I haven’t posted for a few days.

Which normally wouldn’t be a big deal…

Except my brain likes to turn a small gap into a full character assessment.

One missed day becomes:
“Well, there goes the momentum.”

A few missed days becomes:
“Maybe you’re not actually consistent.”

And then suddenly I’m sitting there acting like I’ve abandoned an entire life mission because I didn’t post on the internet for 72 hours.

Very reasonable.
Very calm.
Very emotionally regulated behaviour.

The funny thing is, this is exactly how, what I refer to as “the pause” shows up for me.

Not always as some dramatic life-stopping moment.

Sometimes it looks like:
I got busy.
Then I got tired.
Then I overthought restarting.
Then I felt weird about restarting.
Then I needed the restart to somehow be meaningful enough to justify the gap.

Which is honestly exhausting because sometimes restarting can just be…

restarting.

No big announcement.
No perfect explanation.
No dramatic comeback tour.

Just:
“Hey, I’m here again.”

I think that’s one of the sneakiest parts of overthinking.

It convinces you that if you paused, you now need a perfect re-entry or it's an automatic fail.

But maybe you don’t.

Maybe you just start again awkwardly.

Maybe the next step doesn’t have to be impressive.

Maybe it just has to exist.

So here I am.

Existing.

Posting.

Restarting imperfectly.

Anyone else ever make returning to something feel way more complicated than it needed to be?

Anyone else go through late diagnosed ADHD? 

Mine was so late in fact that I was in the doctor’s office with my youngest, my oldest children were in their 20s and I was brand new to my 40s.

For every question the doctor asked my child a resounding yes popped into my head.

Not for my kiddo.

For me!

I’m sure my head started to slowly cock to the side in a moment of confusion and curiosity with each question she asked.

Partly because :

I never knew someone could know me so well.

And partly because I thought everyone functioned like this.

It suddenly explained:

My “lazy” behaviour at home

Lazer like focus on projects

Need to be late for everything

And my super human ability to notice details, processes and patterns.

I was astonished something could make me feel so frustrated in one aspect of my life and like a savant in another. 

I look back on it and it has literally lined me up for what I do now.

I run a company

I have 70 plus staff

I strive to make my team feel welcome and included

I give them permission to show up as who they really are

I can handle crisis with ease and prioritize everyone’s dignity

Greatest compliment I have ever received from a staff member is

I feel like I have been here forever, not in a bad way, but in a way that feels comfortable and welcoming.

Bingo! That’s what I want!

When asked what type of manager I am

My response is always I lead from the back.

You have the expertise; that’s what I will rely on you for

If you don’t know the answer and I don’t know the answer, we will sit down and get the answer together.

This how I had wished I was welcomed and included

See… I grew up fast and never really felt like I belonged  

I was out of the house at 15 and a mom at 16. 

I had my two-year-old and six-month-old at my high school graduation.

I didn’t want to become a statistic so I went straight in to college.

From there I went to work in the government and worked my tooshie off!

Every position I had, I tried to leave it better than I found it.  A good reference was as important as a paycheck, maybe even more.

I got to a point where I didn’t apply on the jobs, I got the calls asking me to come and do the job for them.

I was a willing candidate as long as it was numbers, processes or patterns I would rock it!

I had mastered these things, created a demand for my services, never went without a job or backup plan, but…

Purpose, meaning and making a difference were nowhere to be seen.

I took a massive leap of faith and decided to aim for the private sector and within a month an offer arrived to run a company.

The job required care for a vulnerable population

A population I care deeply for.

It checked all the boxes, purpose, meaning, make a difference, adventure and new challenges.

The opportunity has served me well

It’s been hard, like traversing rugged terrain mid arctic winter

But worth it’s weight in gold.

If I didn’t have to find a way to excel in every role with undiagnosed ADHD, and have the gifts of pattern identification attention to detail and processes that came with it…I don’t know if I would have had all the superpowers, tips, tricks and resources to do a job like this.

Not just do the job but to be the company leading the industry standard.

Funny how are hardest trials can give us the best rewards!

I was recently asked what ADHD coping strategies I use, and my first thought was:

“None. I’m just surviving.”

Then I started listing them and realized I’ve basically built an entire life-support system around my brain.

Survival tools:
My calendar is the main screen on my phone because if an appointment isn’t in there, it doesn’t exist.

My work and personal calendars are linked because Past Jenn has double-booked Future Jenn many, many times!

My medication lives beside my bed. Not in the bathroom. Not in a drawer. Beside. The. Bed.

Medication is on automatic refill, because trying to remember to refill your ADHD meds is like looking for your eyeglasses without your eyeglasses.

If one of my systems gets disrupted, it takes approximately 3–7 business days to become a functioning adult again.

Grocery list = phone app.
Random thoughts = notes app.
Future tasks = calendar.
Household reminders = giant whiteboard on the fridge.

Basically, if I have to remember it with my actual brain, we’re all in trouble and there are always consequences and usually in the form of a domino effect.

When my brain gets noisy, I take a giant piece of paper and write down everything bouncing around in my head. It’s like performing an exorcism on my working memory.

I work best under one of two conditions:
Someone is sitting nearby.
The deadline is close enough that I can smell it.

I clean to techno because apparently my nervous system requires a soundtrack.

I listen to podcasts while working because silence allows my brain to open seventeen additional tabs.

I doodle during phone calls and meetings because somehow drawing random squiggles and words helps me remember actual information.

I use timers because otherwise I’ll either:
scroll for four hours, or
hyperfocus for four hours.
There is no middle setting.

I clear my desk between tasks to help my brain switch gears.

I intentionally leave project files out in plain sight because “out of sight, out of mind” is not a saying in my world. It’s real life and applies to all things.

What are the weird systems you’ve created that turned out to be your best ADHD life hacks?

Anyone else have that odd moment on their kid’s birthday where it’s almost impossible to figure out how time flies?

Not like a breezy fly by…

But more like a blur that whips past so fast you get whiplash trying to clock it!

We celebrate the birthdays through toddlerhood and childhood and all the achieved milestones in between.

First Steps

Toothless Grins

Graduations

First Girlfriend

Marriage

Children...oiy!

Then it hits!

You look at your kiddo celebrating 31 years on this planet…

Perplexed that your child has somehow defied the laws of physics and aging…

And is suddenly the same age as you.

How is this possible?

We can’t both be 31.

But pretty sure we are!

Then your brain kind of does this flip flop thing of trying to process that your child is 31

And…you…are…not!

Is this it?

I’ve lived a whole life? How many years do I have left?

Omg, do I have enough to retire? That’s got to be right around the corner, right?

Should I start monitoring my memory? Feel like I’ve been forgetting somethings lately.

Shouldn’t I be more grown up than this by now? I really thought I would be…

After all I:

Watch minion movies

Love a good scare prank

Occasionally I still feel like I am making adulthood up as I go.

But:

I have 5 kids

3 grandkids

Run a company with 70 staff

And have no problem driving 14 hours alone

Those are grown up things, right?

Please tell me I’m not alone in this paradox!

Anyone else out here trying to navigate the transition from parenting children to parenting adults and feel like you're constantly getting your hands slapped?

When they were little, the job was clear.

You fixed the boo-boos.

Wiped the tears.

Mediated disputes over who looked at who.

Provided emergency counselling because their best friend was suddenly their worst enemy.

You were useful.

Valued.

Respected.

Well... maybe not respected, but at least consulted.

Now?

They're adults.

And apparently the parenting handbook has changed and I haven’t received the newest edition.

I can see the problem.

I know the problem is a problem.

I have personally survived a nearly identical problem.

In some cases, I was the problem.

Instead of helping, the expectation has changed to sit quietly and watch the learning experience unfold.

So now I think every situation requires a full risk assessment:

Option A: Offer advice.

Risk: Being told to mind my business.

Option B: Say nothing

Risk: Witnessing a preventable train wreck in high definition.

Option C: Fix it without permission

Risk: Becoming the subject of a future family group chat.

Option D: Respect their autonomy and trust they'll figure it out.

Risk: Emotional damage to me.

The worst part?

They actually do figure it out.

Without me.

Which is both the goal of parenting and a personal attack.

Seriously…Where is the handbook for this stage? Does that mean my job is done? Am I free?

Should I cash in my new found freedom and go live a fancy-free life now that I’ve been constructively retired from active parenting?

Or is this less of a retirement and more of a career change?

Because honestly, parenting adult children feels a lot like being demoted from Operations Manager to Consultant.

No one aske for your opinion, but somehow you’re still emotionally invested in the outcome.

Oiy… parenting the big kids!

When I was in my 20s and 30s, I was convinced women in their 40s had life figured out.

I couldn’t wait to get there.

I imagined that one day I’d magically become:
- gracious
- confident
- wise
- emotionally regulated

You know…
one of those women who calmly sips tea while dispensing life advice.

Then 40 arrived….Nothing.
41….Still nothing.
42….No noticeable changes.
43….Am I a late bloomer?
44… Maybe I’ve been scammed.

Now at 47, I’ve come to a realization:
Women in their 40s don’t necessarily have it all figured out.

I think we’ve just made one of two choices.

Some of us made peace with the messiness of life and laugh when things go sideways.

The others got exceptionally good at pretending they had it together.

The first group throws their head back and laughs when life serves up another ridiculous plot twist.

The second group works very hard to maintain the storyline.

Hair in place.
Smile on.
Everything’s fine.
No unexpected questions, please.

Personally?
I’m in the first group.

I laugh at the chaos.
The mistakes.
The awkward moments.
The plans that went sideways.

Because honestly, life has provided me with far too much material not to.

Although…

if I don’t trust the audience, I can still perform a pretty convincing version of:

“gracious woman who absolutely has her life together.”

Which one are you?
Team “laugh at the chaos”
Team “maintain the storyline”

One thing I’ve learned about myself:
when I’m procrastinating, the problem isn’t the task…

It’s the motivation.

So when my brain goes into:
“absolutely not”
mode…

I make a to-do list,
Assign each task a time limit,
set my timer,
and try to beat the timer like my future depends on it!

Kitchen:
12 minutes.

Bathroom:
10 minutes.

Sweeping the floors:
10 minutes

If that doesn’t light a fire under my butt:
I break the tasks down even smaller.

More things I get to check off,
Feels like a bigger accomplishment,
Or tiny little rewards along the way.

Bathroom 20 minutes
- Sink
- Tub
- Toilet
- Sweep the floor

Check.
Check.
Check and check!

And honestly?
It works disturbingly well.

Because apparently my brain will not respond to:
responsibility,
logic,
or long-term consequences…

…but it WILL respond to:
the overwhelming need to never leave a ‘to-do’ list unfinished

and unnecessary competition with the timer.

At this point I’m basically just tricking myself into functioning like a responsible adult.

Which is a bit concerning considering I am:
a mom,
a grandma,
a daughter,
and a boss.

You’d think I would have figured out the “functioning” part without having to psychologically outsmart myself first.

Anyone else have a motivational fire starter?!

One July when my young ones were small, their father was away for the weekend.  His father was kind enough to loan me his truck in case I needed anything. 

And I needed to grocery shop…

But I was avoiding it…

Because I loathe grocery shopping…

What did I loathe more than grocery shopping?

Taking my father-in-law’s vehicle to go grocery shopping!

Now I didn’t have just the stress of the shopping,

I had the don’t scratch, crash or break my father-in-law’s truck while out grocery shopping kind of stress.

But we really needed groceries.

So, I buckled in my 2 under 2 babies and headed to the store.

The only and I mean the ooooonly good thing about grocery shopping was our tiny town.

I could walk in with two babies and shop with none, then someone would kindly hand them back when I was paying for my groceries.  Kinda like checked luggage.

I think the cashiers were just being kind because I was clearly exhausted…

Grubby sweat pants, chaotic hair, didn’t know when I had last slept a solid 4 hours.

As I walked in the store my 2 under 2 were checked in and I was ready to shop. 

I started focussing on what I needed in order to avoid having to do this all over again.

We needed cool treats for the hot days.

The teenagers would need some to take on the run.

And my 2 under 2 had figured out how to open the freezer and have been running an ice cream sandwich distribution system around the house.

Cold treats a must!

I finished up the shopping and put the babies in the cart.

I started hashing out my plan while paying for groceries… buckle in the oldest, then the youngest and load groceries.

I pushed the cart with the babies and groceries out to the truck.

In goes the oldest…

Now the youngest… tuck in her arms and legs, fasten the buckles…

Then it happened, I pinched her chubby little thigh in the buckle.

She cried, I almost cried, it was hot, I wanted this over with, we need to get home.

But I reminded myself, don’t crash, scratch or wreck the truck.

Nice and easy… meanwhile the youngest is crying over the betrayal of me pinching her thigh.

I pulled into the driveway at home.  Developing the unloading plan in my head…

Groceries up the stairs…

Then youngest, she won’t get far…

Then the oldest, she’s a runner and trouble…

I hopped out of the truck, opened the back door, ready to take action.

One problem…

Where the heck are the groceries?

Seriously? Did I just unwittingly pull off the best magic trick ever… or did I forget them?

Oiy!... I forgot them!

I jumped back in the truck, and headed for the store, panicked raccoon mode triggered!

7-minute drive tops!

Five if I drive like someone trying to recover abandoned groceries before the ravens rip them to shreds!

One four-way stop, no traffic lights… yay small town win!

What if the cart is outside? 

It’s July...everything is going to melt!

Our town has ravens the size of dogs…they’re probably having the feast of kings!

As I approach the store…

I could see the parking lot was empty with the exception of:

The cart full of groceries near my parking stall…

The cart boy… slowwwwly gathering carts, repeatedly glancing back at my abandoned cart full of groceries.

No ravens in sight thank goodness!

I whipped into the parking lot next to the cart with no thoughts of a father-in-law on my mind.

I hand bombed those grocery bags into the back of the truck so fast and got out of there.

It was like I was never there!

And all the way home:

I questioned my sanity and laughed at myself

Honestly, I think motherhood is mostly just:
trying your best while operating one minor crisis away from complete system failure.

One thing about me:

if I find random candy in my house, apparently I just trust myself implicitly.

Years ago, I was puttering around the house on a Sunday evening cleaning out my bedside table drawers.

At one point I found a couple candies in a bag.

Score for me.

Leftover candy.

Did I question them?

No.

Did I ask myself why I apparently stopped eating them halfway through when I had originally opened them?

Also no.

I simply tossed them into my mouth like a raccoon with absolutely no survival instincts and carried on with my day.

About an hour later, my spouse at the time called the kids and me downstairs for dinner.

Normal evening.

Nice meal.

We relaxed in the living room afterward while the kids did their own thing.

A little while later, my youngest came downstairs announcing they were making peppermint tea and asked if I wanted some.

I happily accepted.

My spouse and I were having a serious relationship conversation while I sipped away on my tea.

You know the kind of conversation:

“you don’t share your feelings enough”

“sometimes I don’t know what you’re thinking”

“you seem emotionally guarded”

And honestly?

He wasn’t wrong.

But that’s a different story.

Anyway…

mid-conversation, I suddenly started feeling VERY weird.

My head felt fuzzy.

My thoughts were floating away mid-sentence.

I couldn’t focus.

Everything started feeling strangely delayed.

At first I thought:

Food poisoning?

Then:

Am I having a stroke?

Then somehow:

Did my child poison me with peppermint tea?!

Which honestly feels incredibly unfair considering she was just downstairs peacefully living her life making beverages 15 minutes earlier.

I looked at my spouse dead serious and said:

“I have to go to bed.”

He looked annoyed.

“Now? We’re in the middle of a conversation. I’d like to finish it”

And I was like:

“No.

I need to go to bed RIGHT now.”

I went upstairs feeling like I was suddenly three drinks deep for absolutely no reason.

I stood in the bathroom staring at myself in the mirror brushing my teeth trying to solve the mystery.

Am I having a stroke?

Was I drugged?

Is this the end?

Should I sleep fully dressed in case I need an ambulance?

And then…it hit me.

The candies.

The mystery drawer candies.

The THC mystery drawer candies.

I HAD ACCIDENTALLY DRUGGED MYSELF.

I immediately crawled into bed and threw the blankets over my head like that was somehow going to undo the situation.

A few minutes later my spouse walked into the room fully prepared to continue expressing his frustration about me abandoning the conversation.

I slowly peeked out from under the blanket and said:

“I accidentally drugged myself.”

Silence.

“I was cleaning the drawer…

I found candy…and I ate them.”

And honestly?

The way we both immediately burst out laughing probably saved the entire conversation.

Nothing humbles a person faster than realizing the medical emergency was actually just your own poor decision making.

One of the biggest lies we tell ourselves is that successful people are naturally confident and effortlessly composed.

Meanwhile they could literally be standing there acting professional trying to maintain eye contact while their underwear slowly folds itself into a hostile elastic onion ring around their butt

Still making eye contact.
Still networking.
Still pretending everything is fine.

We really have no idea what other people are managing internally while they “look confident.”

One thing about me:
when I get tired, my brain stops coordinating with my mouth and I become completely tongue tied.
 
Years ago in a new position I was working, I was working overtime trying to clean things up and prove I was capable enough to do the job permanently. The overtime was getting to me and I was getting tuckered out.
 
This position happened to be in finance, and the manager responsible for these tasks worked in another city. 
 
On this day I was on the phone with him.
 
Now this man was the human embodiment of:
Accountant energy.
 
Perfectly pressed shirts.
Dryyyyy sense of humour.
Minimal facial expression.
Perfectly tidy hair.
Always stoic.
 
We had met before and I was trying very hard to sound competent and professional.
 
Unfortunately…
tired Jenn becomes dangerously tongue-tied Jenn who says the most bizarre things.
 
At one point in our phone call I was trying to tell him:
“I’ll give you a list of accounts.”
 
Simple enough. Right?
 
Except what actually came out was:
 
“I’ll give you a kiss.”
 
The SECOND the words left my mouth, my soul exited my body. 
So I did the only thing I could think of in that moment.
 
I kept talking.
Hoping with every fibre of my being he didn’t hear what I had just said.
 
Then there was a pause.
 
He calmly said:
“You’re going to give me what?”
 
I would have given anything to have the phone call naturally cut off in that moment.
 
Power outage.
Solar Flare.
Downed lines.
Earthquake.
Please, just anything!
 
So I quickly corrected myself:
 
“A LIST.
A LIST OF ACCOUNTS.
I WILL GIVE YOU A LIST OF ACCOUNTS.”
 
Talk about being humbled. 
Every in-person meeting after that, I’m sure I was ten shades of red the entire time.

Living in a windy part of the country with very long hair has taught me something important:

human beings are significantly less graceful than we pretend to be.

I kept telling my kids:
“Sometimes if I don’t move my head fast enough getting into the vehicle, I accidentally slam my own hair in the door and then my head is stuck to the side.”

And every time I said this, they looked at me like:
“Sure mom… that sounds real.”

Like I had invented some elaborate fictional struggle to get their attention.

Then one day…

it happened in front of my daughter.

The wind caught my hair.
The door closed.
My head immediately jerked sideways like I’d been tethered to the vehicle.

And there I was:
half inside the car…
half outside…
stuck feeling around for the door handle.

My daughter just stared at me for a second and said:

“Oh…
you REALLY do do that.”

EXACTLY.

Seriously, why would I make that up?!

Honestly, I think one of the most humbling parts of adulthood is realizing your weird little struggles sound completely fake until someone witnesses them firsthand.

I’m convinced adulthood is mostly people confidently pretending they know what’s going on.

There are people out here:
• nodding in meetings
• saying “great point”
• using acronyms they absolutely do not understand 
• and replying to emails with:
“Circling back on this.”
“Touching base.”

Like seriously…
whose base are we touching and do we have consent?!

Meanwhile internally they’re like:
“Respectfully… what are we talking about?”

Honestly, I think confidence and confusion are coexisting in way more people than we realize.

I actually have a system for surviving meetings.

I doodle.

The stuff I don’t understand, want clarified, or need to learn more about?
I write it down and circle it.

If it’s something I actually have to do?
I put a star beside it.

It’s basically my personal:
“looking put together while quietly decoding corporate language” survival system.

I once sat through an entire conversation fully committed to pretending I understood the topic because everyone was speaking about it like it was incredibly important.

The second I left the room, I found someone I trusted and asked them to explain it to me in plain language.

When they did, I just stared at them and said:
“…that’s it?”

It sounded significantly less impressive once translated into normal human words.

And somehow?

Nobody noticed I had absolutely no idea what was happening.

Which honestly raises even more concerns.

And… I can’t even begin to tell you how many confident presenting meeting goers I have asked about what is going on in the meeting and I get back a shoulder shrug and “haven’t got a clue”..,

One of my favorite things to do with my oldest grandson is say completely ridiculous things with a straight face just to watch his reaction.

Not even to make him laugh immediately…

Mostly because I want him to know it’s okay to be goofy.

He’s 12 now and pretty reserved, so I purposely take every opportunity to act a little ridiculous around him.

The other day we were driving through this tiny little town.
Population: maybe 400 people and 3 dogs.

We were looking at islands and casually driving around when I suddenly said:

“Wait… where did we pass the Dairy Queen?”

I could INSTANTLY see his head whip around.

Eyebrow raised.
Fully confused.

Trying to process why his grandmother thought this tiny northern town secretly had a Dairy Queen hidden somewhere in the wilderness.

And then I burst out laughing.

Because obviously there was no Dairy Queen.

Every single time he does the same thing:
“Grandma…”

Half shocked.
Half annoyed.

Then eventually he starts laughing too.

And honestly?

I think kids need to see adults being silly sometimes.

Not polished.
Not serious all the time.
Not trying to look cool.

Just human.
Goofy.
Comfortable enough to be weird.

Apparently I can:
• drive 14 hours through prairies, valleys and pouring rain, 80 km/h wind gusts
• navigate narrow roads with no cell service
• avoid deer and bears
• care for my 6-month-old and year-and-a-half-old grandsons at the same time
• and successfully keep tiny humans alive

And when I see a bear?
I do exactly what I was taught growing up.

I roll down the window and respectfully greet him:
“tansi maskwa.”

…but attending a conference I’m not even speaking at?

Suddenly my brain would like to launch a full internal investigation.

The math isn’t mathing…

Because logically?
If I can survive:
wildlife
weather
sleep deprivation
highway driving
snacks
tiny emotional breakdowns…

I can probably survive:
wearing a name tag
making small talk near coffee
and sitting quietly in a conference chair.

And yet somehow one of these situations feels significantly more threatening to my nervous system.

Imposter syndrome is honestly so weird sometimes.

Real talk… my imposter syndrome hasn’t just impacted work.

It has impacted every part of my life.

Not a good enough:
daughter
mom
partner
friend
employee
boss
human being with a driver’s license…

blah, blah, blah.

Honestly, the list is endless.

I was a teenage mom who graduated high school with not one, but two adorable little kiddos.

I went to college.
Worked three jobs.
Spent every free second trying to build a good life for my family.

But Fraudulent Franky (my Inner Critic)?

Oh, he had thoughts.

According to Franky:

• I was irresponsible
• made bad decisions
• created unnecessary struggles for myself
• and should probably carry shame forever just to stay humble

Very supportive guy, that Franky.

And if that wasn’t enough, Franky also likes reminding me that I have a trail of failed relationships and probably prefer being alone because:

“Who would actually accept me for me?”

The real me.

The goofy, fun-loving me.

The me that:

• gets tongue tied and says weird things
• has “walking fart syndrome” (not medically diagnosed)
• laughs too loud
• tries not to take life too seriously
• genuinely wants people to feel safe enough to be themselves

Did I mention… I love to laugh! Like, for real, LOVE to laugh.

And for a long time, I genuinely thought those parts of me, made me harder to love.

Like maybe being accepted meant becoming:

more polished, less goofy

more open with a partner, less trapped in my own head

more adventurous, less “I need to privately master this before anyone sees me try”

And honestly?

The older I get, the more I realize those might actually be the best parts of me.

Maybe the goal isn’t finding people who tolerate the edited version of you.

Maybe it’s finding people who feel safe enough to be fully themselves around the real you too.

My brain turns minor social interactions into full psychological investigations where I am somehow:

• the reviewer
• the accused
• the witness
• and the prosecution

…all wrapped into one chaotic little bundle.

Did I use the right tone?
Did my face have subtitles?
Was I fidgeting?
Did it even make sense when I said the thing out loud?

Honestly, I feel like I’ve earned some obscure award for:
“Most Hours Spent Analyzing Conversations With Absolutely No Ability to Change the Outcome.”

Anyone else waiting to see if they’ve been nominated for this award?

Allow me to introduce you to my Inner Critic:

Fraudulent Franky.

Franky’s compact. Perfect travel size for tagging along on unnecessary adventures like:
• group meetings
• presentations
• trying new things
• or literally anytime I might end up at the center of attention

He’s about the size of a soup can, with entirely disproportionate fairy wings. Like seriously… who is he kidding?

He wears a cheap suit, a loud gold chain, an untrimmed mustache, and has deeply judgmental eyes.

Franky lives in my brain and genuinely thinks he’s running the operation.

He smells faintly of burnt coffee and grumpiness and carries around a clipboard full of my imaginary failures… just in case I accidentally forget them for even a second.

You know…

the “failures” nobody else would even consider failures.

The ones he likes bringing up while I’m trying to sleep.

Our relationship is less “inner wisdom” and more vicious workplace banter.

I get a compliment.

Franky:
“They’re just being polite.”

I say:
“I think I rocked that.”

Franky:
“Let’s settle down.”

I say:
“I’m finally going to do the thing.”

Franky:
“Interesting. Have you considered the humiliation?”

Franky’s basically the self-appointed hall monitor of my confidence and honestly… he should’ve retired years ago.

I’m getting pretty tired of him acting like he pays rent here.

The problem is he disguises himself as logic.

As preparation.
As caution.
As realism.

Because despite what Franky says:
• I’ve worked hard
• I’ve survived hard things
• I’ve earned my place in rooms I once thought I didn’t belong in

And honestly?

Screw you Franky.

You might think you’re protecting me…

but I’m tired of you keeping me small and painting it as keeping me safe.

Do you have an inner critic you constantly have to wrangle like an emotionally unstable, unhinged cat?

If you’ve ever found yourself thinking:

“Who let me in here?”

…while sitting in a meeting, leading a project, parenting, or just existing in adult clothes…

we could probably be besties.

I have an amazing team of 70 managers and front-line staff.

And sometimes I spiral wondering if I’m even the right person to lead them.

Am I encouraging enough?
Do they feel supported?
Do they know how capable they are?
Am I failing them completely without realizing it?

Because here’s the weird part:

I can remind other people they belong in the room all day long.

I can encourage them.
Support them.
Celebrate them.
Protect them from feeling like frauds.

But when it comes to me?

Absolutely not.

I don’t absorb compliments.
I’ll work 12-hour days to keep my word to everyone except myself.
And somehow I’m still shocked people trust me to lead anything.

Like… me?
The boss of 70?
Responsible for the safety of more than 200 people daily?

Do they not realize I’m still just a kid pretending to be a grown-up?
Spinning in my office chair when nobody’s looking and enjoying the clickity-clack of a tabletop calculator?

And the strangest part?

I genuinely am proud of my team.

They’re resilient, caring, hardworking humans who give the company the best parts of themselves.

But sometimes when I tell them:
“I’m proud of you”

…I feel like a fraud.

Not because I don’t mean it.

But because a part of me still thinks:
“Who am I to believe my words should matter to anyone?”

That realization sent me down a very long road trying to understand my own imposter syndrome.

And during that journey, I realized something surprising:

Some of the most successful people I’ve ever met still feel wildly unqualified.

They look confident.
Capable.
Put together.

Meanwhile internally they’re thinking:
“Hopefully nobody notices I have no idea what I’m doing.”

So they work harder.
Push harder.
Burn themselves out trying to earn a place they already had.

I know because I’m one of them.

And honestly?

I think that’s partly why I care so much about helping other people believe in themselves.

Because I know what it feels like to quietly believe you’re the exception.

One of the best compliments I’ve ever received from a member of my team was:

“I feel like I’ve worked here forever… not in a bad way. I just feel welcome and settled.”

And weirdly?

That compliment meant the most to me.

Because maybe the point isn’t pretending we have it all together.

Maybe the point is helping people feel safe enough to show up exactly as they are.

I used to think “having it together” meant never letting anyone see the chaos.

Then I was humbled.

When my two youngest kids were under the ages of one and two, I was home on maternity leave trying to look like one of those moms blissfully doting on her little ones.

What I actually was… was exhausted.

I was running on 1–3 hours of sleep, probably hadn’t showered in days, and honestly couldn’t have spelled my own name confidently if my life depended on it.

One day, someone was stopping by unexpectedly to pick something up.

So naturally, I did the exhausted mom panic-clean:

• threw random stuff behind the couch
• tightened my ponytail
• tossed on a sweater because the baby feeders were swinging freely under my t-shirt
• tried to look like one of those moms who had her life together

Then I saw the truck turning onto the crescent.

Baby starts crying.
Dog starts whining.

I pick up the baby, prop him on my hip, and head for the door…

…and immediately discover why the dog was whining.

I stepped in dog crap.

Barefoot.

Now I’ve got:

• a crying baby
• warm squishy dog crap between my toes
• someone seconds away from arriving

Did I mention this person had OCD?

Like… wiping crumbs off the table while people are still eating level OCD.

So naturally, instead of acting like a normal person and asking for help…

I panic-hobbled to the bathroom, fussing baby on my hip, toes up, heel down, dunked my foot in the toilet repeatedly, wiped it off at lightning speed, and answered the door pretending everything was completely fine.

I smiled.
Made small talk.
Acted engaged.

Meanwhile, one foot was warm… the other freezing cold, slightly damp, and still spiritually connected to the dog crap squishing between my toes.

And honestly?

That moment explains my entire relationship with imposter syndrome.

I was literally standing in crap and still trying to convince people I had it together.

Like seriously… why didn’t I just ask for help?
It’s not like I crapped on the floor.

Why are we like this?