The People On My Team

July 21, 2026

One of the most important things I’ve learned about myself over the years is that I need people on my team.

Not just people who are good at what they do.

Not just people who genuinely care about me.

Both.

I’ve learned that competence without care feels transactional.

Care without competence isn’t enough when the stakes are high.

The people who have changed my life have almost always possessed both.

I met with my primary care provider yesterday, someone who has cared for me for nearly ten years.

I made the appointment because I thought I might be depressed.

The truth is, it wasn’t the first time the thought had crossed my mind.

Over the winter my therapist and I had circled back to the question several times.

Each time I reached the same conclusion.

“I’m okay.”

“I’m just tired.”

“I’m just stressed.”

“I’m carrying an unreasonable amount.”

And all of those things were true.

I was tired.

I was stressed.

I had been carrying more than most people should ever have to carry.

After years of grief, trauma, public leadership, loss, enormous responsibility, and one major life transition after another, it made sense that life was heavy.

Then I went to Seattle.

About a week and a half into my trip, something unexpected happened.

The weight I’d been carrying shed off of me.

One morning I realized I had gotten dressed, walked out the door, and started my day without first calculating how much energy it was going to cost me.

I wasn’t conserving myself anymore.

I was simply living.

That was the moment it hit me.

This wasn’t just what vacation felt like.

This was what I felt like when I wasn’t living under the constant weight I’d been carrying.

For the first time in a very long time, I had something to compare my everyday life to.

I realized that my quality of life had quietly diminished over the past year, and I hadn’t fully recognized it because it had happened so gradually.

I hadn’t ignored it.

I’d adapted to it.

Human beings are remarkably good at adapting.

We adapt to joy.

We adapt to hardship.

We adapt to extraordinary responsibility.

Eventually, what once would have felt impossible simply becomes normal.

It’s one of our greatest strengths.

Sometimes it’s also our greatest blind spot.

Sitting in Seattle, I knew I needed more help than I could provide for myself.

So I sent my primary care provider a message and asked if we could talk when I got home.

When we sat down together, instead of simply agreeing that I was depressed or immediately writing a prescription, she did what she’s always done.

She listened.

She asked thoughtful questions.

She looked beyond the symptom that brought me into the office and considered the whole picture—something only possible because we’d spent nearly ten years building a relationship.

And together, we realized something important.

This wasn’t depression in the way I had assumed.

It was a nervous system that had spent years adapting to extraordinary circumstances.

Then she said something I’ll probably remember for a very long time.

“This isn’t a brain chemistry problem. It’s a situation problem.”

I felt my shoulders drop.

Until that moment, part of me wondered if something inside me had simply stopped working.

Instead, she helped me understand that my mind and body were responding exactly as one might expect after years of carrying more than any one person should have to carry.

She didn’t just change my treatment plan approach.

She changed how I understood myself.

Instead of treating depression, we talked about situational anxiety and the feeling of dread that had begun showing up before everyday tasks.

We talked about ways to interrupt that cycle, including a medication to use when that anxiety starts to build—not because I’m broken, but because sometimes a nervous system that’s been carrying too much for too long needs a little help.

Ironically, the medication wasn’t what stayed with me.

What stayed with me was feeling deeply understood.

At the end of the appointment, she reminded me that I had been through an enormous amount and had handled it remarkably well.

She encouraged me to be kind to myself, to keep making room for joy and connection, and reminded me that things were moving in a positive direction.

I left that appointment feeling profoundly grateful.

Not simply because I have an exceptional health care provider

.

But because I have someone on my team.

Someone who knows my story.

Someone who remembers where I’ve been.

Someone who thinks carefully enough to challenge my assumptions and cares deeply enough to help me understand myself with compassion.

I’ve come to realize that relationships like this are precious.

They’re built over years.

Through consistency.

Through trust.

Through someone choosing, appointment after appointment, conversation after conversation, to see the whole person instead of only the problem sitting in front of them.

The appointment reminded me that this isn’t just what I want from healthcare.

It’s become the standard I hold for every important relationship in my life.

My therapist.

The coaches I’ve hired.

The leaders I’ve worked for.

My closest friends.

The partners who didn't meet the standard.

And the future partner who will.

I want people on my team.

People with sharp minds and generous hearts.

People who care enough to celebrate my successes, tell me hard truths with kindness, and walk beside me through the difficult seasons.

I’ve spent enough of my life in relationships that were transactional, conditional, or emotionally distant to know that isn’t enough for me anymore.

Just as importantly, this isn’t only what I want to receive.

It’s what I want to give.

When I lead, I want people to trust both my preparation and my heart.

When I coach, I want people to feel challenged and deeply supported.

When I serve alongside others, I want them to know I’m invested in their success.

When I love someone, I want them to know, without question, that I’m in their corner.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that one of the greatest predictors of the quality of my life isn’t just the decisions I make.

It’s the people I invite onto my team.

I’m deeply grateful for the people who have chosen to stand on mine.

They’ve shaped me in ways they’ll probably never fully know.

They’ve challenged me.

Steadied me.

Believed in me.

Helped me see myself more clearly.

They've loved me, when I didn't know that I was loveable.

And they’ve taught me one of the most important lessons of my life.

We’re not meant to do this alone.

The quality of our lives is shaped, in no small part, by the people we choose to have on our team.

I’m incredibly grateful for mine.