When I think about the women who shaped my life, my first feeling is gratitude.

There were many along the way.

But some met me later —
in conference rooms,
in long days filled with pressure,
in seasons where I was still finding my footing.

Those women shaped me in ways I didn’t fully understand at the time.

Some of the most impactful women in my life didn’t grow up beside me.

They met me across desks,
in meetings that carried more weight than they should have,
in environments that didn’t always feel built for us.

And still… they made room.

They gave me a chance when I was still learning.
They saw something in me before I fully saw it in myself.

They didn’t just teach me how to do the job.

They taught me how to walk into a world that was predominantly built by men — and still belong there.

How to hold my voice steady.
How to prepare.
How to listen, observe, and know when to speak.

They showed me that strength doesn’t always need to be loud to be respected.

I watched how they carried themselves — steady, composed, unapologetic.

And without ever saying it outright, they taught me something I would carry for the rest of my life:

You don’t have to become someone else to succeed.
You just have to become more fully yourself.

Some of these women had a life-altering effect on who I would grow into.

And for that, I will always be grateful.

They also taught me something I didn’t fully understand at the time.

That I wasn’t weak.

That I could toughen up without losing myself.That not everything needed a reaction, and not everything deserved to stay with me.

They showed me how to let things roll off my shoulders.

And over time, I began to see something more clearly.

Very little of it was actually about me.

More often, it was about the other person —
their pressure, their expectations, their own unspoken struggles.

That didn’t excuse behavior. But it gave me perspective.

It allowed me to stand a little steadier,
and choose where I placed my energy.

Some of those women became what I think of as my work sisters.

We learned each other in quiet ways — a glance, a look, a pause that said everything.

There was comfort in that.
A sense that you weren’t standing alone.

We carried each other through long days. Celebrated wins no one else noticed. Laughed when things felt too heavy.

And sometimes… the real connection happened after.

After the meetings.
After the pressure.

I remember a trip we took — one of those times where we finally let our guard down.

The next morning, we were all meeting up.

And a couple of us came down the escalator…
still wearing the exact same outfits from the night before.

No explanation.
No embarrassment.

Just a look… and immediate laughter.

Because in that moment, we all knew exactly what kind of night it had been.

Those were the moments that bonded us.

Not the meetings.
Not the titles.

The laughter.
The shared understanding.
The unspoken “we’re in this together.”

There were also times when the roles quietly shifted.

When I found myself not just walking beside some of these women…
but carrying more than I realized.

Listening.
Holding space.
Trying to steady things that weren’t mine to steady.

At the time, it felt like support.

And in many ways, it was.

But over time, I began to feel the weight of it.

Because I hadn’t yet learned the difference between
being present for someone…
and carrying what was never mine to hold.

That kind of weight doesn’t show up all at once.

It builds quietly.

And eventually, it starts to take something from you.

That was another lesson.

One that taught me how to care…
without losing myself in the process.

But not everything about those relationships was easy.

There were moments when smiles didn’t match intentions. When words spoken in confidence found their way into other conversations.

Rumors had a way of moving through corporate —  growing, shifting, taking on a life of their own.

It didn’t take long to realize how quickly perception can be shaped without you ever being part of the conversation.

And how little control you actually have over it.

I learned that not everyone standing beside you is standing with you.

That some people listen to understand…
and others listen to repeat.

Those moments didn’t just hurt.

They changed me.

They sharpened my awareness.
They strengthened my boundaries.
They taught me to trust my instincts.

And still… there were women who chose differently.

Women who stayed grounded.
Women who didn’t participate in the noise. Women who led with integrity when it would have been easier not to.

They reminded me that not all softness hides something sharp.

That some women truly do stand beside you.

Looking back now, I can see it clearly.

Every one of them —
the ones who gave me a chance,
the ones who stood beside me,
and even the ones who hurt me —
helped shape the woman I would become.

Not always gently.

But completely.

Lately, I was reminded of just how much those moments stay with you.

I came across a video from someone I worked with years ago — someone I hadn’t seen in a long time.

And it caught me off guard. It wasn’t the post itself.

It was her.

Her presence.
Her energy.
And then… her laugh.

I felt it instantly.

A happy tear came to my eye before I even realized why.

And just like that, I was back there — in those long days, those shared looks, the laughter that carried us through more than anyone on the outside would understand.

I realized something in that moment.

I don’t just miss the work.

I miss her.
I miss that laugh.
I miss that time.

Funny how life moves forward…
and yet some people leave a mark that doesn’t fade.

I walk differently now — not hardened, just wiser about what I carry and what I leave behind.