The difference a year makes.
Content warning: pregnancy loss
One year ago today, I sat down for lunch at Thai Spoon with a fellow local coach and new friend, Joe Ehrlich. Over panang curry and pad thai, he lit up as he shared his experience in the Athens Area Chamber of Commerce’s LEAD Athens program. I trusted his enthusiasm—he had already introduced me to the brilliant Victoria Prevatt, our local nonprofit consulting superstar, and I’d loved getting to know her. When Joe talked about building local connections and learning more about the Athens community, it struck a deep chord in me.
I had moved to Athens one week into the pandemic in March of 2020—running my coaching business remotely, following my partner’s lead to be closer to his family—but I’d felt adrift ever since. While I had made some local connections, I craved the kind of community that Joe described.
There was just one hitch: the LEAD Athens application was due the very next day.
I rushed home, texted a friend to ask for a letter of support (“I’m a last-minute lady!” I said in my text), and got to work. I submitted my application right before the deadline, feeling that hopeful buzz you get when something feels just right—even if it’s rushed.
Here’s the part of the story most people don’t know: I had found out I was pregnant the month before.
After more than three years of trying—two rounds of IUI, one heartbreaking loss—I could barely let myself believe it might finally be happening. I had tried everything: acupuncture, diet changes, endless supplements, and all the late-night, often-contradictory advice from Instagram fertility “experts.” And now, finally, it was happening. I pictured us looking for and buying a home, putting down roots. I’ve dreamed of being a mom for as long as I can remember. Getting involved locally through LEAD Athens felt like the perfect next step.
But a few weeks later, during my ultrasound, the sonographer fell silent. No heartbeat. I was in shock, numb. I remember hearing myself say “Okay,” but it sounded like someone else’s voice. A nurse tried to explain poor egg quality at 41 and how slim the chances of getting and staying pregnant are at my age. I stood there frozen, tears streaming.
Three days later, I got an email: I’d been accepted into LEAD Athens. That same day, I was featured in Nabo Realty’s Faces of Athens blog. I took it as a sign. The universe, in its mysterious timing, was nudging me forward, and Athens was where I was supposed to be.
In the weeks that followed, I was surrounded by support. My fertility support group through Athens Parent Wellbeing at ReBlossom held me up, as did my Speakeasy dance troupe at The Studio. Thank you to Jess and Brittany for being my biggest supporters during that difficult time.
I was heartbroken—but I was also being held. Both were true, and both mattered.
LEAD Athens kicked off in June. Walking into a room of 34 strangers, I felt that familiar wave of imposter syndrome rise up—the voice that says, Are you sure you belong here? Besides Von Kidd from Foxglove Plantbar who I knew from Women Owned Athens, I didn’t know a soul. But by the end of that first day, the nerves began to soften. Friendships began to form.
At our retreat in July, I had a breakthrough: If I wait until I’m ready, I’ll never do it. That weekend was full of laughter, tears, and powerful conversations. We shared the best and hardest moments of our lives. Strangers became trusted confidants. Thank you to our Steering Committee for creating a space for that kind of magic.
As the program continued, so did our learning. Monthly sessions on topics like Economic Development, Education, Arts and Culture, Healthcare, and Nonprofits—it deepened my understanding of Athens and introduced me to the passionate people who make this town that I was starting to call home so special.
But internally, a shift was happening. My partner and I began to face a difficult truth: we held different visions of family. While I was open to exploring alternative paths to parenthood, it wasn’t a shared priority.
In December 2024, I made the hardest decision of my year—I moved out of our shared home and in with my friends. That very next day, I co-facilitated a dialogue on affordable housing with Cameron Jay Harrelson and Kara Fresk, joined by ten of my LEAD Athens peers. Even in the middle of personal upheaval, this program gave me something steady to hold onto—purpose, connection, grounding. It gave me people to talk to, to dream with, to be real with. I’m so grateful for my deep conversations on the bus with so many of you LEADers.
Slowly, Athens began to feel like home.
For a long time, I wasn’t sure I fit here. I just don’t care about college football. “Y’all” didn’t roll off my tongue naturally like it did for everybody else. I was unsure about boiled peanuts (still am, if I’m being honest). The pandemic had muted so much of what Athens was known for—live music, amazing food, energy, that was a tough time to move here.
Something shifted in the program. Slowly, the connections I made through LEAD Athens stitched me back to myself. I started running into classmates at nonprofit events, on the street, the dance floor, or the mini-golf course. Our active group chat and #LEADersInTheWild selfies told a new story: one of connection and belonging.
I had told my closest friends I’d stay in Athens at least until April 17th—LEAD Athens graduation day. Committing to that gave me space to breathe, to stop reacting and just be for a while.
Being at graduation last night, surrounded by people I now call friends, I felt proud. Not just of completing the program—but of the courage it took to keep showing up, even when my life looked nothing like what I thought it would when I applied. And I know I wasn’t the only one making the hard choice to continue to show up.
I still don’t know what’s next for me—but I know I’m not lost.
When I applied to LEAD Athens, I had one vision for how this year might unfold. What actually happened was very different—but maybe even more meaningful. I’ve found my voice again. I’ve found community. And I’ve remembered how good it feels to be seen, to be known, to be surrounded by people who care.
Last night, I learned that my LEAD classmates nominated me for the Inclusiveness award. I was so honored. It also felt deeply humbling, because I don’t know if they realized the impact that their inclusion had on me.
To everyone who supported me this past year—thank you. Thank you for the conversations, the hugs, the space, the laughter. Thank you for reminding me that stepping out of your comfort zone doesn’t just change everything—it can also bring you back to yourself.
I’ll end with a quote from Maya Angelou that I love:
“Because of the routines we follow, we often forget that life is an ongoing adventure… and the sooner we realize that, the quicker we will be able to treat life as art… We need to remember that we are created creative and can invent new scenarios as frequently as they are needed.”
Here’s to the next scenario. ❤️
If you’re local to Athens and you’ve been longing to get more involved in a meaningful way with big-hearted changemakers, apply for next year’s program before April 21st.
