The Moment I Realized I Was Meant to Coach Women

 

“The Moment I Realized I Was Meant to Coach Women”

Some callings arrive with fireworks.

Mine didn’t.

Mine came softly — through a long line of women who carried light long before I knew how to see it.

Before I ever knew the word “coach,” God planted my calling in the story of a woman who loved my mom.

My mom grew up in a children’s home.

One faithful woman stepped in, invested in her, and changed her life.

Because someone poured into her, I grew up with a mother who loved fiercely and faithfully.

That is where my calling quietly began — in the ripple effect of someone else’s obedience.

By the time I reached college, I was spiritually empty and emotionally numb.

Raised in Boulder — beautiful, intellectual, skeptical Boulder — I had been shaped by a worldview that dismissed faith entirely.

My dad openly mocked Christianity.

I learned early to hide my emotions, to cope by numbing, to survive by blending in.

But underneath all that avoiding and performing, I was longing for something real.

One night, I wandered into a tiny Bible study across the street from my sorority.

And God met me there.

Laura became a gentle guide — not with shame, not with pressure, but with Scripture and presence.

Week after week, she showed me a Jesus who was tender, patient, and pursuing.

Hebrews 12:1–3 became the first passage I ever memorized.

It taught me that transformation didn’t come from striving harder, but from fixing my eyes on the One who had been writing my story all along.

That season awakened something deep inside me:

If God could use one woman to change my life,

maybe He could someday use me to walk with other women through their own becoming.

After college, another mentor stepped in — showing me faith lived out in the everyday: dishes, decisions, grief, joy, Monday mornings.

She taught me the unforced rhythms of grace.

Then adulthood brought deeper layers of healing — the kind you don’t expect but desperately need.

Childhood trauma surfaced: sexual, physical, verbal.

I began facing the parts of me that learned to survive through people-pleasing, silence, and self-erasing.

Through therapy, discipleship, nervous system work, and the patient whisper of the Holy Spirit, I slowly found my voice again.

Healing gave me back pieces of myself I didn’t know I’d lost.

And as God rebuilt me, something became clear:

Coaching wasn’t a hobby or a plan.

It was who I had always been becoming.

Because guides changed me.

Mentors formed me.

Safe people healed me.

Discipleship steadied me.

And Jesus held me through all of it.

So now I spend my life doing the same — walking with women in their becoming.

Helping them hear the voice of their Shepherd.

Reminding them who they are.

Cheering for them as they heal, grow, and rise.

This is my sacred work.

My holy ground.

The honor of my life.

And if God allows me, I’ll spend the rest of my days helping women live loved, grounded, joyful, and fully alive — one brave step at a time.