Sarah’s Story.
My story isn’t an easy one to tell. For a long time I questioned if it even belonged on a professional website. But the truth is, if you want to know who I really am – not just the coaching credentials or the polished photos – this is it.
I’ve faced things that people rarely talk about. Abuse. Death. Illness. Awakening.
For years I kept them close, too heavy and too personal to share. “Why would anybody want to hear about this?” Because if you’re anything like me, we don’t want to just feel content, we’re here to win. Absolute FREEDOM. Love. Joy. Fulfillment.
But we are all human here.
No matter how accomplished we look, our humanity follows us into every boardroom, every high-stakes conversation, and then right back home with us as we connect with the people we love. We can’t outrun it. We don’t have to. And we shouldn’t want to.
Because mastering business will never be enough. The leaders who create lasting impact – the ones who build companies and lives that matter – have learned to integrate all of who they are.
And that’s why I coach.
The moments that almost defeat us are also the ones that offer the greatest opportunity for growth. They are portal moments that demand more from us than we believe we have.
When we look back on them, we can see that they always come with a choice. And for those of us who want to experience the fullness of life, the decision isn’t always easy, but it is clear.
We choose to expand.
More than simply surviving, we grow through these moments. We stretch. Our capacity stretches to meet what comes. And over time, we learn that our capacity is actually limitless if we stay conscious and willing.
I’ve faced many of my own moments like this, and I would bet you have, too.
These are some of them. Not neat, not chronological. Breadcrumbs from my heart to yours.
Eight years old, standing at Ghost Ranch in the Southwest.
There had been an afternoon rain shower, and a double rainbow stretched across the sky, bright against the red cliffs. By then, I had already lived through years of abuse by a trusted adult outside of my immediate family. I was hopeless. Silent in my pain. Until… that rainbow.
For the first time, I thought, there must be good. Something so beautiful could only exist if there was something bigger out there. It’s one of my first clear memories of hope. Nature became a portal for healing, even before I knew what I was healing from.
The granddaughter of a presbyterian minister, we went to church every Sunday, no excuses.
At the same time, I had a mom who held a spiritual space, not a religious one. She was working with a Reiki master, and in my senior year of high school I signed myself up for spiritual training for my own healing. It widened my world.
Over the years, I’ve shifted from Christian, to Christian mystic, to full-on woo-woo. I don’t care how the divine meets you – only that it does. Because I know I wouldn’t be here without that connection.
For over two decades, I held space as a private practice therapist as clients unburdened unspeakable traumas.
I felt deep meaning in helping people heal. And, at the same time, I heard horrific stories I wish only belonged in movies and not in real life.
I learned the art of listening without judgment. I witnessed the darkest corners of human nature, and still chose to believe in the light.
Infertility. Miscarriages. And then — the death of our second son as an infant.
My life divided into before and after. As I watched his tiny casket being lowered into the ground, I thought Mother Earth, please crack open and take me with him.
And in that same breath came another knowing. Women have been losing children for millenia, and, still, they carry on. I chose the full experience of life. I chose my remaining son and husband. The darkest moment of my life, but, yes, I still chose to expand.
“It’s moments like these that allow us to experience the depth and breadth of life, to discover the shores of our soul.”
Jim Marx, a beloved mentor
At 35, I was knocked flat by crippling pain in the midst of building my practice, and while pregnant with our second son.
What followed is a blur: the birth, the baptism, the death, the grief, alongside what felt like a betrayal of my body and over a year of tests and uncertainty, finally to get answers in the form of an autoimmune disease diagnosis.
Growing up, I never really had the chance to connect with my body. First disconnected by the abuse, then later as an adult, by the pain of rheumatoid arthritis. In order to heal, I had to stop ignoring and start listening. It was another awakening: to the wisdom of my own body.
As a therapist, I was at the top of my game. I had built a thriving practice, strong reputation, and mastery in my craft. It had become easy. But it wasn’t enough.
A conversation cracked the door to executive coaching — work that wasn’t about repairing what was broken but expanding into what was possible. This portal felt risky. I walked through it anyway.
My growing coaching practice required that I commute to Omaha.
One day my husband said: “We should just move”. It felt crazy, but we did it. We left behind our home, friends, my son’s high school, and the life we had built – all for my business vision.
The support of my family was humbling, but the transition was hard on all of us. We faced it together and grew through it. My son told me years later “This was the best thing we ever could have done. It changed the trajectory of my life.”
And then there was the hummingbird.
We had just returned from Costa Rica, where we stumbled upon a pocket of rainforest alive with thousands of them — every variety, shimmering and loud, a cacophony of wings. We came home enchanted.
At the same time, we were waiting on biopsy results for a dark spot on my husband’s lung. One afternoon we decided to hang a feeder on our deck with no expectations. As Christian raised the feeder into place, a hummingbird appeared — hovering just eighteen inches from his head. “Well hi, little buddy,” he said.
Days later, the biopsy confirmed cancer. That tiny bird became a constant family token to get us through his surgery and recovery. A reminder to drink the sweetness of life today. To be here. And to have hope.
Not the sugar-coated hope that pretends everything will be fine, but the kind that steadies you in the storm and makes you stronger. Belief that there is good. Belief in our own resilience. And that life’s wonder lives in experiencing all of it: the joy and the pain.
Life isn’t pretty. But it is beautiful.
I carry all of this, and still, I am one of the most joyful people you’ll meet. I happy-cry at Broadway musicals, sit in awe of sunrises and sunsets, ride our tandem bike with Christian, and marathon Marvel movies with my son, Arich.
I carry all of this, and still, I am one of the most joyful people you’ll meet.
I happy-cry at Broadway musicals, sit in awe of sunrises and sunsets, ride our tandem bike with Christian, and marathon Marvel movies with my son, Arich.
Here's what I know: When you want to live a big life, you're going to take on more of these portal moments than an average person. You probably already have.
I’m not going to put a tidy bow around my story. I simply want to make sure you know just how true it is when I say: I’ve got you.
I can hold anything that comes my way – your ambitious business goals and your secret, parallel personal challenges. Because I've learned that the two are never really separate.
Business expansion requires self-expansion. It requires conscious leadership.
And if you’re staring down one of your own portal moments, you don’t have to face it alone.
With love & hope,
Sarah
