A reprogramming, told in pieces, as it happens.
The chronicle of a woman who was trained to be a machine, learning to be a human in real time.
Did You Human Today is the body of work I've been writing in my head for years and finally have the breath to write down. It's about the cost of excellence when excellence is the only thing you were taught was lovable. About the long work of remembering you have a body, and the body has a name, and the name has a story that doesn't begin with what other people needed from you.
It comes two ways. A podcast — me, riffing, raw — for the moments you want to hear it in my voice. And essays — slower, deeper, with the context the voice can't carry — for when you want to sit with the words.
They share source material. They aren't the same thing. Listen for one. Read for the other. Both for the full picture.
The cost was my humanity. I just paid it in installments small enough that I never noticed the bill.
Six years ago I started this. I wasn't ready then. I'm ready now. This is the episode that explains the why behind everything — why this exists, why it took this long, and what it cost me to finally say it out loud.
By day I'm a strategist and systems builder. I've spent most of my adult life inside Fortune 500 boardrooms — building the kind of infrastructure that makes the biggest companies in the world run.
I've launched multimillion-dollar businesses. I've helped launch thousands more for others. And I've held more in my hands than most people would believe.
Did You Human Today is the other part of me. It's the woman behind the systems. It's where I bear my soul and tell the truth about what it has cost me to be the kind of woman who could hold all of that.
I'm going to tell you things I haven't told anyone. Some of it is hard to say aloud. Some of it will be funny. Some of it is the kind of thing you only tell your best friend — and then still, you hesitate.
The microphone, the kindergarten promise, the good girl, the contract I signed before I could read. The stories that built the machine before I knew it was being built.
The corporate towers, the rooms I held my own in, the cost of running flawlessly for too long. The night I finally couldn't anymore.
Right now. Real-time. Grief I did not ask for. A body finally being heard. A softer chapter being chosen instead of survived. The unfolding, as it happens.
Slower. Deeper. Shaped for the page. Each piece is a complete thing — the context the voice can't carry, the details that take longer to earn. Delivered to your inbox when something is alive enough to be told honestly.
Raw. In my voice. The version where you hear me think through it in real time — before the edits, before the shapeliness. For the moments you need to hear that someone else is figuring it out too.