Entitlement and Flirting With New Beginnings
What's possible here?
I don’t want to admit this—
Posting my first essay here revealed a quiet entitlement I didn’t realize I was holding.
It wasn’t loud or demanding, but it was there.
A sneaky sense that, because you follow me, because you’ve subscribed, you should read. You should care.
It caught me off guard.
Not because I haven’t thought about entitlement before—it’s something I talk about often with clients. The entitlement that says, Of course this client should re-sign. The entitlement that groans, I shouldn’t have to work through this again. That sighs, haven’t I talked about this enough? and pouts, but I said it first!
Entitlement shows up in sneaky ways, and I’ve been able to see it and name it in others (in the pursuit of processing and working through it as an opportunity).
But this?
This was my own creeping entitlement—and to my own self-judgment and horror—it showed up somewhere unexpected.
I didn’t realize I’d fallen into a sense of jadedness around creation—a blasé outlook on my ideas being put out into the world.
Gone was that girl, nearly a decade ago, excited to post blog content every day and share her ideas.
It had become routine. Work. A thing you do.
Sometimes laden with the pressure to ‘work’ and other-times dripping in the apathy of ‘just get it done’.
And then, Substack started to strip it all away.
Starting with zero subscribers, no algorithms to game, no audience to assume, and honestly very little knowledge of how this platform even works (seriously, help!)—I felt something I hadn’t in a long time.
Hopeful. Nervous. Excited.
There was no chip about who I am or what I’ve accomplished, no pressure to ‘do good’ or ‘get an ROI’, no expectation of attention or engagement.
Just me, my big-ass bank of ideas, and the quiet thrill of putting them into the world.
It was beginner magic—
and it—surprisingly—slapped me in the face how much I’d been missing it.
Somewhere along the way, I’d let this journey in business dull the edges of that excitement.
I hadn’t even noticed it slipping—how the freshness had given way to a sense of been there, done that on my best days and overwhelming pressure to say the thing that works on my worst.
I don’t want to live—to create—like that.
No, I want to be in the thick of it, the realness of it. I want to feel that flirty energy of possibility. I want to show up fresh-faced, with stars in my eyes and dreams in my heart. I want to show up excited and a little nervous.
Because this is where the magic is: in showing up without expectation, without entitlement.
In saying, Here’s my heart, my ideas, my truth—what resonates?
The Subtle Weight of Assumption
This realization made me reflect on leadership—another word that, yes, is everywhere right now—but is also a cornerstone of my work.
In many ways ‘leadership’ as a marketing-y phrase has synonymous with being “in charge,” with wielding authority, with having all the answers.
But that’s not what leadership means to me.
Leadership, at its core, is about connection.
To yourself, first and foremost. To your values. To your energy. To the people you have the privilege of leading. To the threads of magic you can’t always see but can feel tugging at the edges of your awareness.
Leadership is a willingness to flirt with the unknown, to show up fresh every day, free of assumptions or entitlement, and say: What’s possible here?
It’s not built on authority, nor does it thrive on metrics or milestones.
True leadership isn’t about deserving attention—it’s about devotion.
It’s about being so deeply connected to yourself that others feel invited to connect to themselves.
And maybe the greatest act of leadership is showing up without armor, with an openness that says: Here’s my heart—what resonates?
The Energy That Attracts
For a long time, I thought people hired me for the numbers. The Stripe screenshots. The milestones. For proof that I’d “made it.”
Early in my coaching business I craved that proof—and then I got it—and it didn’t matter in the slightest.
The truth is, that’s not why people come into my world. It never has been.
They come because of my energy.
They come because I’m willing to say, here’s my heart—what resonates?
And even when I get distracted, in the end I come back to that idea. I return to it, I choose it. Even when it doesn’t feel easy or simple or obvious. I’m not perfect, I’m human—and I’m willing to share it.
And honestly? That’s what leadership is, too.
It’s not perfection—trust me, no one wants to hire the perfect mentor who’s never faced an obstacle, a dip, or a moment of what the actual fuck in their business. Personally, I want the mentor who’s been through it. The one who’s faced the hard stuff, navigated the messiness, and come out the other side more grounded, more real.
Perfect isn’t the goal—perfect doesn’t teach us anything.
Because leadership, to me, isn’t about being in charge, knowing it all, or having all the answers—it’s about being connected.
That’s the energy that attracts. The quiet, magnetic power of someone so deeply anchored in their own alignment that it ripples out and inspires others to do the same.
Being Connected
And as The Breadcrumbs do, all of this ties back to my word for the year: Connected.
To me, connection isn’t just about relationships. It’s about how I move through the world. It’s about staying open and curious, keeping the edges soft, noticing The Breadcrumbs as they appear. It’s about leaning into the mystery of what’s here now, rather than waiting for hindsight to make it clear.
When I think about being connected, beginner magic comes to mind.
That hopeful, nervous, excited energy that flirts with possibility—the kind that comes from showing up without assumptions, just the joy of doing the thing.
In just one essay, Substack helped to uncover a new layer to Connected.
Connected to the joy of saying: Here’s my heart, my ideas, my truth—what resonates?
So here’s to dropping the entitlement.
To putting down the pressure.
And to reclaiming beginner magic.
To leading not from proclaimed authority, but from connection.
To the vulnerability and leadership of, here’s my heart—what resonates?
This is the kind of leader I devoted to being: one who shows up fresh every day, curious and open.
The kind who asks—with excitement—What’s possible here? and trusts the process of discovering the answer.
Love this! I remember sitting and writing one of my first blog posts feeling giddy and in awe that “some people do this for a LIVING!”
I love the idea of reclaiming that energy.
“I didn’t realize I’d fallen into a sense of jadedness around creation—a blasé outlook on my ideas being put out into the world.”
Delicious and could not resonate more!