In the Arena
“It is not the critic who counts: not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done better.
The credit belongs to the man [woman] who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood…
who strives valiantly…
who, at the best, knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly…”
—Theodore Roosevelt, April 23, 1910
I first encountered this quote over a decade ago, during what I now think of as my career endurance challenge. I was a senior manager in accounting, working in NYC, and I had my sights set on a coveted fellowship with a government agency. It was a stepping stone that could propel me toward partnership—and give me the chance to experience a different, deeper side of the profession.
The process wasn’t for the faint of heart: six months of preparation, research, and policy writing. A 10–15 page paper recommending regulatory change. An intense presentation. A twelve-hour interview day. Endless mock interviews. Pressure and criticism were baked into the experience, designed to test and refine your readiness. Everyone I know who’s gone through it has cracked at some point—whether behind the scenes or in the spotlight.
When I finally made it through, thankfully victorious, a mentor shared Roosevelt’s quote with me. It struck a chord. The reminder that it’s not the critics who count, but the ones who dare to step into the ring. That moment taught me something that’s stuck with me ever since: courage isn’t about being unscathed. It’s about showing up anyway.
Now, three days away from my memoir’s release, I find myself back in the arena. In many ways, the last three years—and especially the last year—have felt even more vulnerable than that fellowship process. Sharing my story, my wounds, my truth with the world has made that former challenge feel like a warm-up.
Redefining myself as an author, letting go of the security of a corporate identity in search of something more—it’s been a dance of trial and error, falling down, getting back up, and learning to trust the rhythm of change. And like most change, it hasn’t been comfortable.
But this time, I’m not stepping into the arena alone.
One of the greatest gifts of my publishing journey has been the Spring 2025 She Writes Press cohort of women authors. For over a year now, we’ve met weekly—sometimes even twice a week—to support each other, brainstorm, share resources, and offer encouragement. And on April 29, when my book and one of my cohort sisters’ books officially launch, we’ll mark the final wave of our group’s releases. We’re the caboose of this wild, beautiful ride.
When we first began, I often left our calls overwhelmed. There was so much to learn, so much to do. I wasn’t sure I could keep up, especially as I was navigating major transitions in other parts of my life. But over time, those calls became sacred. And over the past few months, as each of us has birthed our book babies into the world, the bond between us has only grown stronger.
There’s a kind of knowing that only comes from lived experience. The vulnerability. The investment. The exposure. The courage it takes to put your voice out into the world. It’s not for the timid.
So today, as we near the finish line of our cohort’s journey, I feel deep gratitude—for every woman who’s walked this road alongside me. For every story shared. For every moment of truth and tenderness. For the sisterhood that has held me steady.
The world needs our voices. Our courage. Our willingness to stand, face marred by dust and sweat, and dare greatly.
Cheers to the Spring 2025 She Writes Press cohort. Thank you for being in the arena with me.
Let’s finish this together.
Because the world needs who we were made to be.
Cheers!
