Over a month ago, another coach who I’ve admired from afar—Katie Goodman—reached out to me and asked if I’d like to join her upcoming improv workshop in Manhattan.

There were a couple of factors to consider.

It was on a Saturday, so I needed to think through spending an entire weekend-day away from the kids. This is always a tradeoff, but with the right positioning (once a marketer…) and a well-curated set of activities—a day away can be good for everyone involved.

Then there was the obvious staring me in the face.

IMPROV. A discipline I don’t exactly consider to be in my wheelhouse.

My approach to being a working mom and a business owner has traditionally been to plan my life and my world down to the minute detail, to create processes and roadmaps, to predict outcomes and scenarios and then build newer, better processes to address that wider scope of potential outcomes…and scenarios.

So, improv.

It made me want to run the other way. And that’s exactly why I said, “yes.”

Katie, a veteran comedian, speaker and coach, led us through a day of improv games that truly pushed me to the Antarctica of my NYC comfort zone.

In the safety of a group of kind, open fellow improv newbies—I found myself stuck several times. Blank mind, unfunny, desperate to plan my way out of a moment of silence.

It got so bad that at one point, I could not come up with ANY word in the English language that began with the letter K. Any. Word.

My inner critic, busy polishing off an epic monologue, opted instead for a clear and concise, “Wow, you really suck at this.” I even texted that to a friend at a break who said, “Strange, you’re usually so funny.” And for a moment I wondered if I lost my funny on the subway ride over.

After getting to know some of my fellow improv’ers at lunch and throughout the day, I did manage to loosen up slightly…even smile and laugh at clever choices.

Then, just as I was ready to announce myself done for the day, Katie asked us to do one more exercise—an improv musical. She gave us a topic and played a few songs on a keyboard. Then we were expected to…ahem…put on a musical? In my mind this definitely required the next level of improv skill, and since I didn’t even have level one down, I was pretty shocked when I raised my hand to volunteer.

I stood up with a few of my new peeps and we simply began our scene. The music started and something changed for me. I was clear and calm. I burst into song. The words flowed more freely than they had all day. Without notice, we were all belting out the catchy refrain of my made-up song in unison, “Let’s all break stuff together. Let’s all break stuff together.”

I felt alive. Energized. Adrenalized. I got it.

I was present and without a plan. I let go. I let it happen. And it happened—ideas, flow, connection, creativity, energy. Fun.

What I found in this moment was that sometimes you need to go to Antarctica to redouble your mojo. You must do something that makes you want to run the other way, something that challenges your wiring. Sometimes you’ve got to break from the rules and the plans and the roadmaps so you can simply…play. As a grownup, I too often forget this so I know I will need to practice. I’m grateful to have had this chance to try it out. Making up songs about breaking stuff is a really good start.

When I was a child, I had a beautiful singing voice. It moved people. I could see it in their faces as I landed each note and articulated phrases beyond my years.

Grownups delivered praise that could make a kid drunk on possibility. And they imprinted their own dreams and desires on me in a way that made us all high on potential.

But our collective buzz did not last. As it turned out, my love for arias, jazz standards and even my folk favorites did not outweigh my disdain for the time commitment, discipline and practice it would take to improve. Halfway through my freshman year of college, I gave up all classes and academic connections to music in search of new answers.

This was not a popular decision with family and teachers. In the end they did support me, but for years after this moment, talk about my wasted potential crept into conversation. While I knew that was not my path, I didn’t have a clear sense of what my path would be—and so I internalized some of that fear.

What if that was my only gift and I squandered it?

What if it’s too late to get it back?

Years later, I’m confident that if I would have continued to pursue that dream, it would have been for someone else. It would have been for the recognition and not the love—which is a tough pill to swallow in a field where the hours are long, and the odds of success are low.

Beyond my personal journey, I’ve come to know that the idea of potential is an out-of-date construct. An old school bullshit that hinders the people who believe they have it as much as the people who believe they don’t.

Whether you think you’ve got it or not—know that the idea of wasted potential is simply one of thousands of thoughts you have a day.

It is not action.

It is not growth.

It is not momentum.

It’s stagnant, trapped in amber—fear—that there may not be more out there in this life for you. You get to choose whether to believe it or to move forward and do.

When it comes to corporate leadership workshops, there’s one topic that consistently makes people writhe in their seats. They squirm. They scrunch their faces. Cross their arms. They get angry or they simply put up a wall.

When I say: Self-Promotion

People say:

Slimy

Fake

Salesy

Playing the game

A necessary evil

They hate it. And yes, I know hate is a strong word. But it’s not pretty.

When we brainstorm all the benefits that come from self-promotion, the room loosens up.

You control the language used to describe your work.

You let people know what type of projects are a good fit for you in the future.

You give your team visibility and build them up in the eyes of leadership.

You open the door to additional funding for your projects.

That’s not so bad, right? In fact, I would argue that when you love what you do and you know you’re making an impact, it doesn’t feel like selling, promoting or playing the game.

When I tell people about my work—in the back of my mind—I know the end goal is to get more women into positions of power. The larger my audience, the bigger the impact I can make. As we know, there’s a lot of work to be done on this front, so I talk about it—A LOT!

That’s why as a coach with a background in marketing, I would argue that what’s truly needed here is a rebrand. If self-promotion feels sleazy and like playing the game, call it whatever feels in synch with the outcomes you’ll get from it.

Whether it’s Owning Your Story, Choosing Your Narrative, or—if you want to go woo woo, which I enjoy—Shining Your Light. Whatever you go with, practice allowing those words to help you get beyond whatever is keeping you stuck and shrinking from sharing all that makes you proud. The world may need more of what you’ve got…but we will never know it unless you tell us.

Please, tell us!

When I was in my last digital marketing role before making the transition to coaching, I was in a strange predicament.

I felt connected to the mission of the organization that was serving frail and marginalized communities. I adored my colleagues who became close friends, in some cases like family to me. I was comfortable with the work and I was good at it. I had the flexibility to be a present mother while moving my career forward.

So you might ask, as I did daily: Given all that was good, why did I feel so stuck and truly lost in my career?

I wrestled with all the things I now hear my clients say:

I should feel grateful for this job.

It’s fine. I’m fine.

I don’t even know what I’m looking for.

Now that I’ve figured it out, what if what I want doesn’t exist?

It’s typically not a feeling of overwhelm or a desperate desire to jump. Rather, it’s a nag. A tug. A question that begins to appear as the subtext to every project, event and new assignment: “Is this it?”

If this is where you are right now, you can begin taking these steps to find your answers:

1. Accept the possibility of more
Part of why you are stuck is that you continue to block the idea that something else could be out there for you. Sure, you don’t know that there is, but you also don’t know that there isn’t. By accepting the possibility that there might be another path and giving yourself permission to investigate options, you can move out of judgment and into curiosity. Swap—“When the hell am I going to figure out what I want to be when I grow up?” For “I wonder what my next chapter could look like.”

2. Commit to something physical
I’ve found in my own experience and in those of my clients—often the only path to our answers is tapping into the wisdom of our bodies. The bridge to my breakthrough was running the New York City Marathon. I focused on daily training—working through setbacks and finding a will to nail my goal. The lessons, the confidence and the ideas for what was possible in my life instantly shifted once I crossed that finish line. I’m not that great a runner and I ran a marathon. What can I do in my life with the things I’m really good at?

3. Seek out clues—everywhere
This was a process I went through and one that I work on with clients in transition. What are the moments in your career—and life—when you were ignited? What do people come to you for that’s not in your job description? Be open to finding evidence that there is more out there for you, that there are new things you want to learn and explore. As a digital marketer, I wondered why so many people asked me to review their resumes or give them tips on how to manage up to their bosses. Your clue may come in an unlikely package, so don’t be too literal about each one. Investigate further. Allow it to live and breathe for awhile so you can begin making the connections.

The truth is, a good job is a great place to be. If you’re in a good job, you’re not racing or rushing to leave—which is helpful because exploring and experimenting takes time. It’s also a place to mine for clues and in doing so, you may be able to make the job you have into the job you want, at least for awhile. This was my path prior to running my marathon and breaking things wide open. Whatever you choose to do, know that when you are in a good situation, you can do things on your timetable, at your pace and in your own way. And when the time comes to make your shift, you will know you came from a clear and honest place.

At the age of 11, when a new potential friend asked me, "What does your dad do?" I had to make a split-second decision.

Do I think this is going to be someone in my life for longer than an afternoon?

Is it worth dropping a bomb on our conversation?

Will we make our way through that first naked minute?

Sometimes, I simply chose safety and comfort. Pretend. "Sales." I lied.

And then there were the moments self-acceptance peeked through long enough for me to fumble the words, "Both my parents died, actually. In a car accident."

I looked longingly at that kid across from me. Knowing she wouldn’t get it, but hoping for at least a deep breath, a nod or a "Wow" of acknowledgment.

Most often there was a speedy change of subject and I sorted through my list of pre-selected topics used to salvage what was left of the conversation.

There were a few occasions though, when I met someone who could be there with me. Stand in that tragic, unfair truth for a beat. She would one-up the nod and the wow with the pinnacle of solidarity: a follow-up question.

Whether it was, "Were you in the car?" or "Who do you live with?" or "How are you even standing right now?", all I saw before me was strength and courage and someone who could get me.

Sometimes they were kids with their own pain. Divorce, addiction, loss and illness in their lives, too early to comprehend. And sometimes they were simply unafraid of the hard things in life, perhaps even curious about them.

As I look back on those early years of building relationships after my parents died, I see that outside of my inner circle, I created rose-petaled paths for people to softly land by my side. I made it easier for them to know me, to talk to me by locking up the very moments that made me strong and resilient in a box categorized, "over it." My loss was not my fault, yet I still felt shame when I said those words aloud.

As I shifted careers four years ago, I began to choose who I serve and who I collaborate with. I decide how I talk about who I am and what I do. I understand that I will never be "over it." And I never want to be.

This is who I am. I say the hard things. I write about them. Whether we’re going to know each other for the next 2 years or 2 hours, the calculation of how long we’ll be in each other’s lives has no bearing on who I’m meant to be.

So when I stood in front of 30 strangers this weekend to facilitate a leadership workshop, I walked them through why my early tragedy was one of the key moments that shaped who I’ve become as a leader. Honest. Compassionate. Imperfect. Vulnerable.

I spoke those words without apology, without shame, without a reason to try to be anyone else but myself. And a beautiful thing happened. They were inspired to do the same.

The start of the new school year. The crackle of leaves underfoot. Bundling on crisp mornings and evenings. The shortening of days.

Autumn marks many endings and beginnings that flood my mind with memories of where I’ve been at this time throughout the years.

Walking the length of New York City after transferring to NYU. Learning that the energy and the people made me feel more alive than I ever knew possible.

Moving through the mixed emotions of closing the door on one career to build a dream.

Fighting back tears on first day sendoffs of preschool, elementary and now middle school.

In this season, change is the expectation and transition is the language. While I use my nostalgia to ground me and measure my progress, there’s a momentum I find in all that’s new. I seek it out, even hunger for it, more than any other time of year.

There’s an acceptance of the discomfort of change, knowledge that things may be hard for awhile, but we will figure it out. I will figure it out.

When I stand in this resolve, in the present moment, feeling the rotation of the earth, I wonder why at other times of the year I’m resistant to these shifts.

It reminds me of my friends in LA and other persistently warm climates who tell me, “I miss the change of seasons.” When I hear this statement mid-February, when I’m up to my ears in the elements and dying to pack up and move close to the equator—it’s hard to understand why anyone could say such a thing. But in this moment, swept up in the breeze of fall, I get it.

Universal permission to change.

To wind down projects and habits that may not have presented a natural end. An excuse to believe that something new is possible, that all these people starting fresh again know what they’re doing.

It’s a reminder that when we feel the resistance, we’re often building the case against ourselves, looking for the opinions and the data to convince us to remain in place.

And it’s an acknowledgement that at any time of year, we can give ourselves the permission to choose the opinions we want to believe and stack the data toward outcomes that will bring us energy. Knowing that whatever the result, we will learn—and for me—that’s the goal.

In my work supporting mothers as they navigate their careers and rise as leaders, there are often moments I look around the room at all of the female faces in the workshops, the conferences, the policy discussions and think—we’re talking to ourselves.

If we’re going to make any progress in clearing paths for women to rise into senior roles, we must include our male counterparts in the conversations.

Here are some simple ways working fathers can take an active role toward supporting gender equity in the workplace.

1. Talk about your kids at work
Parenting and the work that goes into it often feels like a taboo subject that must be hidden. When you talk about your children and your experience of being a parent with colleagues, it normalizes the conversation. Read more about this in my post, Here’s Why I Talk About My Kids At Work.

2. Take your leave!
When dads take the parental leave they’re offered, everybody wins. According to NBC News, "Fathers get to bond with their new baby, there’s a decreased risk of mom getting postpartum depression and it shifts the perception that caregiving is a female’s responsibility." Even with these positive outcomes, fathers are often hesitant to take the leave for fear that there will be a potential stigma or other negative impact on their career trajectory. By taking the leave, you not only support your partner at home, but you also show other fathers that it is possible to drive your career forward AND spend time at home with your baby.

3. Align on responsibilities at home
The mental load struggle for working mothers is real. In addition to their careers, women are taking on the lion’s share of parenting and household infrastructure tasks that happen seamlessly often without their partner noticing. I call it, "the third job." Clothes and supplies appear in the house and then disappear when they are no longer needed. Caregivers are managed. School forms are found and submitted. And the list goes on. Working fathers can check in with partners on the distribution of responsibilities to help even the load. And working mothers can release control of tasks and perfectionist approaches to managing said tasks. When household tasks are more evenly distributed, women have greater mental bandwidth, belief in their abilities to rise to senior levels AND be the mothers they want to be.

4. Create cultures of flexibility on your teams
Flexibility means different things to different people. If you are a working father and lead a team, create an open dialogue about what flexibility means to you and to the colleagues you lead. It is possible to both expect excellent work AND respect boundaries around flexibility and prioritization of family life. Both of these things can be true, and the formula will be different for each individual.

5. Mentor and sponsor women
Of course this is not relegated to working parents, but in general, given the number of men vs. women in senior roles—the mentorship and sponsorship of women by men is a critical step on the path toward gender equity. Senior women, already in a bandwidth crunch, often find themselves stretched even thinner when they try to bridge this gap for a multitude of mid-level women. This is an ideal place for male allies to step in, share possibilities and opportunities with their female colleagues—and make the case to broader audiences to support their growth.

While these approaches to allyship appear simple in theory—they absolutely take practice and an openness to stepping into some vulnerable terrain. If you’re used to compartmentalizing career and family life, it may be uncomfortable to share stories about your kids or perhaps lessons you learned while parenting that apply to your leadership style. If you feel there may be some resentment from your partner about an uneven distribution of household responsibilities, it will take courage to bridge those conversations with empathy and an open mind about how things can shift in the future. That said, if you’re reading this, you’re already committed to taking action and I appreciate you being here. Please choose one of these options as a way to continue on your path, then find someone to hold you accountable and share your results with others.

Last week I shared a professional moment of failure in Imperfect People (Like Me) Make Mistakes. I made a human, scheduling mistake by adding an important workshop on the wrong day of my Google calendar. I then forced myself to snap out of my shame spiral—figuring out a way to get there with enough time in order to make it a meaningful experience for people.

In that piece, I focused on how I responded to my mistake and who I stepped up to be. But what has been lingering from this experience and is no doubt one of the most significant factors in my moving through it, was how my people showed up for me in that moment.

Mid-failure, I called my friend and colleague on my walk to the subway and she jumped into action on my behalf. She Googled my fastest route and mode of transport—WHILE giving me a pep talk.

Then, two minutes into my subway ride, another close friend simply appeared on my train car. It felt like a gift from the universe. She reminded me that I know my content, this is what I do best—and I will just do it.

After I was home, I called my colleague and mentor with whom I was collaborating on this project. I love working with her company, so I worried about her reaction. Without missing a beat she said, "You showed them what leadership looks like."

Wow, right back at you, friend. In hearing these words I realized, I have truly found the right team. The people who have my back, support me, believe in me, push me beyond what I even know I’m capable of…and also know I’m human and that I make mistakes. Gratitude replaced the shame of my failure and I began to feel whole again.

My favorite reaction, though, was from my husband. When I texted him what had happened that evening as I safely sat back on my couch, in comfy clothes, he texted me this image.

First laugh of the day! Twelve years ago, we had tickets to see Genesis with friends. Our friends texted us one evening while we were at home eating takeout. "Where are you guys? The show is about to start!"

We figured out that my husband put the show on our calendar for the wrong day. With one image he was able to say, "You’re not alone." And make me smile all at once.