Seven Years of Growth, Grief, and Becoming: When The Business Grows Outward And You Are Forced To Grow Inward

May 6th. Another year in the books for Empowered Physical Therapy.

Historically, this has always been a day of celebration. A day to reflect on commitment to the process, on the wonderful people I have had the fortune to meet, help, and empower. A chance to acknowledge the impact this place continues to have on movement, physical health, confidence, relationships, and quality of life. A chance to celebrate our clinicians, our community, our network providers, and the culture that has organically grown within these walls over the last seven years.

And this year is no different.

But I’ll be honest…this one feels different.

To those of you who have read a blog of mine you have probably recognized it’s a glorified journal for me most days…with today being no exception to that rule. And for those of you who find yourself reading my words on screen for the first time, welcome to my attempts at vulnerability.

Yes, vulnerability. Historically, I have shied away from the word. I perceived it as weakness and avoided the concept altogether. Then I opened a business. A business that works with people. Then I hired people. People who work with people. Somewhere along the way, while sitting in business development meetings asking myself difficult questions, not only about how to grow a business, but how to help individuals within that business grow and succeed, I found myself consistently returning to a single word: vulnerability.

Insert me, the pot calling the kettle black. 🫠

I am currently about 75 pages deep into Dare to Lead, and truthfully, the timing feels almost uncomfortable. Brené writes that vulnerability is not about winning or losing, but about having the courage to show up when we can’t predict or control the outcome. She also writes that our ability to lead bravely will never exceed our capacity for vulnerability.

And that one landed.

Because if you’ve read anything by Brené Brown, you know vulnerability sits at the center of her work. I’ve turned to her books before when I needed language for who I thought I was, who I was becoming, and why discomfort felt so impossible to outrun. Her words have grounded me in seasons where my instinct was to run from vulnerability altogether.

Or at least I thought they had.

Because sitting here now, seven years into building Empowered, I’m realizing there is a very large difference between understanding vulnerability conceptually and actually living it. Especially in leadership. Especially when the business grows, the stakes get higher, more people rely on you, and your personal life catches on fire while you are simultaneously expected to lead others through theirs.

I think this anniversary feels different because I am different. Or at least I thought I was. But in moments of dysregulation, stress, grief, or feeling deeply down on myself, I can recognize that many of my patterns are still very much intact. And I think coupling that realization with the weight of the last couple of years – the things seen, unseen, said, unsaid, carried, and survived – it all feels heavier than I know how to explain.

And for the first time, I’m recognizing that inward growth is no longer optional. Not just for the business to succeed, but for me to live well within the life I have created.

Because the truth is:

The version of me that created this business is not the version of me that gets to continue leading it.

And that realization has been both beautiful and painful.

When I first opened Empowered, passion carried me everywhere. I was absolutely cooking. I loved building this thing from the ground up. I didn’t need boundaries because it never felt draining…it felt energizing. It gave me purpose. It gave me vision. It gave me something to obsess over, something to build, something to pour myself into completely.

And honestly? I still love it.

I love the people. I love the vision. I love watching our clinicians grow. I love watching clients reconnect to themselves physically and emotionally. I love what this place stands for. But what hurts is recognizing that while the business still requires hard work and energy, I now require hard work and energy too. And if I’m being really honest, I think I’ve spent much of my life knowing how to work hard while having very little understanding of how to truly care for myself.

Looking strong has always been my default. I was primed for leadership from a young age. Leadership conferences. Team captain. The “strong one.” The kid my parents didn’t need to worry about because the expectation was simple: work hard, do well, lead by example, get the job done. And to some extent, those traits served me incredibly well.

Until they didn’t.

Because there is a very real difference between looking strong and feeling connected. Lately, I’ve realized I know how to endure far better than I know how to connect. I know how to push. I know how to perform. I know how to carry. I know how to keep moving forward when things get hard. But connectedness? Presence? Sitting still long enough to actually feel what is happening internally instead of just functioning through it? That feels newer. Harder. Less practiced.

My therapist (seriously, thank God for her) uses an analogy of water and ice that I have not been able to stop thinking about. When we are young, we exist in a fluid state. We are free. We have not yet been conditioned. We don’t fully understand rules, expectations, or limitations. We are simply ourselves. Then over time, we learn what is “right” and “wrong.” We absorb expectations, experiences, beliefs, wounds, survival strategies, patterns. We become conditioned.

Essentially, we get placed in the freezer.

And slowly, we harden.

We harden into patterns, coping mechanisms, identities, and ways of protecting ourselves. Then eventually, whether we want to admit it or not, something happens. Life confronts us in a way that makes it impossible to remain frozen forever. And we have a choice: ignore it, stay frozen, stay hardened within the identities and patterns that once protected us…or step out of the freezer. Become fluid again. Allow ourselves to release pieces of conditioning that no longer align with who we actually want to be.

Essentially, willingly accept an identity crisis.

I think that’s where I am right now.

Melting.

And if I’m honest, melting feels terrifying when you have spent your entire life being rewarded for appearing solid.

Because leadership doesn’t just magnify your strengths. It exposes your patterns. The tendency to overextend. To avoid hard conversations. To carry things that were never mine to carry.

I used to think vulnerability meant openness without boundaries. Now I think vulnerability is being honest enough to acknowledge when the way you’ve always operated is no longer sustainable. Not because you’re weak. Not because you’re failing. But because growth requires evolution.

And evolution hurts.

There are days I feel deeply connected to where I’m headed. Days where I can feel myself becoming softer, more aware, more grounded, more aligned. And then there are days where I feel like I’m rushing my healing because I’m too uncomfortable to sit in grief. Grieving the life I thought I would have. Grieving former versions of myself. Grieving certainty. Grieving identities that no longer fit but still feel difficult to let go of.

But even within all of that, I have faith. Faith that awareness matters. Faith that patterns can change. Faith that leadership can evolve. Faith that becoming more connected to myself will ultimately allow me to become more connected to the people around me.

And most importantly, faith that the melting is for the better.

Seven years in, still growing. Still questioning. Still uncomfortable. Still learning.

But maybe that’s the point.