When Dreams Meet the Grind

Fun fact: I was 5.5 months pregnant here. Growth—both personal and professional—often occurs all at once. Looking back, I see how that season helped build resilience I draw on today.

I’m guilty.

I had a change back attack.

It wasn’t a jolt—nothing so dramatic. It was more like a slow leak, a silent drift. Like a disease that slips past every scan and blood test, it crept in quietly. The symptoms were subtle at first: hunched shoulders, a titanium neck, and more time spent in the blue glow of a laptop than the warmth of the sun. I found myself delaying even the simplest needs—restroom breaks, water, a breath of fresh air. I’d hear my kids burst through the door from daycare, and I’d hide, bargaining for just five more minutes to get one more thing “out the door.”

When I leapt into Upward & Inward full-time, I wasn’t running away from something broken. I was running—am running— toward something bigger than myself—something that feels meaningful, alive, and true. I’ve spent years coaching founders through their own moments of anxiety and uncertainty. I know the risks. I don’t wear rose-colored glasses. I promised myself I’d do it differently. I’d build systems that honored my values. I’d make space for deep work, for walks outside, for workouts that didn’t have to be squeezed into the margins.

And for a while, I did. The first six months were golden. Business hummed. I was learning, connecting, creating impact, and growing at a pace that felt both exhilarating and sustainable. I could feel the lessons settling into my bones—integrating organically, not just floating on the surface.

But then, as the newness began to wear off, the business—once so fresh and full of promise—settled into something more familiar. The routines that once felt energizing became, at times, unpredictable or even monotonous: some days bursting with possibility, others quieter, more uncertain. My sense of clarity didn’t disappear, but it was tested by the rollercoaster of daily realities. I never doubted the meaning or impact of my work—my conviction remains as strong as ever. Instead, I found myself reflecting on how I was showing up:

Was I moving with intention, or slipping into autopilot?

Was I still building with purpose, or just keeping busy for the sake of momentum?

That’s when I noticed it: the old habits snapping back like a rubber band. The “hustling for worth” I thought I’d left behind in the corporate world had followed me here, disguised as ambition, productivity, and responsibility. The social conventions—the ones that tell us our value is measured in output, that rest must be earned, that hustle is a virtue—had seeped into my new world, too. I wasn’t just building a business. I was carrying an invisible backpack stuffed with everyone else’s expectations.

Looking back, I see how much of my decision to leap was shaped by more than just my own vision. There was a social element to it—a sense that my move was being watched, measured, maybe even judged. The voices of others—cheering, doubting, hoping, fearing—echoed in my head as I charted my own path.

And then, the moment every dreamer faces: when the dream meets the grind. The thrill of possibility mixed into a soup of discomfort and unknowns. In the absence of quick results, I noticed the itch of impatience. Stale routines and old patterns began to whisper again.

Here’s what I’m learning: growth, real growth, is less like a microwave dinner and more like a home-cooked stew. There’s no shortcut to deep flavor; you have to let it simmer. The discomfort, the not-knowing, the urge to rush the process—these are the heat and pressure that bring out what’s essential. If I’m willing to sit in the stew, not escape it, I can notice the steam rising—the insights, the lessons, the subtle flavors of growth that only emerge with time and patience. The vapors that come off that discomfort are where the richest learning happens, if I’m willing to pause, reflect, and take them in.

The grind didn’t kill the dream, but it stripped away the easy parts and left me with the core—what I really wanted, what I was willing to endure, what I needed to protect. I realized that the grind is where integrity is forged, not just tested. It’s where you decide—again and again—what’s worth the effort, and what you can let go.

Several months back, I read “The Way of Integrity.” The concept of a “change back attack” stung me to my core—through my head, heart, and gut—all at once. Change back attacks don’t come from people who feel powerful, but from those who see themselves as victims of judgment.

According to the book, “To stay on the path of integrity and avoid getting stuck in repetitive cycles of violence, we must refuse to join our change back attackers in their sense of victimhood.”

– Martha Beck, The Way of Integrity

I was stunned to realize I was both the attacker and the attacked.

My rumble strips—those early warning signs meant to keep me aligned—were easy to notice at first. But over time, I got used to the bumps and started ignoring them, drifting off course little by little.

Thankfully, I didn’t veer so far that it cost me my relationships, my health, or my work with clients. That small bit of intentional friction was enough to wake me up. I caught myself—imperfectly, but in time—because I made space to reflect and listen.

Has this ever happened to you?

The shoulds, the judgment, the pressure to get it right—they creep in like poison ivy, wrapping around your mind and your time.

The real work, I’m learning, isn’t just about running toward something better. It’s about noticing what you’re carrying with you—and choosing, again and again, what’s worth bringing along. When dreams meet the grind, that’s when the truth comes out: about who we are, what we value, and how we want to live.

Leadership and Culture: Why This Matters

What I’ve learned from this—what I help leaders and teams discover—is that the real work of leadership isn’t just about chasing big visions. It’s about facing the reality with honesty, learning from our setbacks, and choosing, again and again, to lead with integrity. It’s with iterative persistence that we must take in the feedback and hold the intent of the dream.

This is where we merge awareness with action.

When leaders are willing to share their struggles and growth, they give permission for others to do the same. This vulnerability isn’t just personal—it’s cultural. It’s how trust is built, teams are strengthened, and organizations become places where people can do their best work.

That’s the kind of leadership I help cultivate—one where authenticity, growth, and impact go hand in hand. If you’re ready to build that kind of culture, for yourself or your organization, let’s talk.

If you’re in that space—where your dream is colliding with the grind—know that you’re not alone. This is the moment to pause, to check your backpack, to ask yourself: Am I still running toward what matters, or am I just running? What can I put down? What do I want to carry forward?

The path of integrity isn’t straight, and it isn’t easy. But every moment of awareness is a chance to choose again. That’s where the real growth happens—one honest, imperfect step at a time.