Eight years ago this past weekend, I could have been holding a brand new baby girl in my arms.

Instead, I spent Mother’s Day with the two children who made me a mother in the first place. And somewhere in the complicated space between grief and gratitude, I found myself reflecting on the lessons motherhood, loss, and survival taught me about leadership.

For years, I believed leadership meant enduring more. Giving more. Needing less. Showing up no matter what, even when I was quietly falling apart. I don’t believe that anymore.

This is a deeply personal piece about loss, boundaries, burnout, humanity, and the moment I realized that being needed by everyone else does not mean abandoning yourself.

There are moments when growth doesn’t feel inspiring or empowering. It feels… a little like getting caught.

Last month the world celebrated Non-Binary Parents Day, and I found myself sitting with a realization I didn’t love. I’m a queer parent. I’ve built a career around inclusion, leadership, and helping people feel seen. And still… I caught my own bias in real time.

Not loud bias. Not intentional bias. The quiet kind. The kind that lives in the background and shapes how we think without asking for permission.

Because we’re living in a time when it feels easier than ever to retreat into comfort. To pretend. To skip the hard conversations. To scroll instead of reckon. To reach for tradition without interrogating what’s underneath it. And yet — growth never comes from denial. It comes from the courage to sit beside the metaphorical empty chair and say, “I can hold this. I can look at the truth and still choose hope.” That’s leadership.

Every year on November 20, we pause for Transgender Day of Remembrance. It’s a day to honor the lives of transgender and gender-diverse people lost to violence, discrimination, and erasure. It’s solemn. It’s human. It’s heavy. But in veterinary medicine, I’ve noticed something else heavy this time of year: the discomfort some leaders feel about acknowledging days like this at all. Not because they don’t care. Not because they want to exclude. But because they’re afraid that showing support for their LGBTQ+ community will be perceived as “political.”

Yesterday, for the first time in way too long, we had a whole afternoon together — no rushing, no squeezing it between things, no multitasking. Just presence. Conversation. Friendship that breathes instead of gasps for air. It made me realize how starved I’ve been for true, unrushed connection — and how essential it is to put joy on the calendar before life fills every inch of space.

In veterinary leadership—and in parenthood—it’s easy to believe we have to choose: team or family, accountability or empathy, work or rest. But what if balance isn’t about choosing at all? This reflection on mom guilt, career guilt, and one memorable 16th birthday reminds us that great leadership starts when we stop living in the binary.