My career pivot didn’t start with a plan, but with a life turned upside down.
I didn’t mean to change careers. I just wanted to survive breast cancer, figure out how to live with Li-Fraumeni Syndrome (LFS), keep my kids alive (they also have LFS), and maybe stop waking up in the middle of the night overthinking, well, everything. Yet somehow, in the middle of all that chaos, I started drifting toward a different kind of work. Somewhere between the surgeries, the scans, and the never-glamorous side effects, I realized I wasn’t just recovering from cancer — I was figuring out how to truly heal. Supporting my physical body through recovery was one thing; finding peace and healing mentally and emotionally, I found, required an entirely different set of tools – community, laughter, creativity, dark humor, patience, and a whole lot of grace for myself. It became not about bouncing back or returning to who I was before, but about building a new version of myself that could carry all I’d been through without crumbling under the weight.
And as much as I loved my former organization and team, the pull toward helping others navigate these life-altering moments became undeniable. So, when the opportunity came to step into a role focused on building a culture of well-being, I joined the YMCA of San Diego as Program Director of Well-Being + Firehouse. In this role I get to shape programs, bring new partnerships to the table (and be creative in doing so), and support my community in exploring wellness in ways that honor the whole person – mind, body, and spirit. I get to bridge the “dream it up” conversations with the “make it happen” moments, which means I spend equal time in spreadsheets and in sneakers, figuring out how vision meets the unpredictable, wonderfully messy parts of bringing ideas to life.
Beyond the work itself, part of what makes this transition feel so right is the team I get to do it with: people who are open to innovation + creativity, humor + lightness, true impact work, and – thankfully – the whole messy version of me. This pivot wasn’t about abandoning my old skill set or company; it was about redirecting my energy toward work that felt urgent, human, and deeply personal.
What makes this role especially meaningful is that I’ve been on the other side of these well-being programs. Last Spring I participated in the Livestrong program myself – at the very YMCA where I’m now working. Experiencing it from the inside out – as someone navigating healing after cancer – gave me a perspective I carry with me every day: how transformative thoughtful and compassionate programming can be and how much it matters to meet people where they are. That’s where I met Dana and Judy, two instructors who couldn’t have been more different in their delivery, but equally brilliant in their impact. Judy was the calm in the storm – gentle, patient, always there to remind me it was okay to take it slow when my body or soul needed it. Dana, on the other hand, was the firecracker – equal parts hilarious and pushy (in the best of ways), challenging us to keep moving even when we wanted to quit. I needed both.
Dana and Judy didn’t just teach exercises; they read the room, noticed when someone needed encouragement and when someone needed a breather, and built a community. Somehow, they made space for belly laughs, tears, and the occasional “Nope, not today!” without ever missing a beat. Being a participant gave me an insiders view of what works – and what it really takes to create a space where healing isn’t just a buzzword, but a lived, breathing and constantly evolving experience.
Of course, none of this – not the healing, not the pivot, not even figuring out which drain to empty first or which meds to take when – happens alone. I wouldn’t be here without my incredible village of support. My oncologists and plastic surgeon at Scripps and my geneticist at City of Hope continue to keep a close eye on how I’m doing, with patience I definitely don’t always deserve. My friends, family, and fellow survivors remind me every day that healing isn’t linear, wellness isn’t a checkbox, and sometimes the best medicine is laughing at the absurdity of it all.
And then there’s Eric Mann, a leader I deeply respect and admire. He’s not at the YMCA where I work now, and he wasn’t part of Livestrong – but he’s been an unwavering advocate for me throughout my career and during my previous time at the First Coast YMCA in Florida, about a decade ago. Through all the twists, turns and chaos I’ve managed to create along the way, he’s kept rooting for me, offering guidance and calm in equal measure, and reminding me that true support isn’t about perfection – it’s about showing up when it matters most. I am endlessly grateful for that kind of presence.
Stepping into this new chapter of my professional life isn’t just about starting a new role – it’s about carrying forward everything I’ve learned, both in my own healing and from the incredible people who’ve guided me along the way. If there’s one thing I hope to do in this work, it’s help others feel a little less alone in their own journeys, and maybe remind them that it’s okay to cry in the middle of a yoga class, laugh through the chaos, and that well-being is about balancing movement, messy emotions, and maybe the occasional glass of wine that doubles as self-care.
Cheers to the messy, beautiful work of healing – for all of us.