I did everything I was supposed to do. Went to college. Got a business degree. Became a business analyst. Collected certifications and letters next to my name.

On paper, I was successful. In real life, I was going through the motions.

The equation I was living by was simple: Work hard + Help others = Be successful and happy.

The problem was, I kept myself so busy I had no time to breathe. Late nights. Half-hearted dinners. Old sitcom reruns because my brain had nothing left to give. Then doing it all again the next day.

I was working overtime to keep everything and everyone in harmony. Saying yes to make things easier for others. Doing what I had watched my mom do in her own business — put herself last and call it responsibility.

Somewhere along the way, I slipped completely out of integrity with myself. I lost sight of what I wanted.

The last time I remember feeling fully alive in my work was years earlier — long before coaching, long before Human Design.

It was in college, at Cal Poly Pomona, where I joined the Rose Float program.

For two years, I served as president. I led a team of 40 people, managed a multi–six-figure budget, oversaw massive deadlines, and helped build a float from scratch.

It was intense. High-stakes. Demanding. It was seen by millions.

And I loved it.

Because I wasn’t just working hard, I was building something meaningful. Creating structure where none existed. Leading people. Making decisions. Refining systems that actually worked.

That was the thread I couldn’t ignore anymore.

I wasn’t meant to just execute someone else’s vision. I was meant to design — and to lead.

That realization cracked something open. I dove into self-discovery, not as an escape, but as an investigation. I studied Human Design, leadership, identity, and energy — how people are actually wired to work, decide, and commit.