Each year, as the anniversary of my heart surgery approaches, I find myself reflecting not just on what I went through, but on what it gave me.
For much of my life, I was doing what many women in leadership do best: showing up, pushing through, and performing at a high level. From the outside, everything looked strong and steady. But internally, something wasn’t operating the way it was designed to. I was living with a faulty heart valve, something I didn’t cause, couldn’t see, and didn’t fully understand at the time. What I did know was that I was often exhausted, pushing past limits that didn’t seem to affect others in the same way.
Like many leaders, I normalized it.
In the industries I serve, particularly alongside reliability professionals, there’s a deep understanding of systems. We know the importance of predictive and preventative maintenance. We look for early warning signs. We analyze data. We intervene before failure happens. But sometimes, even with the best care and attention, a system still requires repair, not because it was neglected, but because it came into operation with a flaw.
That was my story.
When I finally received the diagnosis, everything shifted. The words “you need surgery” have a way of bringing clarity. Suddenly, pushing through was no longer a badge of honor. It was a risk. Ignoring the problem wasn’t strength. It was avoidance.
And here’s the truth that changed everything for me. Repair is not failure.
As women, especially those of us leading in male populated industries, we can carry an unspoken pressure to keep going at all costs. To prove ourselves. To avoid showing weakness. To maintain output, no matter what’s happening beneath the surface. But what I learned through my heart journey is that stepping away for repair isn’t falling behind. It’s making sure you can move forward.
My surgery didn’t take anything away from me. It restored me.
On the other side, I experienced something I hadn’t fully known before. Capacity. More energy. More clarity. More courage. I wasn’t just surviving my days. I was living them. And that shift didn’t just impact my health. It transformed how I lead, how I advocate, and how I show up for other women.
Because here’s what I now know. When a system is healthy, it performs differently. And so do we.
This anniversary is more than a marker of time. It’s a reminder. A reminder to listen sooner. To advocate for ourselves and others. To pay attention to the quiet signs before they become loud problems. And to release the belief that we have to earn our worth through exhaustion.
In leadership, in life, and even in the work of reliability, the goal isn’t just to avoid failure. It’s to create systems that can truly sustain and thrive.
Sometimes, that requires repair.
And sometimes, that repair is the very thing that unlocks everything you were created to do.
