Wait until they see me on a good day.
They'll realize the bad days were mercy.
Because the bad days were quiet. Contained, even.
Even when my punches have nothing left, I'm still showing up.
I've been flat-footed. Weak. Tired. Exposed. Tested more times than I can count.
And that's just the last year.
What I've learned, after 20 years across PR, marketing, CPG, tech — hiring hundreds, coaching dozens — is this: you're either the kind of person who can go through hell and figure out how hell works, or you're the kind of person who's been trained to shut down the second you're hurt.
There are no lucky breaks.
Resilience is learned. Fighting through pain is learned.
"How much can you really know about yourself if you've never been in a fight? If you've never found something deeper to keep you moving when there's no gas left in the tank?"
The good days are when I stop playing nice, and the filter's gone. When the work hits exactly where it's supposed to.
If my bad days looked like wins — they're not ready for what comes next.