Dearest Lauren - 

This is our eleventh year of these letters. 

I went back and read each one in reverse, from the one I wrote when you turned seventeen, to sixteenth, to  fifteen, to fourteen, to thirteen, to twelve, to eleven, to ten,  nine and finally, where this tradition began: my eight wishes for you…and one for me.

Here are those wishes:

1. I wish that you always carry with you this big heart of yours. Beautiful as you are, your heart is your best feature.

2. I wish that you retain your capacity for empathy, even when you get charged with being too sensitive.

3. I wish you to hold on fiercely to your belief that you can be anything you want. Because baby, you can.

4. I wish you continued delight in every wonder. And that even as those big, beautiful wide eyes become dimmer with the skepticism of age, that your curiosity lights your way.

5. I wish you to feel deeply...the highs AND the lows. No sense avoiding it, 'cause there'll be days like this.

6. I wish you to KNOW that your voice may be sweet, and it's still mighty. It will take you to places beyond your wildest dreams.

7. I wish you could see yourself, as we see you.

8. That you remember this morning: your bear holding your balloons for you, the chocolate croissants in bed, the steady stream of phone calls from family and friends, and the biggest worry of your heart being what party dress to wear to school.

I mean…whew.

Though some of the people who called you ten years ago are now gone, and there may not be balloons (I mean…there MAY be, I’ve written this the day before and you know how I love to change my mind), and the party dress may instead be a fabulous ‘fit (am I allowed to say that?) that I will get to revel in before you bound off to your friends, but these wishes for you still hold the truth of my heart.

And?

I know that as I wrote those wishes on your eighth birthday, I was likely counting down in my mind to THIS birthday. It’s always been in the back of my mind. A slow moving train that would arrive at the station in the most bittersweet of ways…like the day you head off to university this fall (if that’s what you so decide). 

(Sigh. I know, I know. Eyeball roll. Upsides of being my daughter? Things are entertaining. Downsides? Sometimes the entertainment is a melodrama. It’s what we signed up for.)

Onward.

Here in Ontario, you are legally an adult. 

You can vote, marry, buy a lottery ticket, sue (and be sued), see a rated R movie and quit school, sure. LEGALLY. Some of those choices are better than others and you can sort through which is which.

But let’s dial down the pressure to ADULT, shall we?

Epic gift giver that you are, may I suggest you gift YOURSELF something, for a change?

Give yourself the gift of considering yourself a Novice Adult.

Give yourself the space to get to know this new terrain…but not all of it and not all of it at once.

Give yourself the grace to know you will make mistakes…and build on your ability to make repair.

Give yourself the permission to ease into the version of yourself that you are becoming…and the good sense to enjoy every twist and turn along the way.

None of this is a race.

And you most certainly do NOT need to do any of it alone.

You are surrounded. 

And you know what? You always will be.

That’s the magic of being you, the big-hearted human you’ve always been.

The one who looks to understand and asks really good questions….and LISTENS to the answers.
The one whose generosity seems to know no bounds, AND whose boundaries are getting stronger by the day.
The one whose wise counsel is a gift to be cherished. (From one counsel-offerer to another, I bow.)
The one who challenges herself consistently to do better and invites us to do that same.
The one who inadvertently squeals in unbridled delight when something wonderful happens to someone else. In life, on the screen…anywhere. You came alive in others’ joy.
The one whose hands are always cold, except for when they rest on my forearm. Then they are the warmest thing in life…and it feels like home.

I will speak for your father and myself right now to tell you you are our dream come true. We don’t know where you’re going yet, but wherever it is, that’s where the magic will be.

We love you with the fire of a thousand suns, Dear Lauren. Then, now and all the days.

(And this parenting you into adulthood? Easiest gig ever.)

/Mama

Click here for my free training:

Five ICONIC shifts leaders use to overcome Imposter Complex.

I wrote an article back on Dec 12, 2016, called: 7 Reasons We Stop Short.

It was good and short and from the response, helped folks to stop stopping. Which was the complete point.

It went like this.

++++

You know that opportunity that comes along that speaks to you on a deeply visceral level? Like it was created just for you? The timing, the stars, everything is just oh-so-right.

And you are there, teetering on the precipice. Just about to step in.

But then you don't. You give up before you get going.

Why? Why do we do that?

I can think of seven reasons:

• We're afraid of failing.

• We're afraid of succeeding.

• We're afraid of being let down.

• We're afraid of letting ourselves down.

• We're afraid of not being met.

• We're afraid of not being seen.

• We're afraid of being seen.

And so we stop short. Real short.

We don't claim our expertise. We don't raise our rates. We don't pitch our work or stand in our worth.

Which makes our Imposter Complex breathe a sigh of sweet relief. Because if nothing changes, then nothing is risked.

And the Imposter Complex is even more risk-averse than your second high school sweetheart. The one you dated right after the wild and sexy one. The one with the pressed, pleated chinos who kissed like a fish and talked about insurance at school dances. Yes.

THAT risk-averse.

But here's what I know. And I know you know it too, with every fiber of your being.

If you give up before you even get going, you're simply never (ever) going to get to where you've been called to go.

It just doesn't work. It just doesn't happen. Your life has shown you that.

Stop stopping.
Start stepping.
Forward.
+++

It was a good article, right?

And? Incomplete.

Because if I have learned anything since Dec 12, 2016, and I have learned PLENTY, is that there is an 8th reason.

We're afraid of being canceled.

PARTICULARLY when there is a culture-shifting world event happening. Or multiple on several planes.

And so we get mired in a swirl of:

Should I weigh in?
What does it mean if I DON'T weigh in?
What does it mean if I DO weigh in?
Am I ready to weigh in?

There is a lot to unpack here, starting with those questions which presume there is a right thing, a right answer and a right time.

Sometimes yes and sometimes no.

If you are IN the crisis, or are an educator with deep roots and research in said culture-shifting events happening, you are not asking those same questions. You're IN it. And it's YOU we ought to be hearing from on that matter. So we DEFINITELY need you to stop stopping.

But if you are NOT someone with a deep understanding of the war on the transgender community or Ukraine, epidemiology, and how white supremacy culture impacts, influences and plays out in all aspects of our lives, it's likely best to only amplify the voices of folks that ARE providing education, insight and action because it's THEIR area of expertise.

Otherwise, more often than not, this line of questioning leads to a decidedly unhelpful paraphrasing of headlines, soundbites, and black squares in a way that just kind of feels reductive and performative.

There is a time to stop.

When I work with folks on the Imposter Complex, especially Lie #6 which states "you must tell everyone about this", I DO invite folks to stop and "WAIT". Which is to ask themselves: "Why am I talking"?

As an oversharer, this forced pause has been important for me personally. It makes me explore:

Am I looking to bridge connection? Am I looking for validation? Am I looking to influence others' opinions? And if it's that (which is not a problem per se), can I get real enough to ask and answer: is it in integrity for me to step in / do I know enough on the topic to do so? Is it something else?

Generally speaking, once I sit with this and resist my knee-jerk reaction to jump in and hear my own well-intending voice (mm hmm) on whatever is happening in the world, I'm clearer when to speak up and when to sit back and say: "I don't know enough about the complexities and nuance of the situation to have an opinion". (Which, by the way, I'd only offer up when ASKED.)

Me NOT centering myself and talking about things I do not know enough to have an opinion about means the voices that DO know and are closest to the pain, the event and the solution(s) are far easier to hear.

SO. Back to the original point. There are EIGHT reasons we stop short.

Do I want you to get your world-changing, heart-centred work out into the world's stage? Oh yes indeed.

AND is there a time for stopping? Oh yes indeed.

If you have stopped, listened deeply, reflected on your motivations, then made sure what you are serving up is aligned and in integrity, THEN it's the time to stop stopping.

Discernment for the win, all the days in all the ways.

PS - I highly recommend reading We Will Not Cancel Us: And Other Dreams of Transformative Justice by adrienne maree brown if you haven't already.

---

Click here for my free training:

Five ICONIC shifts leaders use to overcome Imposter Complex.

You're here to lead with Impeccable Impact. And to do just that, you are going to need to confront your internalized conditioning. You will have to rewrite the stories that were originally written to limit you. You have to learn how to work WITH your Imposter Complex, because as long as you’re here to lead, the Imposter Complex is going to be your traveling companion.

Here’s What I Believe:

The overworked, overburdened way you’re moving through the world isn’t the way you are meant to be moving. 

You’re not meant to keep stopping before the magic happens. 

You’re not meant to let your life lead you. 

You’re not meant to apologize for your ambition.

You are intended for more — for greater and for good.

You are meant to expand.

You are meant to stop stopping.

You are meant to be a model for those coming up behind you.

You are meant to take up the space the universe has carved out for you and you alone.

I repeat:

You are here to lead with Impeccable Impact.

---

Click here for my free training:

Five ICONIC shifts leaders use to overcome Imposter Complex.

Before we jump in, this article is more personal than you might be used to. And it also comes with a trigger warning as I talk about grief and drowning, so if you don’t have capacity to read on, trust your knowing.

I didn’t go for the cold water plunge today.⁠

It was very cold, but that’s a given, and kind of the whole point of the cold water plunge.⁠

The wind was fierce. The kind of wind that catches you and forces its way into your lungs and won’t let up.⁠

The waves looked bullying. The kind that would push you down just for having the audacity to stand up to them.⁠

But it wasn’t that triumvirate of challenge that had me stay firmly planted on the shoreline this morning.⁠

It was the undertow that scared me.⁠

My sister Karen drowned when she was four. My mother was with her when it happened. She was also six months pregnant with my sister Christina when it happened. I am undone when I imagine the kind of grief my sweet Stine was born into. I came along four years later.⁠

I share this to say I was raised with an extraordinary fear of the undertow.⁠

Because when the story was ever retold, (and trust me, it was so very rarely ever told, that every detail was held as sacred and sacrosanct), it was the undertow. It was the undertow that took her life. The undertow that roiled under the seemingly calm surface and changed everything and plunged my parents into unimaginable grief.⁠

My parents put us in swimming lessons the first moment they could. As such, I am a relatively strong swimmer…though I’m not exactly sure that actually means. ⁠

But still, my mother spent the rest of her life warning me about undertows. ⁠

And my father spent his life making sure I didn’t live in fear of them. Some of my favourite memories were of playing in the waves with my father. ⁠

If bodysurfing was a competitive sport, I’d have been the silver medal winner to his gold.⁠

But there was one time in Portugal when I was about nine years old. A girl in my school had died of meningitis and my mother’s trauma response was to get us as far away from whatever danger she feared was possible. My father had done a construction job for someone who offered to pay him in villa accommodations in the Algarve. It was across the ocean and that seemed far enough for my mother.⁠

I will always remember the afternoon. We had gone shopping in the morning…I bought a dress with Portuguese lace detailing for my cousin’s wedding…and then we went to the beach. My father and I bodysurfed in the waves while my mother and sister read in the sun. The waves were bigger and rougher than I had ever experienced but my mother was uncharacteristically relaxed on the shore and my dad was within arm’s reach. Until a wave walloped me from the side, and then he wasn’t. In the impact, I bit my tongue and drew blood. It was then that I realized my Dad was quite far, and there was a moment of dread in the calm between the waves. The dread became panic as I realized the undertow was pulling me under. I screamed just before I went down and he managed to get to me.

So.

Fair to say a healthy fear of undertows was then established, beyond the reasonable fears my mother had imprinted on me.

+++

A couple of weeks ago, my friend Cath and I went for a dip in cold, wintery Lake Ontario. Just the two of us. Up until that point, I’d only dipped when the water had been calm and when we were part of a larger group.

That day, the waves were rough and the undertow was relentless.

Like I said, I’m a strong swimmer, and Cath is an extraordinarily strong swimmer. I trust her and she trusts me. But once we were waist deep, it became super clear to me that no matter how strong we were, it would be no match for a hypothermia-undertow combination. And one thousand per cent not worth the risk for me. I heard the NO from deep within and got out just as soon as I could. Frankly, for the balance of the day I felt foolish for having taken that risk, even if it was the shortest dip ever.

So here’s the thing.

I meet my edges all the time. The edges of my conditioning. The edges of my beliefs. The edges of my comfort.

I do so for a myriad of reasons. Because I’ve been called to do so. Because I know resilience must continue to be cultivated. Because some narratives need to be rewritten. Because I feel it in my bones.

I help my clients do the same.

AND…I often talk about being on the precipice of something important. And that we have the choice to step up or back down.

And I mean that with everything I have. We have the choice.

Yesterday I chose to back down.

Without shame. Without recrimination. Without blame. And? In pure and honest truth, with a tinge of sadness as my friends traversed the frigid ice beach to plunge past their own edges. I watched and marveled and celebrated as they did what I wasn’t able to do. Pouring them hot sweet tea and zipping up their coats when they emerged and their frozen fingers failed them.

Knowing my decision was the right one for me and still, feeling the grief for the missed moment.

Both/and.

Not all edges are for us to push past. Some NOs are to be trusted. Not every risk is worth taking.

Our job is to know which ones are.

And then to make sure we have the right support to climb that mountain, get in the frigid water, slay those demons or create a legacy worth leaving.

I am NOT the person to take you into an angry, wavy, ice chunk-laden lake with a fierce undertow, but I just may be the person to take you up the mountain of your choosing.
⁠

---

Click here for my free training:

Five ICONIC shifts leaders use to overcome Imposter Complex.

I was asked this question last week that I loved receiving. Not just because I had a helpful answer, though I sure don’t mind that, but rather because it kept working its way through me. Plinko-style.

“I have to deliver a ‘no’ this week, and even though I know in my bones it’s the right thing, I’m still having BIG feelings about it. It gets easier but never easy, especially when we’re in the level up. What helps you say ‘no’ when it feels scary but also liberating??”

I responded:

Excited for you and for all that is available on the other side of that no. I trust, as you do, that you've done your due diligence and are clear on what that no will offer.

When I’m in that place, I remind myself that growth doesn’t come from ease but rather alignment. And that getting INTO alignment can feel like a contortion. 

And when that feels too hard, I remind myself of all the times I’ve stood at this precipice. Clear that the no might feel hard, but necessary. And all the times I jumped in spite of the resistance. And all the times I discovered that that’s where the party was.

And while I’m thinking a LOT about levelling up and helping my brilliant clients do just that all day every day, it was the part about the ease that stuck with me.

Eeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaase.

Just say it with me now.

EAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASE.

Don’t you feel your shoulders melt down in the exhale?

I mean, who doesn’t want more of THAT?

Most of you reading here will identify as ambitious, success-driven and productive humans, looking to disrupt systems, serve at a higher level and create legacy-level impact. Which is to say, ease has not historically been your north star. Hard work and hustle has been. And conditioning, trauma, systemic exclusions, social structures, institutions, workplaces and family dynamics have sought to uphold that. 

We have been taught to worship at the altar of hustle. 

So when I ask “how can this be easier?” folks tend to respond with gratitude for the invitation. Because this NOT our conditioned baseline.

But I have been feeling lately that in our effort to divest ourselves from hustle culture, we have started to think that ease is the only other alternative. 

And honestly, if you listened to the internet, those really are the only two options:

Ease

OR

Hustle.

With nothing in between. (And BTW. this binary thinking is ANOTHER replication of the very systems and structures most folks are working towards untangling from.)

I think it’s causing some confusion on the road to success and that next level of impact. 

(Liiiiiiiike, am I supposed to “rest for success” or “slay all day”?)

What I know about success is that it doesn’t come from pure ease or pure hustle. It comes from both/and. And neither. 

Success is found in committing to BOTH rest AND resolve. And it will NEITHER be found in waiting for it to come find you, nor will it be found in you working to the point of exhaustion, resentment and burnout.

There will be times to do the damned thing even if you don’t feel like it…and digging deeper will be the answer. In fact, there will be times that how you feel about doing something won’t even matter.

And there will be times that how you feel about something is the ONLY thing that matters…and going slower is the only reasonable approach.

And most of the success will come from the time you spend in the sweet spot of your activation:

Before achieving becomes over-achieving.

Before giving becomes over-giving.

Before delivering becomes over-delivering.

Before “invested” becomes “over-invested”.

In that space, you are your most magnetic, brilliant, disruptive self. When all is possible and time could stand still. When you are deeply connected, resourced and on purpose. And you look like you’ve swallowed the moon. 

This is where we need you to be…for the long haul. 

Because you’re not here for the next launch…or even the next level. 

You’re here for the legacy. 

It’s going to take some unlearning, some regrooving, plenty of discernment and will feel like a lot more joy than you ever thought possible. 

Apply here for 30 minutes on me, and let’s go.

---

Click here for my free training:

Five ICONIC shifts leaders use to overcome Imposter Complex.