Working in the Open: What I’ve Learned Rebuilding a Consulting Life Post-Pandemic

Reflections on five years of loss, resilience, and reimagining what it means to do meaningful work.

Professional generosity has long been a guiding principle in my work. I believe we can accomplish far more when we lift each other up. I find joy and purpose in connecting people, spotlighting the efforts of others, and offering thoughtful support—often going all in when I see the potential for meaningful collaboration and impact.

Recently, I’ve been sitting with a comment someone made in response to a recent email I sent out. It was a personalized message sharing several upcoming virtual events I’m organizing—opportunities that I believe in deeply. The reply was polite but cut deeper than expected.

The response conveyed some uncertainty about whether my message was a personal invitation or part of a bulk email. It left me feeling like my invitations to collaborate—which I craft thoughtfully—were being dismissed, even though they reflect genuine opportunities for connection and shared purpose.

I was surprised by how much it affected me. I tend to be reactionary—a trait I’ve come to understand is rooted in childhood trauma and shaped by years of navigating professional environments where trust wasn’t always present. Sometimes, I need to take a breath and give myself space to reflect before responding, especially when something touches a deeper nerve. I realized it wasn’t just about this message. It tapped into something deeper I haven’t shared publicly: just how hard these last five years have been, both personally and professionally. So this post is my effort to work in the open, to share candidly, and to help others better understand the human stories behind the emails, events, and advocacy.

---

Five Years of Setbacks and Reinvention

Here’s a quick look at the personal and professional reality I’ve been navigating:

• My consulting work had essentially come to a halt in 2018 when I accepted a full-time school administrator position. By the time I returned to consulting, the world had changed dramatically—especially in the wake of the pandemic. Rebuilding in this new context has required a complete reinvention: of my brand, my services, and my understanding of what educators and organizations need now. It’s been a steady, sometimes uphill process, marked by uncertainty but also by new clarity and direction.

• My husband was laid off—twice within 10 years—creating financial and emotional stress. (He’s now happily employed.)

• My role as Director of Educational Technology at an independent school was eliminated due to restructuring. I was not replaced. It was especially painful because I had poured my heart into the role, only to feel that my contributions were not fully recognized or appreciated by senior leadership. It’s taken me a few years to process this experience and begin to move forward.

• I was diagnosed with breast cancer and underwent surgery and treatment. Thankfully, it was caught early and I’m fine.

• I became a finalist for five excellent full-time roles—positions I was highly qualified for—and didn’t get any of them. I had put a great deal of energy and thought into preparing for each opportunity and was genuinely excited about the prospect of contributing to innovative, mission-driven work. More than anything, I’d love to be part of a team working on exciting and forward-thinking projects—something I still hope for and continue to work toward.

There have been additional challenges I haven’t spoken about as openly. While they might be considered “first-world problems”—and I recognize the privilege embedded in that—they’ve still taken a toll.

---

The Hidden Costs of Professional Generosity

Here’s what most people don’t see behind the virtual conferences and community spaces I help organize:

• I lose money on every event. Most operate on a pay-what-you-can model, and most attendees pay little or nothing.

• Event platforms cost thousands of dollars per year. I also pay for additional services and publicity materials.

• I personally handle registration, speaker support, promotion, session curation, graphic design, and tech production—often with little or no help.

• I spend hours coaching, emailing, connecting people, and producing a regular newsletter where I highlight the work and initiatives of others that I come across. This is labor, even if it comes from a place of love.

Despite this, I am regularly asked to donate time, mailing lists, or expertise to others’ projects—without much reciprocity or even attendance at my events in return. This is a pattern I know many other women consultants face: being valued for our generosity but not always supported in kind. That said, I am deeply grateful for the organizations and individuals who have consistently shown up and supported my work. Many of my GLOW sponsors, for instance, have stood by me every year for the past four years, believing in the mission and helping make this work possible. Their belief in what I do sustains me more than they probably realize.

---

Why I Still Choose This Work

So why do I keep doing it?

Because I believe in it. Because I believe in the power of compassionate, globally minded education. Because I want young people to be heard. Because I want educators to be inspired and supported. Because I want to resist the slow erosion of democracy and civic participation.

And because I want to model what it looks like to build something hopeful, even when things fall apart.

---

An Invitation to Support This Kind of Work

This post isn’t a complaint. It’s a window into the often unseen effort behind community-driven work. If you want to support this kind of work—whether mine or others doing similar labor—here’s what helps:

• Show up. Attend the events. Engage with the content.

• Promote widely. Your networks matter.

• Sponsor if you can. Or recommend sponsors.

• Acknowledge the effort. A simple thank-you can mean a lot.

• Volunteer—whether that means helping moderate sessions or serving on a conference planning committee.

• Offer constructive feedback on how I can improve these events so they better serve participants and communities.

And most of all, remember that even when something looks like a “mail blast,” there is often a real person behind it, doing their best to hold it all together.

Thanks for reading.