You’ve lived many lives—pop star, rainforest protector, therapist, coach. What thread connects all these chapters for you?

I’ve always been obsessed with people, purpose, and figuring out how to live in a way that feels aligned and honest. Every chapter has been about getting closer to truth—mine and other people’s. I follow what feels alive, even if it makes zero sense on paper. So far, that’s worked out.

How did your upbringing shape the way you see the world today?

I grew up in Indianapolis—in town, not the cornfields. Raised by a single mom, middle of three sisters, though with big age gaps, so it felt like I was an only child in rotation. I was deeply loved and wanted. That gave me a strong foundation early on. I was allowed to explore, to try things, to disappear into my own curiosity. My mother trusted me, which taught me to trust myself.

But that early sense of safety and freedom didn’t fully prepare me for the real world—where people weren’t always kind, and the rules weren’t always fair. I learned quickly that being loved at home didn’t mean I’d be understood or protected out there. That contrast cracked something open in me. It made me more observant, more attuned. I started noticing who gets heard, who gets overlooked, what we reward, and what we ignore.

So while my childhood gave me roots, the world gave me texture. Both shaped how I see people now—with a mix of reverence and realism. I still believe in goodness; in fact, I’m oriented that way. But I know it takes intention. I still lead with curiosity, but I keep an eye on the terrain. Or, try to!

What exactly is The Earthy Executive—and how did the idea come to life?
The Earthy Executive was born out of a very real internal split: I’m someone who’s lived in communal housing, gone to a Grateful Dead show or two, and feels most myself on a hiking trail with dirty boots—but I also love elegance. I love beautiful spaces, tailored blazers, good design, and the feeling of being pulled together with intention.

For years, those parts of me felt like they had to take turns. I was either the earthy girl with essential oils and unbrushed hair, or the professional with a sharp resume and polished shoes. The Earthy Executive is the place where those parts finally stopped fighting and started collaborating.

It’s part coaching practice, part ethos—a home for people who are multidimensional, who crave success but define it on their own terms. People who want to lead with vision and depth, who love beauty and boundaries, who can talk strategy in the morning and take a barefoot walk at sunset.

The idea came to life when I realized I wasn’t the only one trying to braid ambition with authenticity. There’s a whole generation of us craving leadership that feels like us—rooted, real, a little rebellious, and still refined.

You’ve worked in mental health, mindfulness, and leadership—where do you see the biggest gaps in how we support people at work?
Honestly, one of the biggest gaps I see is a lack of clarity. We’ve swung so far into trying to make work feel like home that we’ve forgotten the purpose of work. Yes, humans work there. Yes, we need respect, flexibility, and support. But it’s not an employer’s job to make our lives comfortable in every way. It’s their job to be clear—about expectations, values, and what success looks like. And then to provide the tools and structure to help people meet those expectations well.

Somewhere along the way, we started confusing emotional support with emotional responsibility. I don’t think it’s fair—or effective—to ask employers to become stand-in therapists or life guides. At the same time, I don’t believe in treating people like cogs in a machine.

What I believe in is aligned adulthood. If a workplace is clear and honest about what it’s about, what it expects, and how it supports people to do their best work, then it’s on each of us to decide: does that fit who I am and what I want right now?

It’s not cold. It’s clean. And in that clarity, there’s actually a lot more room for real connection and respect.

What’s one common myth about career success that you love to challenge?

What are some of the most common signs that someone is in quiet burnout or misaligned with their work, and how can they begin to regenerate without blowing up their life?

Most people in it are still high-functioning, still showing up to the meetings, still answering emails. That was certainly me! But inside, they feel hollow. Detached. Like they’re watching themselves play a role they no longer believe in.

1. Some signs?

   • You wake up already bracing for the day.

   • You find yourself irritated by things that didn’t used to bother you.

   • You crave something—anything—new, but can’t name what.

   • Joy feels like a memory.

   • You keep thinking, “If I just get through this week…” but every week is this week.

     It’s often not about working “too much”—it’s about working in ways that don’t resonate anymore. Misalignment is the real leak. And no amount of sleep or self-care fluff will restore you if the structure of your days keeps grinding against your values.

   So how do you begin to regenerate without blowing up your life?

   This is where Renewable You comes in. It’s not about quitting everything and moving to a yurt—unless that’s truly your next move. It’s about returning to what fuels you—clarity, connection, and conscious choice.

   Start by asking:

   • What part of my day feels most life-draining?

   • When do I feel most like myself?

   • Where have I abandoned what I know to be true?

   Then make one small shift—something renewable. More sunlight. A changed boundary. A real lunch break. A conversation you’ve been avoiding.

   Renewable energy comes from alignment, not escape. When you tend to the real you, regularly and without theatrics, the burnout doesn’t stand a chance.
   

   How do you help high-functioning individuals slow down enough to rediscover what matters?
   First, I meet them where they are: in motion. High-functioning people are often masters of pace and performance. Slowing down just for the sake of it feels like failure—or worse, inefficiency. So I don’t ask them to stop everything. I ask better questions while they’re still moving.

   I create space where they don’t have to perform their clarity. They don’t have to be inspiring, decisive, or even coherent. They just have to be honest. And that alone is disarming—in the best way.

   Then we start interrupting the autopilot. I help them notice where they’re running on borrowed definitions of success. We look at what’s truly nourishing versus what’s just numbing. And we practice something radical: enoughness without output.

   Often, slowing down doesn’t mean doing less right away—it means doing differently. Making space for reflective rituals. Reclaiming lunch. Putting language to the quiet tug they’ve been ignoring. Choosing restoration before collapse.

   The real work is helping them build a life—and a leadership style—that’s renewable. Not just impressive. Not just productive. But rooted in what matters. And sustainable enough to keep becoming more of who they are, without burning down everything they’ve built.
   

   You’ve delivered dozens of workshops. What makes a truly transformative workshop experience in your view?
   A truly transformative workshop doesn’t just deliver information—it shifts something in the person holding the pen. It moves them from knowing about a thing to actually feeling it in their body, seeing it in their context, and deciding what it means for their life.

   I’ve led plenty of sessions where the slides were tight and the exercises well-designed. But the ones that changed people? Those had a few key ingredients:

   Permission to be real. People need to feel safe enough to stop pretending. That alone opens the door to insight.

   Slowness in the right places. Not everything needs to be fast-paced and energizing. Some of the best breakthroughs happen in silence, in stillness, in the moment after a good question lands.

   Relevance over performance. I don’t want people leaving with a perfect journal spread. I want them leaving with a sentence they can’t stop thinking about. A conversation they know they need to have.

   A thread they can follow home. Insight without integration is just a nice afternoon. I always give people something to carry forward—whether it’s a framework, a practice, or just a better question.

   In the end, it’s not about being dazzling. It’s about being useful. Beautifully, courageously useful.
   

   As a mother, entrepreneur, and speaker, how do you stay grounded when life pulls you in different directions?
   Honestly? It’s not seamless. Being a mother, entrepreneur, and speaker means I’m constantly shifting gears. Some days I do it with grace. Other days I’m whispering “deep breath, don’t snap” into the cutting board.

   But one thing I never compromise on is Monday night family dinner. No exceptions. It’s always homemade, and I’m usually the one cooking. Not because I have to, but because there’s something grounding about it. The chopping, the stirring, the scent of something real filling the house—it centers me. It says, “We’re home. We’re here. We’re fed.”

   Phones are down, the table’s set, and for at least one evening, we’re not rushing through life. We’re together. It’s not fancy. It’s not Instagram-worthy. But it’s sacred.

   I also protect one full day off work each week, if I can. It doesn’t solve the chaos, but it softens it. These rituals—this food, this time, this attention—remind me that I’m more than the roles I play. I’m a person with a stove, a family, and a life that matters.
   

   What’s the next personal or professional trail you’re excited to explore?

   Right now, I’m really interested in deepening more than expanding. That’s the trail I’m on—less about chasing new heights, more about rooting into the foundation I’ve built and asking, What’s ready to evolve here?

   Professionally, I’m exploring new ways to bring The Earthy Executive into more intimate, immersive spaces—small gatherings, retreats, maybe even slow-business circles where growth doesn’t mean scaling to the moon but settling into alignment. I want to work with people who are asking the same questions I am: How can success feel more like sovereignty than survival?

   Personally, I’m exploring what it means to have space—not just time, but inner spaciousness. That’s new for me. I’ve been a doer for a long time. Now I’m asking: What grows when I stop filling every gap with productivity?

   So, in short: I’m trading the hustle path for a more mossy, meandering one. Less “next big thing,” more “next true thing.”