On crisis, starting over, and practicing what I preach.
I've been a little quiet lately.
Not because I've run out of things to say (those who know me can stop laughing, especially those who have been receiving personal podcasts in the form of long-winded voice notes), but because life has apparently decided that the last few weeks needed to be an advanced course in crisis management, with no syllabus, no office hours, and absolutely no opportunity to drop the class.
In the span of a few weeks, I've experienced a profound betrayal by someone I trusted, watched years of professional relationships and financial stability unravel almost overnight, parted ways with a longtime client, navigated some extraordinarily difficult personal circumstances, and found myself scrambling to rebuild a business while simultaneously figuring out how to keep the lights on.
And that's just the professional and personal chaos. There's also the ongoing business of being a human being with a family.
My dad retired six months after my mom died. I'm still figuring out what life looks like without her, and now we're all figuring out what life looks like with him home full-time.
We live communally, which means the dynamics of our household have shifted in ways I don't think any of us were entirely prepared for. I've found myself stepping into the role of head of household, navigating the logistics, responsibilities, personalities, and emotional needs of a multigenerational family that's still grieving.
And there's no Mom to act as the buffer anymore. I am the Mom and that is a realization I am still processing.
No one to smooth over the little things, translate the unspoken frustrations, or absorb some of the friction that inevitably comes with multiple generations sharing a home. I miss her for a thousand reasons, but lately I've been discovering entirely new ones.
Meanwhile, my dad is adjusting to retirement, I'm adjusting to having my dad around 24/7, and we're all trying to figure out how to coexist in this new version of our family without losing our collective minds.
And somewhere in the middle of all of this, I'm still a solo parent to two teenagers who need help with Algebra, rides to rehearsals and band practice, reminders to wake up, and a mother who can occasionally locate a clean pair of socks.
Because that's the thing about crisis. The rest of your life doesn't politely excuse itself while you deal with it.
The laundry still needs doing. The bills still arrive. The kids still need dinner. And apparently, quadratic equations remain a priority regardless of your personal circumstances.
I've spent years helping other people navigate overwhelm, uncertainty, executive dysfunction, grief, and major life transitions.
I've written about nervous system regulation, resilience, and the importance of creating systems that work with our humanity rather than against it.
I've also started over so many times that I'm literally writing a book about it. At this point, I'm beginning to wonder whether the universe thinks I need additional research material. For the record, I do not. I have plenty. The manuscript is sufficiently supported by primary sources.
And now? Well, I get to practice what I preach.
Again.
Not in the polished, inspirational, look how beautifully I overcame adversity kind of way.
In the messy, exhausted, occasionally crying in the car, making spreadsheets at midnight, trying to remember whether I've eaten today, and definitely consuming too much energy drink kind of way.
Because coaching yourself through a crisis doesn't mean you don't fall apart.
It means learning how to find your footing while things are still falling.
It means recognizing when you're operating in survival mode. Giving yourself permission to grieve what you've lost. Making decisions with incomplete information. Finding small, manageable steps when the bigger picture feels impossible.
And sometimes it means acknowledging that you're doing everything you know how to do, and it's still really fucking hard.
Sometimes it means breathing through the overwhelming urge to lie down on the floor and sob, or throw whatever happens to be in your hand against the nearest wall. Sometimes the most impressive act of emotional regulation you can manage is putting the object down, taking a breath, and deciding that today is not the day you're going to add drywall repair to your list of problems.
So, here's what's coming.
I'm rebuilding. Personally, professionally, and creatively.
Custom Path Coaching is evolving into something I've been envisioning for a long time: a space that extends beyond traditional one-on-one coaching into accessible resources, workshops, courses, practical tools, and conversations about what it actually means to navigate being human.
There is a major website update coming, along with new offerings and, for the first time, vlogs.
I want to bring you along for the process.
Not just the finished products or the lessons neatly packaged after the fact, but the actual work of navigating uncertainty, rebuilding stability, managing overwhelm, and figuring out what comes next.
I'm calling it Coaching Through Crisis.
An ongoing experiment in applying the tools, strategies, and philosophies I've spent my career teaching to my own life, in real time.
Not because I have all the answers. Not because I expect to navigate any of this perfectly. But because I think there's something valuable in showing what this work looks like before the crisis is over, before the lessons are obvious, and before everything has been tied up with a pretty little bow.
Some days there will be insight. Some days there will be progress. Some days there will probably be coffee, profanity, and a to-do list that has somehow gotten longer.
But there will be honesty.
I've always believed that we don't need another person telling us how to have a perfect life. We need more honest conversations about how to live the complicated, imperfect lives we actually have.
So if you've been wondering where I've been, that's the short version.
I'm still here. I'm still figuring it out. And I'm still carrying quite a bit.
But I'm also making room for what's next.
Stay tuned. We're rebuilding something here.
And this time, I'm inviting you to watch it happen.
