Crash and Burn: What My Son's Motocross Accident Taught Me About Running on Empty

There's a moment every mom knows the second it happens. Your stomach drops before your brain even catches up. Mine happened on a race track, watching my 14-year-old son's final lap of the weekend.

Colton is an early rider. Still learning, still building experience, but genuinely talented. The weekend before, he'd placed first. This weekend, only his second official race, he was sitting in a position to take third. For a kid this new to racing, that's a massive accomplishment.

But something was off.

You could see it in his body language before that last jump. The tiredness. The heaviness. He wasn't riding with the same sharpness he'd had all weekend. And then, on that final jump, he didn't land it.

He crashed. Hard enough that it caused a pile-up on the track, and another racer landed on top of him.

I don't remember deciding to run. I just remember running faster than I ever have in my life.

He rode off that track on his own, which I will be grateful for every single day. But he suffered a pretty bad concussion and was out of racing for some time after that.

In the days that followed, once the fear settled enough for me to actually think, I kept replaying it. Not just the crash itself, but everything that led up to it.

Colton had signed up for more races than he probably should have, not realizing each race actually means two runs, spread out across an entire day. That takes an enormous amount of energy, especially for a body still learning what it's capable of.

He didn't rest properly. He didn't hydrate the way he needed to.

And the night before his biggest race of the weekend, he went and cut someone's grass because he'd promised to get it done. A commitment he didn't want to break, so instead of resting, he spent the evening before burning energy he didn't have to spare.

He was burning the candle at both ends. And his body, at some point, was always going to send the bill.

I don't say any of this to blame him. He's 14. He's learning, and honestly, this is exactly the kind of lesson most of us don't learn until we're adults, if we learn it at all.

Because here's what stuck with me most in the aftermath: this wasn't really about motocross.

We can push and push and push, telling ourselves we'll rest later, we'll slow down once this is over, once this project wraps, once this season ends. We overcommit before we've even ramped up. We say yes to one more thing, one more race, one more obligation, because we don't want to disappoint anyone or break a promise.

And for a while, it works. Until it doesn't.

Because eventually, if we aren't taking care of ourselves, there is a consequence. Sometimes it's quiet, a slow erosion nobody else notices. And sometimes it's very loud, very physical, and impossible to ignore.

Colton's crash was loud. But the buildup to it? Quiet, gradual, easy to miss. Just like it is for most of us.

I think about how many of us have been in his position professionally. Taking on too much, too fast, before we've properly built up our capacity for it. Not speaking up when the load is getting heavy. Not delegating because we'd rather push through than admit we're maxed out. Saying yes to the extra project the night before the big presentation instead of protecting our energy for what actually matters most.

We tell ourselves we can handle it. Right up until the moment we can't.

And here's the part that gutted me most as I literally watched him sleep that first night after his crash: the impact was never going to be just his. Another racer went down because of that crash too. Whatever happens when we're running on empty doesn't just affect us. It ripples out to the people around us, whether we mean for it to or not.

Our team feels it when we're stretched too thin and start dropping things. Our families feel it when we come home with nothing left to give. Our clients feel it when we're too depleted to show up the way we normally would.

Imagine if we treated rest as part of the preparation, not something we squeeze in after everything else is done.
Imagine if we taught ourselves, and our kids, to recognize the signs of empty before we hit that final jump.
Imagine if pacing ourselves was seen as strength instead of holding back.
Imagine if we got as intentional about recovery as we are about ambition.

Colton is okay now. He's back to being himself, slowly working his way back toward racing again. But that day changed something in how I think about pushing limits, mine and his.

Because talent and drive can only carry you so far if you're not also protecting your energy. At some point, the body keeps score, whether it's on a race track or in a boardroom.

We can go, go, go for a while. But eventually, if we don't pay attention, we crash and burn. And when we do, it rarely takes down just us.

Put Your Mask on First

You know that moment on every flight when they tell you to secure your own oxygen mask before helping others?

I used to hear it and think, “Well, that feels selfish.”

Now I finally understand it.

Because the truth is, if we are running on empty, exhausted, emotionally overloaded, mentally drained, and constantly pouring from an already depleted cup, eventually we stop showing up as the version of ourselves we want to be.

And as women, especially women juggling a million roles, that happens faster than we realize.

I’m a full-time mom and bonus mom. A full-time wife. A full-time employee. A full-time daughter. A friend. A leader. A problem solver. A planner. A safe place for so many people around me.

And honestly? Some days I feel completely overstimulated.

I’m also extremely Type A and naturally approach almost everything with urgency. I like solving problems. I like helping people. I like making sure everyone feels okay.

Throw in being an empath, an overthinker, and someone who replays every decision at the end of the night, and it becomes a lot.

“Did I make the right call in that meeting?”
“Did my team member feel heard and appreciated?”
“Do we think Colton is upset I missed his book fair?”
“Oh crap, I forgot tomorrow’s football snack day.”
“Does my husband know how much I love him, but also how exhausted I am?”

The list never really stops.

And I know I’m not alone in that.

Motherhood and leadership both come with so much beauty, but they also come with guilt, pressure, doubt, and the constant feeling that maybe we should be doing more.

We become our own worst critics.

It’s funny because I’ve spent years encouraging other people to prioritize themselves. I’ve always believed in therapy. I’ve always believed in having a neutral, unbiased person to talk to.

When my father passed away, I immediately got Talon into therapy because I knew how life-shaping that loss would be and wanted him to have support navigating it.

When my first marriage was struggling, I got us into couples counseling. Looking back, it became more of my ex-husband’s personal therapy session, but he genuinely benefited from it.

When my youngest was struggling with ADHD and behavioral challenges, I made the call and found Mr. Joey, who still meets with him monthly and has become one of the greatest gifts to our family.

I did all of that for everyone else.

So why did it take me 38 years to finally prioritize myself?

Honestly, I don’t fully know.

But one of the most important things I’ve done for myself this year was finding my own therapist. My own person. Someone who helps me sort through the mental clutter, the pressure, the overthinking, the constant emotional load that comes with being the person everyone depends on.

And now? I find myself looking forward to those appointments every couple of weeks.

It has become an outlet I knew I needed long before I ever allowed myself to make it a priority.

I guess what I’m saying is this:

Put your mask on first.

We hear it all the time. We’re told that if we take care of ourselves mentally and physically, we’ll be better for the people around us. Better mothers. Better partners. Better leaders. Better friends.

And that’s true.

But I also think we underestimate how much better life can feel for ourselves too.

Not just surviving. Not just functioning. Not just making it through the week while carrying the weight of everyone and everything else.

Actually feeling okay.

Actually feeling supported.

Actually giving ourselves permission to matter too.

Maybe for you, that looks like therapy.
Maybe it’s finally attending the yoga class you keep talking yourself out of.
Maybe it’s working on resetting your nervous system.
Maybe it’s planning a girls dinner full of laughter and catching up.
Maybe it’s simply carving out one uninterrupted hour for yourself without guilt.

Whatever it is, make the list.

Schedule it on your calendar.
Protect it the same way you protect everyone else’s needs.
And when you’re done, pay attention to how good you feel afterward.

Then do it again.

Because you deserve care too.
Not just from the people around you, but from yourself too.

Put your mask on first.
You matter too.

Customer Experience Starts From Within

One of the biggest mistakes companies make is believing customer experience belongs to one team.

It doesn’t.

Customer experience is not a department sitting in the corner handling complaints and sending surveys. It’s not just support tickets, response times, or follow-up emails.

It’s the culture of your company, showing up in real time.

It’s how your employees feel when they walk into work every day.
It’s how leaders communicate under pressure.
It’s how people are treated when nobody important is watching.
It’s how your team greets the delivery driver.
How the assistants are spoken to and spoken about.
How problems are handled internally before they ever become customer-facing.

Whether companies realize it or not, culture always spills outward.

You cannot build a disconnected, frustrated, unsupported internal team and somehow expect customers to consistently feel cared for. It just doesn’t work that way.

Happy employees create better customer experiences. Period.

People who feel trusted, valued, heard, and supported naturally show up differently. They communicate better. They care more. They go the extra mile without being asked because they feel connected to something bigger than a job description.

And honestly, some of the best customer experiences happen when employees feel empowered to simply do the right thing.

Not everything should require approval.
Not every decision should feel robotic or scripted.
Sometimes, a team member may give away too much. Sometimes they may solve a problem differently than leadership would have. But those moments create opportunities for coaching, reflection, growth, and conversation.

I would much rather have a team that occasionally over-cares than one that is too afraid to care at all.

When employees know they are trusted to lead with empathy and good judgment, something powerful happens. Customers feel it.

The little things become the big things.

That has always been one of my biggest beliefs when it comes to customer experience.

You cannot simply say you care about your customers. You have to show them.

It’s in the follow-up message you didn’t technically have to send.
It’s celebrating a milestone with them.
It’s remembering something important they mentioned months ago.
It’s surprising and delighting people when they least expect it.
It’s listening to feedback instead of becoming defensive.
It’s implementing the ideas that make sense and making customers feel heard in the process.

People remember how brands make them feel long after they forget what was said in the meeting or what was included in the invoice.

And every single person who interacts with your company should walk away feeling like their life, day, or experience was somehow made better because they crossed paths with your brand.

That does not happen accidentally.

It happens when customer experience becomes part of the foundation of the company instead of the responsibility of one team.

The best companies understand this:
Customer experience is built from the inside out.

It starts with culture.
It grows through leadership.
It’s reinforced through trust.
And it shows up in every interaction, whether anyone realizes it or not.

Because at the end of the day, people may forget what your company sold them.

But they will always remember how your company made them feel.

Women vs. Women: The Competition We Don’t Talk About.

Women often say things like “support women” or “women supporting women,” and while I absolutely believe many of us mean it wholeheartedly, I also think actions speak louder than words.

Because if we’re being really honest, women can be some of the harshest critics of other women. The only person we tend to judge harder than another woman is ourselves.

And I don’t necessarily think it’s because women are cruel. I think, in many ways, we’ve been conditioned to compete.

Compete for the seat at the table.
Compete for recognition.
Compete for validation.
Compete for acceptance in rooms historically built for men.

Somewhere along the way, many women inherited this belief that there simply isn’t enough room for all of us to succeed at the same time.

My husband and I often debrief after long days, whether it’s about work situations, social dynamics, leadership conversations, or even random interactions throughout the day. One thing I’ve always found interesting is hearing his perspective because it gives me insight into how differently men often approach competition and relationships.

What I’ve come to realize is that women carry so much emotional weight into everything.

We overanalyze.
We worry about perceptions.
We don’t want to hurt feelings.
We question ourselves constantly.
We compare ourselves endlessly.

And while men absolutely compete too, it often feels different. They compete, move on, shake hands, and continue forward. Women, on the other hand, often internalize competition. We attach emotion, self-worth, insecurity, and identity to it.

Another thing I’ve noticed is how differently men tend to talk about success, money, promotions, and ambition.

Men will openly discuss salaries, raises, career goals, and opportunities without carrying the same level of guilt around it. They’ll advocate for themselves, compare notes, negotiate harder, and often share information with each other that ultimately helps everyone level up.

Women, on the other hand, often shy away from those conversations. We worry about sounding arrogant. We worry about making someone else feel bad. We worry that if we’re getting more, somehow another woman must be getting less.

There’s almost this underlying guilt attached to wanting more.

More success.
More recognition.
More money.
More leadership opportunities.

And I think that mindset is part of what keeps women stuck competing quietly instead of collaborating openly.

Imagine how powerful women could become if we normalized talking about salaries, promotions, negotiations, and ambition the same way men often do. Not from a place of ego, but from a place of helping each other grow.

Because another woman succeeding does not take success away from you. In many cases, it actually creates more room for the women coming next.

I remember during the presidential election feeling genuinely shocked that we still haven’t seen our first female president. I found myself saying to my husband, “I just don’t think society is ready for a female president.”

And his response honestly stuck with me.

He said, “Maybe society is more ready than you think. Maybe women just didn’t fully show up for women.”

That perspective challenged me.

Not because it’s entirely black and white, because it’s obviously much more layered than that, but because I started recognizing pieces of that dynamic everywhere.

In business.
In leadership.
In social circles.
Even online.

Women sometimes feel competitive with other women because subconsciously we still feel like there are limited seats available at the table. Like if another woman shines, somehow there’s less space for us.

And that mindset is heartbreaking because imagine how much faster we could grow if we genuinely made room for each other.

Imagine if women celebrated another woman’s promotion without comparing it to their own timeline.
Imagine if confidence in another woman inspired us instead of intimidated us.
Imagine if mentorship became more common than gatekeeping.
Imagine if we stopped assuming another woman’s success somehow diminished our own.

There is room for all of us.

Room for ambitious women.
Room for soft women.
Room for stay-at-home moms.
Room for female CEOs.
Room for women rebuilding themselves.
Room for women still figuring it out.

I think one of the most powerful things we can do as women is become secure enough to clap for each other genuinely.

Not performatively.
Not publicly while privately competing.
But truly and honestly.

Because the women before us were often taught survival. They were taught to fight for limited opportunities. They were taught to earn their way into spaces that were never designed with them in mind.

But we have an opportunity to do something different for the women coming after us.

We can create bigger tables.
We can pull up more chairs.
We can normalize collaboration instead of quiet competition.

And maybe that’s how real progress happens.

The Women Before Us Didn’t Talk About It

There’s this unspoken pressure that so many women carry to just… push through.

Push through the exhaustion.
Push through the overstimulation.
Push through the anxiety.
Push through motherhood, careers, relationships, caregiving, leadership, expectations, guilt, and the constant feeling that we are being pulled in twenty different directions at once.

And somewhere along the way, many of us were taught that accepting help somehow meant we weren’t strong enough.

Help from a parent.
Help from a sibling.
Help from a nanny.
Help from a therapist.
Help from medication.

I truly believe we are living in this “in between” era where older generations, and even some within our own generation, still carry a stigma around mental health, therapy, and medications for anxiety or depression. So many people were raised believing you simply “deal with it,” “push through,” or “toughen up.”

But our generation has this beautiful opportunity to change that narrative.

We get to remove the labels.
We get to normalize asking for help.
We get to teach our children that mental wellness deserves the same care and attention as physical wellness.

And honestly? I think that’s one of the most important shifts happening right now.

Studies constantly talk about how millennial dads are becoming more involved, emotionally present parents. Imagine how lucky our children are because of that. Now imagine how lucky our grandchildren will be when those involved fathers become involved grandfathers.

The same thing is happening with women.

Women are breaking barriers in leadership, business, and entrepreneurship every single day. And while we celebrate that progress, it’s important to remember that it really wasn’t that long ago that women weren’t even allowed to vote.

Think about the path we are paving for our daughters and granddaughters.
Think about the conversations they may never have to whisper about because we decided to say them out loud.

I advocate for women and mental health constantly because I’ve seen the stigma up close far too many times.

After having three children of my own, I experienced the emotional rollercoaster that postpartum depression and anxiety can bring. And what stands out to me the most is this: not once did anyone truly prepare me for it.

Not once did someone genuinely sit me down and say:
“Hey… your mental health matters too.”
“Hey… if you don’t feel like yourself, you deserve support.”
“Hey… you are allowed to ask for help.”

Fast forward beyond the baby years, and women are still carrying the weight of everything. We’re raising children and teenagers, navigating marriages and careers, supporting aging parents, managing homes, showing up for everyone else, and often slowly losing pieces of ourselves along the way.

Far too often, I hear women say:
“I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

And honestly, that angers me. Because there are lifelines out there.

Counseling is a lifeline.
Medication can be a lifeline.
Support systems are lifelines.

Women can get themselves back to a place where they feel like themselves again.

This topic hits close to home for me because I don’t just personally struggle with anxiety, I’ve watched people I deeply love struggle too. I’ve watched close friends spend years denying that they may benefit from help, only to finally accept it and slowly regain their joy, identity, peace, and ability to fully enjoy motherhood and life again.

One of the most common things I hear is:
“My family doesn’t believe in medicating for anxiety.”

Or:
“Wouldn’t it be weak to cover up my symptoms with medication?”

And my response is usually this:

If someone with asthma deserves an inhaler, or someone with high blood pressure deserves medication to stabilize their body, why wouldn’t someone struggling with anxiety deserve support that helps stabilize their mind?

Another fear I hear often is:
“I’m afraid that if I start medication, I’ll never be able to come off of it.”

And honestly? Maybe you won’t.

Because there probably won’t be a day when you wake up after years of finally feeling like yourself again and say:
“You know what? I think I should stop the thing that helped me become a better version of myself.”

Life keeps evolving.

We raise kids.
We build careers.
We experience loss.
We navigate menopause.
We become caregivers.
We carry invisible mental loads every single day.

Accepting support for your mental health is not a weakness. Its strength. It’s self-awareness. It’s advocacy for yourself and the people you love.

I never push medication on anyone. But I do speak openly about how much it has helped save me.

It has helped me become a better mother.
A better wife.
A better friend.
A better leader.
A better mentor.
And most importantly, a better version of myself.

If you’re navigating this journey, here’s what I always tell people:

Work with professionals you trust. Your primary care doctor or OBGYN may absolutely help you get started, but when medications become more layered or symptoms evolve, having a great psychiatrist in your corner can make a huge difference.

Couple medication with counseling whenever possible. Medication can help stabilize what I often call the “gaps” or “imbalances,” but therapy helps build the tools we need to actually navigate life, reset our nervous systems, handle overstimulation, communicate better, and learn how to care for ourselves.

Stay open-minded. Mental health is not static. What works during one season of life may need adjusting during another. That is normal. That is healthy. And there should never be shame in revisiting what you need.

And finally, find your person.

Find someone you can be honest with. Someone you can celebrate progress with, but also someone you can call when things feel hard, and you’re not sure things are working yet.

And if you don’t have that person yet, I’ll gladly be that voice reminding you that asking for help does not make you weak.

It makes you human.

Time, Energy, and the People We Give Them To

I think one of the hardest lessons women learn is that time is not actually our most limited resource.

Energy is.

Because yes, we only get so many hours in a day. But what really changes everything is realizing we only get so much emotional capacity, patience, focus, and peace before we simply have nothing left to give.

And so many women are running on empty.

We’re balancing careers, kids, homes, relationships, schedules, expectations, pressure, guilt, and the invisible mental load that somehow nobody else seems to notice. We are constantly needed by someone. Constantly solving problems. Constantly carrying things quietly.

Then, on top of all of that, we hand over what little energy we have left to people who drain us.

The toxic coworker who creates tension every time they walk into a room.
The co-parent who turns every conversation into conflict.
The family member who somehow leaves you feeling worse every single time you talk to them.
The friend who only shows up when they need something.
The situations that steal your peace long after the moment is over.

What I’ve realized is this:

Every interaction costs us something.

Every unnecessary argument. Every over-explanation. Every moment spent trying to convince someone to see your worth. Every relationship where you leave feeling emotionally heavy instead of supported.

It all adds up.

And the problem is, when we spend too much of our energy in the wrong places, the people and things that actually matter start getting whatever is left over.

Our kids get the exhausted version of us.
Our partners get the distracted version.
Our goals get the burned-out version.
And we get almost nothing at all.

That’s the part nobody really talks about.

Protecting your energy is not selfish. It’s necessary.

Not everyone deserves unlimited access to you. Not everyone deserves a response, an explanation, or a seat at your table. And honestly, some people will keep taking from you as long as you keep giving without boundaries.

Learning that changed me.

I started realizing peace is expensive, and I needed to stop handing it out so freely.

I became more intentional about where my time goes, who gets my energy, and what actually deserves my emotional investment. Not every battle deserves a reaction. Not every opinion deserves space in your mind. Not every relationship deserves continued access to you simply because of history or obligation.

And the beautiful thing is, when you stop pouring yourself into the wrong people and situations, you suddenly have more of yourself available for the right ones.

More patience.
More clarity.
More joy.
More presence.
More creativity.
More peace.

The women I admire most are not the women who do absolutely everything for everyone. They are the women who learned how to protect their energy without apologizing for it.

Time is our strongest currency.

But energy?
That’s what fuels the life we’re trying so hard to create.

Spend both wisely.