A personal note on facing hard choices

It’s been a while since I last wrote a post. That’s because I recently underwent a double mastectomy with DIEP flap reconstruction, an 8.5-hour surgery.

I’m healthy, thankfully. I carry the BRCA1 gene mutation, which increases my risk of breast and ovarian cancer. The decision wasn’t urgent or required. I chose it anyway, for prevention.

I know that’s a lot to share. And I debated whether to open up to you. After all, you’ve generously welcomed me into your inbox for reflections on leadership, workplace engagement, and career fulfillment—not deeply personal medical decisions.

But I’m including you in this because we all find ourselves having to face something we’d rather not deal with—big or small. Perhaps it’s delivering difficult feedback to an employee, initiating a program change you know will be unpopular, or finally clearing out that overstuffed kitchen drawer.

We get to choose—whether to transmute fear, wade through inertia, and step into uncertainty…or to turn away.

Many of us are so tired, overwhelmed, and anxious lately. Moving toward anything that requires even a little discomfort can feel like too much. And yet, avoiding discomfort often creates even more suffering. So how do we move toward the hard, right choice when distraction and numbness beckon?

In My Grandmother’s Hands, therapist Resmaa Menakem explores how racialized trauma lives in the body and is passed down through generations. Within that context, he introduces the concepts of “clean” and “dirty” pain, language that actually helped me better frame my own experience of fear, avoidance, and healing.

Clean pain, is the necessary hurt that comes with facing reality, telling the truth, setting boundaries, or changing entrenched patterns. It’s the pain you feel when you know what you need to do, really don’t want to do it, and step forward anyway with honesty and vulnerability.

Dirty pain, by contrast, is the pain of avoidance—blame, numbing, running away, or repeating harmful patterns instead of feeling what needs to be felt. It perpetuates suffering.

Clean pain can sting your present self. But it can heal your past and fortify your future. My decision was clean pain. It took time, inner work, and a great deal of support—other women who had faced it, my family and friends, my spiritual network, my own coach, doctors, nurses, and the trees that kept me company on long, tearful walks.

Slowly, my fear softened. By the time surgery day arrived, I felt ready. Steady. Amazingly, even excited.

When we face fear and do the hard, right thing, beauty and growth often follow, even when we can’t imagine how. Especially then. This experience reminded me of how powerful and resilient I am, even when my knees shake.

I know you're powerful and resilient, too. If you’re standing at a tender crossroads, here are a few questions that helped me:

• What might this experience be here to teach, heal, or offer?
• What information or perspective would help me move forward with integrity?
• What would it look like to meet myself with compassion right now?

If you’d like support navigating a hard choice, a transition, or a moment that’s calling for you to step up, I’m back in action.

I’m available for coaching, and for virtual and in-person keynotes. Let's talk. ‍