I Have a Confession

I have a confession. I deeply resent constantly being told how to lead, mother, wife, live. I'm tired of doubting myself or playing down the real me to make others comfortable — or make me feel more comfortable. And yes, those of you who know me well are probably shaking your head in wonder saying "this is the tame version of Kristi???"

So you may be thinking — ok, a lot of us feel that way — no shocker. Where's the actual confession?

Here it is: Sometimes I do just want to be told what to do. I want someone with all the answers to just hand me the blueprint for it all.

What's the next thing I should be doing in my business? Should I be focusing on the retreat? The conference? Building out the new program? Creating more one-on-one coaching capacity? All of it? None of it? Something I haven't even thought of yet?

How can I guarantee that my son's eventual partner will adore me enough that she can be in my world forever? What am I supposed to be teaching him now that will make that happen? What if I'm getting it all wrong?

How do I make sure Levi and I have the best possible marriage — the kind they'll write movies about after we're gone? The kind where we're still holding hands at 90, still laughing at inside jokes nobody else understands?

How do I change the world so every person, regardless of demographics, identity, or "status," feels loved, accepted, safe? Where do I even start with something that enormous?

Just give me the answers orders and hire me as your good little Sailor. I spent years in the military following commands. I can do it. I know how to do it. Just tell me what you need and I will carry it out.

The devastating reality:

The only person that really has those answers is me. And that's exhausting.

It's exhausting because there's no manual for "build a business that matters while raising a son who'll be a good partner while staying married to your best friend while somehow making the world better." There's no checklist. No guaranteed path. No way to know if you're getting it right until you're looking back and it's already done.

And it's especially exhausting when it's so easy to start following the "shoulds" of the world. When everyone has an opinion about what successful business looks like, what good mothering looks like, what a strong marriage requires, what leadership demands.

When following someone else's blueprint would be so much simpler than writing my own.

But here's what I know: Following someone else's blueprint means living someone else's life. And I didn't survive everything I've survived to end up living a life that was designed by committee or prescribed by the internet or handed down from someone who's never walked in my shoes.

So here's what I'm going to do instead:

I'm going to keep showing up. I'm going to keep creating spaces for us to grow in community together — places where we can admit we don't have all the answers, where we can figure things out together, where we can be honest about the exhaustion of writing our own blueprints.

I'm going to share the things I've learned along the way that have helped me. Not as prescriptions. Not as "shoulds." Just as: here's what worked for me, here's what didn't, here's what I'm still figuring out. And then I'm going to trust you to decide what to do with that information.

I'm going to get it wrong sometimes. I know I will. But I promise I will learn from it. I'll own it when I mess up. I'll adjust. I'll keep going.

And I will do my best to learn from others' mistakes so maybe — just maybe — I can skip a few of the painful lessons that come from doing everything the hard way.

I only have this one life to live and I want it to be memorable. Not because I followed the blueprint perfectly. But because I had the courage to write my own, even when it was terrifying, even when I desperately wanted someone to just tell me what to do.

Even when I had no idea if I was getting it right.