Why I had to talk about this in the upcoming docuseries.
There I was standing at my mother’s bedside in a New York City hospital. The room was too quiet. Machines humming. Air thick with something I didn’t yet have words for. A nurse leaned in gently and said, “Go ahead and talk to your mom; she can still hear you.” At that moment, something inside me dropped. Because I knew I would never hear her voice again.
What made it worse, what stayed with me, was this: we had been there all night. Right upstairs in the waiting room. Close enough to touch her, but not there when she took her last breath. My mother died alone. Our relationship wasn’t perfect. It was complicated. It had its share of ups and downs, but she was my mother, and I wasn’t there.
That reality doesn’t just break your heart; it rearranges you.
It didn’t start out that way. At first, she just wasn’t feeling well. Three years earlier, she had been diagnosed with breast cancer. And she was holding on to one thing: the four-year mark. The doctors told her if she made it there, she’d likely be cancer-free. So every day she was counting. Hoping. Pushing forward. Then suddenly she was in the hospital again. Only this time, there were no clear answers. Was it cancer? Was it something worse? No one could tell us.
Fear became my constant companion. Worry sat in my chest like it had taken up permanent residence. All I could think was: What are we going to do without her? The doctors said she was too weak for surgery. Too weak to even lie down in a bed. She spent weeks sleeping upright in a chair beside it. My sister and I fell into a rhythm that felt both necessary and unbearable. We’d work our 9-to-5 jobs, go straight to the hospital, sit with her, encourage her, and hold it together for her. Then when visiting hours ended and that final call rang out through the halls, we would leave. And then on that night, July 9, 1994… she left us. I didn’t know it then, but that moment, one of the most painful of my life, would become the catalyst for everything that came after.
After she passed, I went into a depression that lasted over a year. I had to fight my way back to myself. When I did, a thought came to me that was both terrifying and liberating at the same time. Thirteen months after my mother died, I became a mother. Suddenly, I was standing in a place I had never been before, raising a child without her guidance. No voice to call. That’s when it hit me: I could make my own rules. I had already been working in conflict resolution for nearly a decade. I understood communication. I understood human behavior, but now it was personal. My husband, who was also in the field, was all in. We were going to raise our son differently. Because we knew the culture we came from. “Children should be seen and not heard.” “Stay out of grown folks’ business.” “Don’t backtalk me.” “I’ll give you something to cry about.”
Those weren’t just phrases; they were rules that were unquestioned, unchallenged, passed down. We decided they would stop with us. I called it breaking culture. First in my home. Then in my work.
You can’t miss any episodes in the upcoming Making Of An Entrepreneur Docuseries, but you definitely don’t want to miss Episode 2. This turning point in my life changed me and transformed the way I do business, and I want you to know how that happened.
Produced by Che Brown, The Making Of An Entrepreneur shares the powerful stories behind the people and experiences that shaped eight entrepreneurs. In Episode 2, I reveal a defining moment that challenged everything I thought I knew and set me on a different path—one that continues to influence my work, leadership, and purpose today.
Get your popcorn and your tissues ready.
Watch the series June 22-26th, 2026, @12pm ET and meet the cast here.
