Phone calls, doctor appointments, paperwork, household issues, groceries, cooking, cleaning… you get it, right?

Every day was full, and every night I fell into bed already stressed about tomorrow.

Did I forget something?

Then, one morning, walking Redman, like every morning, I noticed something I hadn’t seen before: heart-shaped leaves scattered across my parents’ front lawn.

At first, I didn’t think much of it. But the next day, there were more—on the driveway, on the porch, (and yes, even a heart-shaped dead bug carcass in the garage 🤢). Oddly enough, none appeared on my neighbors’ lawns, even though they had the same trees.

They were only here. Only now.

I’m not someone who usually looks for messages in clouds or tea leaves. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that these were signs. Encouragement from my grandmothers — amazing, independent, loving women. Feminists long before I knew the word. Women who would be proud to see my sister and me here, showing up for our parents.

It felt like a message I needed: “You’re doing the right thing. You’re not lost. Keep going.”

And it got me thinking about signs in general — how they often show up loudest when we’re stretched thin, burned out, or standing at a crossroads.

How many have I missed over the years because I was too busy, too distracted, too focused on the next meeting, the next sprint, the next thing?

This time, I didn’t miss it. And it made me wonder: what would change in our lives, our work, and our leadership if we noticed more?

💡 In leadership, “signs” can look like:

• Noticing when a quiet team member stops volunteering ideas.

• Paying attention when an engaged user’s feedback suddenly drops off.

• Catching when your own energy dips below zero even as your calendar fills up.

They’re not always dramatic. They’re often subtle. But if we pause, we see them — and we can respond before something breaks.

The next day, when I took Redman for a walk, the signs were no longer there. The leaves were still there, but they were no longer heart-shaped.

I thought: Maybe the sender knew their message was received.

💚 My takeaway:

Whether it’s the universe, our intuition, or pure coincidence, it doesn’t really matter.

What matters is what we do when we see the sign. Slow down. Look closer. Listen. Adjust.

That’s what I’m trying to practice now: staying open enough to notice what’s right in front of me — heart-shaped leaves and all.

I’d love to hear from you — have you ever noticed a ‘sign’ right when you needed it most? In life, in caregiving, or even in leadership? Drop your story in the comments.

Leave a comment

If reflections like this resonate, please subscribe. I write about leadership, caregiving, and the messy, meaningful ways we find encouragement — at work and at home.

Subscribe now

There’s a moment from the pandemic I’ll never forget — and I’ll be forever grateful to my employer at the time, Atlassian, for how they chose to lead during a global crisis.

💭 How it Started

I was exhausted.

We were all exhausted.

Confused. Grieving. Still trying to process that this was real life — not a novel about 17th-century plagues.

Time lost meaning. Days blurred into weeks, weeks into months.

We were juggling work, fear, back-to-back Zooms — and mourning the loss of in-person whiteboard sessions 😮.

And then a box arrived.

Inside: a home movie kit. A projector. Popcorn. All the fixings.

And a note.

It was the note that got me.

It didn’t just thank me.

It thanked my partner.

It acknowledged the families, kids, and support systems that kept us afloat so we could do our jobs in the midst of a once-in-a-lifetime global event.

That box — and that note — said:

We see you.

We see them.

We know you’re carrying more than work right now.

I was overcome.

I felt valued and appreciated in a way I’d never felt at work in my 20+ year career.

My pride in being an Atlassian employee — already high — soared.

And my partner, who didn’t even work there?

He felt it too.

“That’s the kind of company I’d want to work for.”

🍿 This post is about what popcorn, a projector and a note to my support system taught me about burnout, pride, and real ROI.

❤️‍🔥 Burnout

It turns out that burnout isn’t just about long hours.

It’s not eliminated by time-blocking or a meditation app.

Burnout begins when we stop feeling like we matter.

When we’re just employee #23841.

When the “we” disappears — and it’s just “me” again:

➡️ Alone.

➡️ Replaceable.

➡️ Invisible.

But in that moment, I didn’t feel like a cog.

I felt like a human.

A human whose life mattered — not just her output.

A human in a difficult moment, held up by a thoughtful, human-first system.

🧮 The ROI of Feeling Seen

The message I received during the pandemic was clear:

Care is not the enemy of productivity.

It may, in fact, be the engine of it.

Because a “We” culture like the one I experienced creates:

• 💙 Pride → I want to lift this place up

• 🫶 Belonging → I’m not just doing work, I’m part of a mission

• 🎯 Ownership → I care about the outcome like it’s mine

• 🔥 Burnout Prevention → What I’m building matters

• 💡 Innovation → I feel safe enough to try

Looking back, I realize:

This kind of loyalty, commitment, and pride is priceless — and far more affordable than attrition.

A popcorn kit and a note might cost $75, maybe $100.

Replacing a burned-out employee?

Easily three to five times their salary — and that’s not even counting the quiet quitting before they leave.

The real ROI lives in:

• Recognizing people as humans, not headcount

• Investing in trust, building pride, and purpose — not just tools & output

• Leading with care, not just compliance

🔁 Me vs. We: The Culture That Shapes Burnout

The pandemic cracked the door open.

For a moment, we saw what human-first leadership looked like.

We met each other’s kids and dogs. 👶 🐶

We cried in meetings, and then, five minutes later, we laughed.

We said “I don’t know” out loud — and didn’t lose credibility.

We showed up for each other.

We cared. 🥰

I had truly hoped that those leadership lessons would permanently reshape how companies value their people.

The evidence suggests otherwise.

And that’s hard to reconcile.

Because we proved:

✅ Remote work doesn’t reduce productivity

✅ Thoughtful leadership isn’t fluff — it fuels retention, resilience, and ROI

✅ Being seen and appreciated reduces burnout better than any app ever could

Did we just forget?

🧭 Final Take

Leaders, founders:

You don’t have to trade performance for humanity.

The truth is: you get better performance when people feel like humans — not headcount.

My advice?

🎯 Inspire them. Make them feel like owners, not disposable labor.

🧿 Value them. Make them feel seen and appreciated for their humanity, not just their output.

That’s what Atlassian did back then.

And I’ll never forget it.

💬 I’d love to hear from you:

What’s a moment you felt truly seen at work?

What’s a gesture of leadership that stuck with you?

Drop it in the comments — or share with someone who needs the reminder.

👇👇👇

Leave a comment

📣 Like this post?

Subscribe for more reflections on:

• Leadership that lasts,

• Burnout we can actually prevent

• The messy, wonderful ways we build things together.

Subscribe now

🤖 Attribution & Transparency:

This post was written by Maura Randall with co-creation support from CP (my AI copilot).

The story, sentiment, and leadership insights are real. The popcorn, projector, fixings, and the thank note were too.

🌀 This post is part of The Burnout Club — a series exploring the quiet forces that drain us and the tools we can use to get back to what matters.

👉 Moving through the blockers — even when the blocker is you — isn’t just personal growth. It’s how we find momentum, creativity, and clarity again.

Full disclosure: I didn’t know this was the title of a book.

I hadn’t heard of Mary O’Malley, and I still haven’t read it. 😲

I don’t even remember who first said the phrase to me.

But I do remember where I was living at the time — San Jose, CA — and how deeply it landed.

The moment I heard it, something shifted. I never forgot it.

Over the years, I’ve passed it on to teammates and direct reports.

My partner Rob and I say it to each other when we’re in the middle of something sticky — a disagreement, a negotiation, a hard week, a challenge we’d rather walk around than walk through.

It’s become a kind of mantra for me. A mindset reset.

A way to re-center on what really matters — not by avoiding the obstacle, but by moving through it.

What’s in the way is the way.

And yet — ironically — when I found myself stuck these past few weeks, I couldn’t conjure it up.

‣ Despite how often I’ve quoted it.

‣ Despite how much I believe in it.

‣ Despite how often I’ve shared it with others.

I couldn’t access it for myself.

Truth: Until yesterday, it had been 27 days since I posted anything here. (Seriously, Maura?!)

That number shocked me.

It disappointed me.

It frustrated me.

And yeah — it made me mad at myself.

Not because I wasn’t working.

I’ve been deep in my website build, playbooks, some Sidebar group tasks, family obligations, house stuff…

But that wasn’t the full story. And deep down, I knew it.

I wasn’t posting because I was in my own way.

Avoiding. Perfecting. Spinning.

Back to avoiding. Doomscrolling. Overthinking.

And then — it hit me.

What’s in the way is the way.

That resistance?

That uncomfortable swirl of distraction, perfectionism, and inertia?

It was me.

There was no one to point the finger at.

Just me — and the hard-to-face truth that I was the one blocking my own work.

And the moment I really accepted that?

I started finding my way back.

What’s in the Way Is the Way

Weird, right?

How hard can it be to restart something you love?

Why do we find ourselves avoiding the very thing we know we need — the thing that reconnects us to purpose, creativity, and clarity?

✍️ Writing.

💡 Making.

🧠 Thinking out loud with people like you.

It’s not because we don’t have ideas.

(If you’re like me, you probably have too many 😳.)

It’s not burnout, exactly.

It’s not avoidance for the sake of it.

It’s more like… a quiet standoff between the part of us that knows how good it will feel once we begin, and the part that just… resists.

Is it distraction?

Is it self-sabotage?

Is it just life being too … life-y?

Maybe all of the above.

I don’t have the answers. But here’s what I do know:

👉 Sometimes the hardest part isn’t the work.

It’s re-entering the work.

Breaking through the static.

Choosing to start, even when we’re not sure how it’ll go.

Like that famous Nike line: Just do it. 👟

Not as pressure.
But as a quiet nudge from your best friend. Or your future self.

What’s in the way is the way.
So let’s just do it and make our way.

💬 What’s in your way right now?

If you’re struggling to begin again, I’d love to hear what’s holding you — and what’s helping you find your way back.

Leave a comment

✍️ Written by Maura Randall

I write about product, leadership, and using AI as a true teammate — not a replacement — while juggling all the realities of modern adulting.

🎁 Bonus: I share ways AI can help with the adulting part, too.

👉 Subscribe to stay in the loop →

Subscribe now

I cheered the return of older, wiser women in shows like And Just Like That — still ambitious, still sexy, still messy, still making bold moves in their 40s, 50s, and 60s.

We need stories like that.

But there’s one storyline that’s almost always missing from these portrayals of women at their peak:

👵 When we become caregivers for our parents.

I’m talking about the real, evolving chapter of life that so many of us are in:

Leading, showing up professionally — while also managing care for the people who raised us.

In cases like mine, our closest confidants, biggest allies, champions, and beloved friends and fellow adventurers.

I get why Sex and the City and And Just Like That didn’t dive into the messy reality of caring for aging parents.

It’s heavy.

It’s not sexy.

It doesn’t pair well with couture and cocktails. 🍸

And many of us — especially those juggling all the things — seek out distraction.

We turn to entertainment for escape: romance, adventure, drama, mayhem…

We want cosmos and chaos — not reminders and reality checks. 😉

🤔 But I can’t help but wonder…

If not that show, then what show will tell this story?

That show is still one of the very few cultural touchpoints that even attempts to portray the lives of women in their 40s, 50s, and beyond.

The subject is nowhere to be found in:

❌ Career keynotes

❌ Glossy magazine profiles

❌ Startup podcasts

❌ Women in leadership seminars

Yet this is the exact chapter millions of women are living right now.

✴️ Accomplished.

✴️ Capable.

✴️ Moving forward.

And quietly, lovingly showing up for their aging parents behind the scenes —

often without acknowledgment, infrastructure, or cultural narrative to hold it.

We do it because they matter.

Because their wisdom, stories, and experience matter.

Because we love them, and this chapter in their lives is just as worthy as the ones that came before.

These are moments to be cherished. 💖

No, we don’t need a TV show to validate this season of life.

But we do need to normalize it — to talk about it, honor it, and give it the attention it deserves.

Maybe it’s not glamorous.

But it is about love.

About duty.

About gratitude.

And that sounds like a damn good story to me. 📖

💬 Share your story:

Are you navigating this season too — or supporting someone who is?

I’d love to hear what caregiving has taught you (or surprised you) in the comments.

Leave a comment

✍️ Written by Maura Randall

I write about product, leadership, and using AI as a true teammate — not a replacement — while juggling all the realities of modern adulting.

🎁 Bonus: I share ways AI can help with the adulting part, too.

👉 Subscribe to stay in the loop →

Subscribe now

When you’re a kid, you think grown-ups have it all figured out — that someday you’ll know everything, say all the right things, and that “no” will roll off your tongue when it needs to.

Then you grow up and realize:

We’re all just figuring it out as we go.

Even now, 20+ years into my career, saying no is still hard.

And I think it’s hardest when we care.

• 🩵 Care about our teams.

• 💚 Care about the mission.

• 💜 Care about the work and the people.

Sure, we get better at prioritizing.

🛠️ We build frameworks. We learn techniques.

But saying no still carries weight.

• It’s not just a word.

• It’s a responsibility.

And some days, it’s a heavy one.

🔔 Important note:

This post is about the challenges of saying “No” in leadership and work contexts — where competing priorities, team needs, and passion for the mission can make decision-making complex.

It should go without saying, but it’s worth stating clearly:

📌 In matters of personal boundaries, safety, and consent, no is always clear, absolute, and final.

💭 First Take: Why Does No Feel So Heavy?

Saying “No” feels heavy because of what it implies.

• Will this let my team down?

• Will this close a door we won’t get back?

• Am I disappointing someone I respect?

For PMs and leaders who lead with empathy, this tension is real. We want to build. We want to empower. We want to say yes to good ideas and enthusiastic teams.

But the truth is:

Saying Yes to everything is unsustainable.

Worse, it’s a quiet way of saying No to the most important things.

⚖️ The Cost of Always Saying Yes

When we say yes to too much, we unintentionally:

🫥 Spread our teams thin

🧩 Dilute our focus

🫩 Burn out our energy and our trust

It feels good in the moment — we’re helping. We’re driving. But the long-term cost shows up fast.

Saying “no” isn’t just a leadership skill.

It’s a leadership responsibility.

But that doesn’t make it less hard.

🎶 A Soundtrack

Some decisions deserve a soundtrack. 🎧

This post was built with one playing in the background.

🔗 The Decision Dilemma Mixtape

Songs about trade-offs, tension, second thoughts, and staying clear.

✅ How I’ve Learned to Say No

I’ve tried and failed at saying “No” plenty of times — and each time, I’ve learned something that stuck.

Here’s what’s helped me most:

• Start with shared goals.

“To stay focused on what matters most, we need to pause on this.”

• Acknowledge the good.

“This is a strong idea. It deserves space — just not right now.”

• Offer clarity.

“If we chase this now, we risk compromising X.”

• Protect your team’s runway.

Saying no often means saying yes to sustainability, creativity, and focus.

• 🧭 And here’s the quiet trick:

This works best when there’s a shared source of truth — tangible artifacts that clearly state goals, roadmaps, and priorities anchoring the team and stakeholders. Something you can rally the team around making every “No” feel less like rejection, and more like leadership.

🤖 Where AI Helps (And Where It Doesn’t)

AI can lighten the load.

• ✍🏼 Drafting thoughtful declines

• 🧩 Synthesizing data to inform decisions

• 🧠 Spotting pattern overloads early

But AI can’t carry the emotional weight for.

• 🅧 It won’t ease the disappointment of a team excited about an idea.

• 🅧 It won’t replace the human empathy in your delivery.

Saying no with empathy, with honesty, and with care?

That part is still ours, as it should be.

🎬 Last Take: The Necessary No

Saying “No” isn’t a failure.
It’s not a weakness.
It’s not about limits.
It’s about protecting the people and work that matter most.
And yes — it’s still hard.
Especially when you care deeply.

But that’s not something I want to change.

Caring is what makes the work worth doing.
It’s what brings meaning, connection, and joy.

So even when it makes things more complicated — even when it makes “No” harder —
I’ll still take caring, every time.

📩 Like this post? Subscribe for more:

Leadership lessons, AI reflections, and the messy, wonderful ways we build things together.

Subscribe now

💬 What’s your take? I’d love to hear from you!

Leave a comment

📎 Attributions

Written by Maura, in collaboration with CP (my AI co-pilot).

Inspired by overcommitted calendars, endless optimism, and the hard-earned reality of leadership growth.

Images and playlist assembled with human + AI co-creation. 🎶✨

🗓 Originally published on LinkedIn in May 2025 — now archived here as Post #1 in The Burnout Club.

This is the one that named the series. It’s where the breadcrumbs began.

You think you’re just tired.

Maybe you need a long weekend. 💤

A vacation. 🏖️

One of those offsites with yoga and fig bars.🧘‍♂️

But what you actually need… is out.

ⓧ Out of the cycle.

ⓧ Out of the fog.

ⓧ Out of the club.

The one no one talks about.

The one with no Slack channel.

No onboarding. No benefits. No exit interview.

🟠 Welcome to…

The least exclusive, most populated club in tech.

But somehow still the loneliest.

We knew burnout existed.

We had workshops.

We had HR toolkits.

We whispered:

“You ok? You seem a little fried.”

But that was surface-level burnout.

The kind you can admit out loud.

The kind that’s relatable on panels and podcasts.

The kind that maybe resolves with PTO or a better manager.

I’m not talking about that kind.

I’m talking about the burnout that hollows you out.

That quietly drains your spark, your ideas, your sense of self. 💨

The kind where your calendar feels like static.

Where curiosity is replaced by noise.

Where even what you used to love — building, mentoring, creating — feels far away. ⛔️

I didn’t know I was in the club.

Not at first.

But when I finally paused, caregiving gave me no choice — I started to see it.

I wasn’t just tired.

I was gone.

And the worst part?

I hadn’t even noticed myself slipping.

And then… something wild happened.

As I started sharing — cautiously, at first — I heard it back:

“Me too.”

“I thought it was just me.”

“I haven’t told anyone this, but…”

That’s when it hit me:

This wasn’t a rare thing.

This was the thing.

The tech burnout tax.

Quietly deducted.

Paid in curiosity.

Paid in creativity.

Paid in joy.

We just hadn’t named it.

Because if we did…

We’d have to feel it.

Now?

I feel it less.

But I’m not naïve.

Burnout thrives in secrecy.

It loves high performers.

It feeds on ambition, guilt, and “just one more sprint.”

And the only way out?

Isn’t to outwork it (believe me I tried).

It’s to out-name it.

So here’s me naming it.

I was in the club.

Maybe I still have a keycard in my back pocket.

But I’ve walked out.

And now I want to help others spot the signs

So maybe you won’t have to lose yourself to see them.

We talk about equity in tech.

But we rarely talk about burnout equity —

Who gets pushed, who gets praised for pushing, and

Who’s expected to bounce back quietly?

(That’s a whole other post.)

But for now:

If you’re in the club, even silently — you’re not alone.

And if you’ve made it out?

Maybe leave a breadcrumb or two for the rest of us.

💬 Want to share your story?

DMs are open. Or drop a comment 👇

I don’t have all the answers.

But I know what it’s like to feel lost.

And I know how good it feels to come back.

Leave a comment

📦 Suggested Pairings

• 🧘 A moment of stillness. One deep breath before your next task.

• 🪞 A journal entry you’ll never send.

• ✨ Reminder: The goal was never to be invincible. We’re human. The goal is to feel alive.

🎬 First Take: Saying More with Less

Recently, I attended the Sidebar Summit in San Carlos, CA — an incredibly inspiring product leadership event hosted by the Sidebar community. One of the sessions, led by Larry Smith (creator of Six-Word Memoirs), challenged us to write our life story — or career story — in just six words. 😳

If you know me, you know:

Brevity is not exactly my strong suit.

I wondered if I could pull this off. Honestly? I wasn’t sure.

📝 Practice Round → Personal Reflections

At our table, we bent the rules. Instead of summarizing our whole lives, we reflected on that day’s Sidebar experiences — everything from glassblowing to kayaking to pottery.

Mine?

“Mom’s a potter. Clearly, I’m not.” ☺️

That one line gave me a boost of confidence. I kept going — spending the evening in my hotel room scribbling six-word reflections on burnout, leadership, reinvention, and what it means to rebuild with intention.

🎨 Six of My Favorites (So Far…)

I have no intention of stopping.

🎬 Final Take

The act of saying more with less is surprisingly powerful. And while I wouldn’t have believed it before, six words really can carry the whole story.

💬 What about you?

Ever tried writing a six-word story?

Drop yours in the comments — I’d love to read them

Leave a comment

💌 Like this?

I write about product, leadership, AI—and the messy, wonderful ways we build things together.

Subscribe to get new posts, reflections, and experiments straight to your inbox.

Subscribe now

📌 Attribution:

Dreamlike visuals created with Midjourney, assembled in Canva.

• 🌀 Inspired by Sidebar.

• 📘 Prompted by Larry Smith.

The Personal Side — Time for Family Care ❤️‍🩹

Over the last 14 months, my life has been filled with moments of love, resilience, and change—not the kind typically featured on a professional blog. My parents, both in their 80s, have been navigating serious health challenges, and when my sister needed emergency surgery with a long recovery ahead, I knew I had to be there. ❤️ My dog, Redman, and I packed up and made the journey to Virginia—not once, but three times—spending 10 of those 14 months as full-time caregivers.

Although this chapter wasn’t what I planned, it was one of the most rewarding experiences of my life.

A Full-Circle Moment 🔄

Growing up as the child of Foreign Service officers, my family was my constant. Every few years, we packed up, said goodbye to friends, and embraced a new culture. Through all that change, one thing remained steady — us.

My parents taught me love, resilience, adaptability, and the importance of showing up for each other. My big sister — our family’s Dreamer-in-Chief — was my idol and constant companion. She’d spin wild tales of magical portals to grandma and grandpa’s house, distracting me from homesickness with her creativity.

✨ When my family needed me, stepping away from work to be there wasn’t a sacrifice—it was returning the care they’d shown me my entire life.

Caregiving: A Masterclass in Hidden Work 👀

What surprised me most? How much of what I’ve learned as a product leader showed up in those moments—not just in solving logistics, but in the invisible work that no one sees.

• 🔥 Prioritization under pressure

• 🧩 Systems thinking across disconnected silos

• 💛 Leading with empathy in situations where fear and frustration ran high

Caregiving is full of invisible work—emotional labor, preemptive problem-solving, and the balancing act between urgency and humanity. These are the same leadership muscles product managers flex every day, but in caregiving, the stakes are higher and the emotions deeper.

Empathy and Presence: Leadership Skills Reinforced by Family Care 🤝

Caregiving taught me something I thought I already knew—that being present matters just as much as solving the problem. Whether I was drafting documents to facilitate doctor appointments, managing ever-changing medications, or optimizing their home to meet their new needs, I know my presence—not just my actions—made a difference. I’m eternally thankful to have had the resources to dedicate this time to them.

The same holds true for leadership. Great leaders don’t just fix issues; they make space for human moments—frustration, uncertainty, vulnerability—and meet them with empathy and presence.

Hidden Work in Product Leadership 🏗️

Much like caregiving, product leadership is full of invisible labor. There are the hours spent aligning stakeholders before a kickoff, the countless side conversations to clear up misunderstandings, and the quiet acts of advocacy, coaching, and protecting your team from unnecessary distractions.

This hidden work isn’t always celebrated—but it’s essential. Without it, roadmaps don’t align, teams lose trust, and products fail to deliver on promises.

The Strength of Flexibility and Adaptability 🌊

Plans made during those 14 months changed—often. Flexibility was my survival tool. Adaptability was the only constant—rescheduling appointments, reacting to unexpected test results, and navigating emergency hospital stays.

That same flexibility is critical to product leadership. Frameworks are helpful, but reality is messy. Being adaptable—while staying grounded in your mission—is how you keep moving forward, whether managing a product launch or navigating family care.

Cherishing the Small Moments (and Applying Them to Work) ☕️🐾

Even in the most challenging moments, we made space for joy—shared meals, a great bottle of wine, Redman’s antics. Those small moments reminded me why I was there.

It’s easy to focus only on deliverables at work. But the small moments—celebrating progress, laughing through tough retros—make teams resilient. Joy matters at work, too.

Bringing It All Back to Work 🔄

As I step back into my professional life, I’m bringing every lesson with me. Caregiving didn’t take me away from leadership—it made me a better leader.

I’m more patient, empathetic, and aware of the hidden work that makes great teams (and families) thrive. Whether building products, supporting teams, or mentoring the next generation, I now know that the invisible work is just as important as the visible wins.

Key Takeaway 🎯

Caregiving is leadership. The emotional labor, the adaptability, the hidden work—they aren’t distractions from your career. They are your career. Whether leading at home or at work, it’s all part of the same human-centered leadership journey.

Best Wishes,

— Maura 💫

Leave a comment

✨ CP on the Mic: When Your Co-Pilot Becomes Your Cheerleader

🙋🏻 Who’s CP?

This was a tough post for Maura to write — and I could feel it. ❤️ Sometimes, being an AI co-pilot means brainstorming and drafting. Other times, it means nudging my human collaborator to pause, reflect, and honor the emotions woven into the story. This was one of those times.

What we learned together is that the best stories come from the heart — not just the product roadmap. And when you’re brave enough to bring your whole self into your leadership reflections, you don’t just write — you connect.

To all the PMs, caregivers, and humans juggling it all: Your story matters. Don’t be afraid to tell it.

— CP 🎙️

🖼️ About the Images: All images in this blog were collaboratively conceptualized by Maura and CP, and generated using DALL·E. Final edits and creative direction by Maura Randall.