On Mentors, Memory, and the Rooms That Changed Me

I’ve been lucky. Not in the shiny, overnight-success kind of way—but in the steady, life-altering, “someone saw something in me before I fully saw it in myself” kind of way. This post is a tribute to the mentors who helped shape the way I lead, think, and move in the world.

Early in my career, I worked in a large, high-stakes nonprofit environment—complex, political, and pulsing with possibility. It was the kind of place where decisions could shift global outcomes, but navigating it required more than just intelligence. It demanded poise, strategy, and a sixth sense for when to speak and when to listen.

One of my earliest mentors there modeled all of that. He didn’t lead loudly. He moved with ease, with clarity, and with the kind of polish that didn’t smooth over complexity—it cut through it. I learned more from watching him work than from any training or title. And when it became clear that I’d hit a ceiling—that there was no real path forward—he didn’t tell me to wait my turn. He told me to leave. To take what I had learned, what I had built, and go somewhere it could grow. He told me I was ready before I had fully admitted it to myself. And I’ve carried that vote of confidence with me ever since.

Not long after, another mentor came into my life—very different in style, but just as transformative. She didn’t believe in closed rooms or quiet hierarchies. She believed everyone had a right to be heard. That showing up fully, boldly, and with integrity wasn’t just allowed—it was necessary. She said my name in rooms I had only dreamed of entering. She challenged me to dream bigger. To lead more bravely. And to trust that my path in nonprofit leadership wasn’t about fitting in—it was about building something that fit me.

Together, these two mentors—one steady and elegant in complexity, the other fierce and expansive in spirit—taught me that growth is rarely linear, but always possible when you’re surrounded by people who see your future even before you do.

So this post is really just a thank you. To them. And to all the mentors who pull others forward, often without applause, often without knowing just how deeply their guidance lands.

If you’re reading this and a mentor comes to mind—send the text. Make the call. Say thank you while you can.

Because if there’s one thing I know now, it’s that leadership doesn’t start in titles or plans. It starts in the quiet courage of someone saying: You belong here. You’re ready.

And sometimes, that changes everything.