Where most emails sell, mine spoke clearly.

With no roadmap, no budget, and no templates worth keeping, I rebuilt our marketing funnel from scratch—starting with email.

I ditched sales-speak and started writing like I was sitting across from someone. To find leads, I followed what made sense—looking at the kinds of companies we’d actually helped, figuring out who made decisions there, and speaking to what mattered. The result? Open rates climbed past 50%, and responses turned into real conversations.

This mindset shaped everything else I touched—from social posts to website copy to how we handled client check-ins onsite. Marketing was never about selling. It was always about clarity, timing, and sounding like someone worth listening to.

Conference chaos and quiet fixes.

At one of our largest shows—9,000 attendees on Day 1—things broke. Temps were overwhelmed, software faltered, and the line kept growing. I stepped in. I kept the line moving, addressed issues before they reached the client, and took the brunt of attendee frustration so others could keep pace.

I’ve handled hundreds of moments like this. It’s where I thrive—diffusing stress, making people feel seen, and figuring out what needs to happen. Sometimes it’s logistics. Sometimes it’s listening. Once, it was discussing poetry.

Lessons from litigation and working in the background.

My boss called me “Switchblade.” Not because I was harsh—but because I was sharp, precise, and unmovable. When opposing counsel tried to push boundaries, I pushed back—firmly, professionally, and only when necessary. I protected the integrity of his work the way you'd guard a front door—with discretion and readiness.

I knew what he needed before he asked, provided context before he had to search for it, and made sure we were never caught flat-footed—in court or anywhere else.

Whether it was preparing case files, reviewing documents for loopholes, or handling last-minute filings with no margin for error, I loved the structure and clarity of legal work. But more than that, I loved being the trusted right-hand. It taught me how to manage detail, protect integrity, and communicate with calm authority—even under pressure.

Promotional work and the start of culture change.

As a promotional assistant for collegiate sports, I started noticing something off: students weren’t showing up, and when they did, they didn’t care. There was a disconnect between the athletic program and the student body—one rooted in perception more than performance.

So I spoke up. I shared what I was hearing, offered ideas that aligned with what students actually valued, and helped reframe how events were positioned. We brought in better incentives, refreshed our visuals, and adjusted our tone. Slowly, things shifted. Students showed up. They stayed. They cared. And eventually, I was promoted beyond the internship because I kept showing up with ideas that worked.

That was the first time I realized I had a knack for spotting gaps—between people and perception—and helping bridge them. That instinct still drives my work.

Lessons from the front lines of a college campus.

At the front desk of my college, I talked with everyone—from prospective students and alumni to parents on the verge of panic. I quickly realized: people don’t just need answers—they need understanding. So I made a cheat sheet for the niche questions no one could ever quite remember (other departments adopted it—and they still use it today), and I turned tense, frustrating moments into calm conversations that made people feel heard.

This job sparked everything. My love for creating clarity. My joy in helping people feel seen. My belief that trust is built in moments that don’t always look like marketing—but they are.