There’s a version of leadership that looks polished on paper. It’s agreeable. It gets applause. It doesn’t disrupt the room.
And then there’s the kind that quietly keeps its spine straight when the stakes are high and the choices are hard. That’s the kind I’ve chosen. Again and again.
Over the last few months, I made the decision to step away from a space that no longer aligned with the values I hold most sacred—community care, transparency, and reciprocal respect. It wasn’t a move made lightly. I sat with the values we had so carefully co-created. I reflected on the commitments I made when I signed that MOU. And I asked myself whether staying would honor those commitments, or betray them.
The answer was clear, even if the path forward wasn’t.
I walked away with a heavy heart but a clear conscience.
What’s carried me since then are the messages that trickled in from people who saw what I tried to build. Runners, fellow coaches, peers—some of whom had quietly experienced similar tensions—who recognized the integrity behind my choice, even without knowing every detail. Their messages weren’t just kind. They were validating.
They reminded me that the work I’ve done—quietly, consistently, without chasing recognition—mattered. That I created spaces that felt safer, more honest, more human. That what I brought to the table made people feel seen, not just coached.
They said this work felt different—because it was. Because I wasn’t just helping athletes run. I was helping them return to themselves.
And they noticed when that kind of leadership wasn’t welcomed.
They saw the moments I spoke up and stayed steady. The way I didn’t rush to burn bridges but also didn’t shrink back when things got uncomfortable. They reminded me that the work continues—just in different forms, through different doors, with people who are ready for this kind of disruption.
There’s this idea that if you lead “right,” you’ll avoid conflict. But that’s not real leadership. That’s people-pleasing dressed in activism’s clothes.
Real leadership? It costs something. Especially when you're Indigenous, when you're gender-expansive, when you're in menopause, when you're pushing back against systems that weren’t built for us in the first place.
But integrity isn’t measured by how comfortable things feel. It’s measured by whether your actions line up with your values, especially when it’s inconvenient.
To everyone who reached out with support, who trusted me with your training, your stories, your energy: thank you. You’ve reminded me that this way of leading—messy, human, values-driven—isn't just necessary, it's powerful.
The highlight reel isn’t the whole story. And maybe the best parts are found in the in-between—where things are uncertain, but true.
More to come. Always.