a room and shift the energy without even trying. That’s not luck, that’s a gift. One I’m finally claiming.

There’s a softer version of me that only shows up with a trusted few. She’s tender, calm, sentimental, loyal, and she feels everything deeply. I’ve protected her like she’s something that needs hiding, but I’m starting to understand that softness isn’t a liability, it’s a luxury, and it’s one I deserve to experience more often.

I defend my independence like it’s my job. “I’m good”, “I got it”,  “I don’t need anything”. That’s not toughness, that’s fear dressed up in confidence. A fear of being disappointed. Being let down. Needing the wrong person. While those fears came from real places, they don’t get to dictate the rest of my life.

I get misunderstood sometimes, especially when I’m direct. People hear the tone and miss the intention. Here’s the truth. When I’m honest, it’s because I care. If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t say a word. My strength isn’t aggression. It’s protection, for myself and for the people I love.

If expectations could just disappear for 24 hour’s, the real me would show up. The playful, creative, funny, adventurous me. The one who comes out during girls’ trips. The one who laughs loud, dreams big, and breathes freely. I want to see more of her in my everyday life, not just in moments where nobody needs anything from me.

It’s the heart-centered compliments that make me squirm. The ones about my softness, my emotional depth, or my inner beauty. Tell me I’m strong, sure. Tell me I’m resilient, absolutely. Tell me I’m tender or vulnerable? That hits places I’m still learning to accept in myself. Maybe others are simply seeing something true before I’m ready to own it.

I’ve been giving everyone else my 100% while giving myself whatever’s left. The woman I’m becoming is someone who rests without guilt, says no without apologies, and protects her peace like it’s a full-time job. She doesn’t pour from an empty cup, she fills hers first and pours from the overflow.

I’m not reinventing myself. I’m uncovering myself. Peeling back the layers of who I’ve had to be in order to meet the woman I’m becoming. She’s grounded. She’s awake. She’s full of heart and fire. She’s done apologizing for taking up space. She’s ready, more ready than she’s ever been, to step into the life she’s quietly dreamed about.

This is my roadmap. Not to a new me, but to the truest me.

Careers and Connection: it’s the connection for me

Square Garden.

When I was a little girl, I had one dream… to be a backup dancer for Paula Abdul. I’d spend hours in my bedroom, blasting “Straight Up,” perfecting my moves. I had  convinced myself I was destined for the stage. Watching MTV and VH1 like it was my job, and I took that job seriously.

One would think I was honing my skills, but let’s just say the rhythm didn’t exactly get me. My one move “the finger guns” became my trademark. If you know me, you already know what I’m talking about. It’s less choreography and more chaos with confidence.

As my dream of backup-dancing fame faded (somewhere around the time I realized coordination mattered), I also realized I didn’t have a backup plan. No calling, no passion, just a lot of personality and a knack for winging it. So, I did what most of us do, and I let life lead. I tried different jobs, wore different hats, and learned from a lot of “well, that didn’t go as planned” moments.

Eventually, I found something that stuck, people.

I could talk to anyone. I could connect. A friend once told me, “You could sell ice to an Eskimo.” However, I was less interested in the sale and more interested in the story.

I love hearing people’s stories. I love listening, learning, mentoring, laughing, and connecting. I love the moments where people feel seen…because truthfully, that’s what we all want, isn’t it?

Just the other day, a coworker said, “I told Martha to give you a call, you’re great at helping people work through things.” That meant more to me than any award or recognition. Not because I have all the answers (spoiler alert, I don’t), but because it reminded me that my purpose has always been about people. Not fixing them but connecting with them.

I’ve made plenty of mistakes in my life. Some I wish I could erase, and some I’d likely repeat again because they taught me valuable lessons. I’ve been reactive when I should’ve been proactive. I’ve fallen flat on my face (metaphorically, and maybe once or twice literally). Every stumble taught me something. You get out of people what you put into them.

That goes for all my people. My kids, my  spouse, my friends, my coworkers and myself. 

My children are my proudest gift. They’re the best parts of their father and I. Just enough of my fire to keep things interesting but a whole lot of their Dads patients. My friends? Absolute blessings. My family? Unconditional love that can’t be described in words.

My coworkers..They’re my lifeline. My crew. The first people I talk to every morning and usually the last ones I chat with before I call it quits each day. We laugh until our sides hurt, we pick each other up when things go sideways, and we call each other out (lovingly) when we need to. We’re not in competition, we’re in collaboration. The prize, It’s not a title. It’s not the accolades. It’s definitely not the paycheck (though let’s be honest, those dollar bills don’t hurt). The real prize is loving what you do and who you get to do it with. Money won’t buy happiness, but being surrounded by good humans absolutely will.

At the end of the day, that’s my passion. To mentor, connect, and help people grow their own wings. To create spaces where people feel respected, appreciated, and valued. That doesn’t stop when the workday ends. I want my friends, my family, and my kids to feel it too. To know that I’m grateful for them and that they matter. Every single day. 

I’ll fail sometimes. I’ll get it wrong. I’ll say too much or expect too much. But I’m not chasing perfection, I’m chasing consistency and authenticity. When I show up, I show up all in. When I pull up a chair, it’s because there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. If you need me to sit behind you while you take the lead, cheering like a proud stage mom.. I’ve got my finger guns ready.

So, the moral of my story?

I don’t want to sell ice to an Eskimo. I want the Eskimo to trust me enough to tell me why he doesn’t need it, laugh with me about it, and maybe invite me to stay for coffee anyway. Because it’s not about the sale. It’s about the connection. And that, my friends, is where the real magic happens.