There’s a particular kind of burnout that doesn’t get enough airtime.

It doesn’t come from working too hard. It comes from needing to prove why you deserve to be in the room at all.

It’s not physical fatigue—it’s identity fatigue.

Have you ever noticed how being the “go-to” person feels like both a compliment and a curse?

People come to you with questions, problems, and crises because they trust you. You’re the one who gets it done. The one who knows the details, the processes, the pitfalls. You’re the fixer, the helper, the steady hands everyone relies on.

There’s a lot of noise in leadership circles right now about what companies “should” be doing when it comes to gender diversity.

When was the last time you looked up from the demands of your day and asked yourself:
“Where is this actually going?”

There's a moment in flight when the wheels lift from the runway -- when the rumble beneath you fades, the ground falls away, and everything suddenly becomes still. 

There’s a certain kind of loneliness that doesn’t come from being physically alone. It comes from being surrounded—yet completely unseen.

That’s what it feels like to be the only woman in the room.

Retaliation is the workplace consequence of courage. It’s what can happen after someone does the right thing: speaks up, reports harm, participates in an investigation, or advocates for fairness.

In aviation, we train for the unimaginable. We rehearse engine failures, electrical fires, catastrophic decompressions—not because we expect them, but because we know they might happen. Culture in the cockpit is not a perk—it is a prerequisite for safety.

Last week, I asked a question that sparked a flood of quiet nods and thoughtful messages:

“Have you ever quietly wondered if it’s time to leave your aviation/aerospace career?”

There’s a moment many of us women in aviation and aerospace face, though few of us speak it aloud:

👉🏼 Can I keep doing this?
👉🏼 How much more can I take?
👉🏼 Is it time to go?

What draws a woman into aviation?

Sometimes, it’s the spark of childhood wonder—a paper airplane tossed across a classroom. A commercial jet seen up close on a family vacation. A school project on Amelia Earhart that somehow turned into a lifelong obsession.

I’ve been in this industry for more than three decades. And in that time, I’ve weathered plenty of ups and downs—reorgs, buyouts, shutdowns, layoffs, rebrands, shifts in leadership, and changes in “strategic direction.”

This morning, the media exploded with headlines: “Historic all-female Blue Origin flight takes off!” It’s true—six women boarded New Shepard’s suborbital vehicle and successfully completed an 11-minute flight, crossing the Kármán line and experiencing a few minutes of weightlessness before safely returning to Earth.

Not long ago, I sent a straightforward and respectful connection request to an aviation executive on LinkedIn:

“With a 37-year career in aviation and aerospace, I am on a mission to exponentially increase the number of women in these industries. I would very much like to connect with you.”

I had the privilege of attending the opening session of WAI2025, where Lynda Coffman, CEO of Women in Aviation International, delivered what I can only describe as a thunderclap of a keynote. It wasn’t polished to perfection—it was raw, righteous, and real.

This week, Denver becomes the epicenter of aviation inspiration as the Women in Aviation International (WAI) Conference kicks off—right in our own backyard.