For years, I was the person who had a system for everything. And I had no idea why keeping all of it running felt so impossibly hard.

I spent over a decade in corporate operations building structure, workflows, and systems for organizations and the people in them. I was good at it. Reliable. I delivered on time, every time. And underneath all of it, I was running on something that wasn't sustainable. A combination of white-knuckling, masking, and an enormous amount of invisible effort that most people never saw.

The burnout came before the diagnosis.

By the time I understood what was actually happening in my brain, I had already spent years forcing myself through systems designed for someone else. The relief of finally having a name for it was real. So was the grief — for all the years I spent believing the problem was me.

What followed was the work I now do with the women I serve: rebuilding from the inside out. Not optimizing, not getting back to where I was. Rebuilding, learning what actually holds when capacity is low, when the world is loud, when the morning went sideways, and there's still a business to run and a household to hold and a self to keep track of.

I hold a Bachelor's degree in Psychology and a Master's degree in Business Management and Leadership. Before either of those, I spent a decade in childcare and program leadership, designing routines and environments for children with a wide range of developmental, sensory, and emotional needs. I saw early how much the structure around us shapes our ability to function. I just didn't yet know how much that applied to me.

I'm also a member of Professional Organizers in Canada. And a published poet — four books, one long becoming. That belongs here too, not because poetry and systems should go together, but because for a brain like mine, they do, probably for yours too.