The Pearls Are Proof. I AM PROOF.
Two Years Outside of Corporate America | October 15, 2026
Some anniversaries we celebrate because something wonderful happened. Others we celebrate because we survived what came after.
Today, I celebrate both.
Two years ago, my life changed in ways I never could have imagined. I had spent most of my adult life building a career in corporate America: advising leaders, navigating difficult conversations, managing change, and being the one everyone counted on to figure things out. Then, suddenly, the life I needed to figure out was my own.
And BABY, what a journey these two years have been!
I went from helping organizations navigate change to living through some of the biggest changes of my own life.
No corporate title to introduce myself with. No familiar structure. No predictable next step.
Just me, my faith, my experience, and a whole lot of conversations with God.
And some of those conversations weren't pretty.
There were days I questioned everything. Days I missed the financial comfort of corporate life. Days I wondered when the next opportunity would come. I submitted applications, sat through interviews, entertained possibilities, weathered disappointments, and reminded myself more times than I care to admit that my professional value didn't disappear just because my circumstances changed.
I knew how to lead through change. I just never imagined how personal the lesson would become.
But even in the uncertainty, I kept creating.
BeeSeatedHere grew into more than an idea. It became a way to honor people, celebrate their stories, and create experiences that remind us how much it matters to be seen, loved, and remembered.
Along the way, I expanded my work as an independent consultant, drawing on decades of experience to advise organizations and help them navigate complex challenges. I discovered that my knowledge, my gifts, and my ability to make a difference were never dependent on a corporate title.
I didn't lose my professional identity. I learned to define it on my own terms.
I also returned to work in higher education, bringing my professional experience to situations that called for compassion, sound judgment, and the courage to navigate difficult conversations.
And somewhere between the uncertainty and the ambition, I wrote two books: Thresholds and a recipe book. Two very different expressions of who I am. One speaks to life's transitions. The other carries my love of food, family, and the memories we make around the table.
Two years. Two businesses. Two books.
Not bad for a woman who was supposed to be figuring out what came next!
But the greatest changes weren't professional.
They were personal.
Atlanta has seen versions of me that Nashville never knew. I've cried here. Prayed here. Celebrated here. Been disappointed here. Found peace here. And I've discovered that starting over doesn't always mean going backward.
My circle has gotten smaller. Much smaller.
Some relationships changed. Some people drifted. Others revealed that history doesn't always equal loyalty, and that sharing blood doesn't guarantee unconditional love.
I've learned that the people who genuinely love you don't require a title, a paycheck, or an explanation for every season of your life.
And the ones who stayed? Whew!
Their love has been one of my greatest blessings.
A dear friend recently told me something that stopped me in my tracks:
"You are generous with your directness."
I sat with that for a while.
I've always believed in saying what I mean, being honest about what I feel, and having the conversations other people tend to avoid. My intention has almost always been to help, to clarify, or to make sure the people I care about know exactly where I stand.
But those words gave me something to consider.
Being direct is part of who I am, and it has served me well, professionally and personally. Yet I've learned that not everyone receives honesty the same way, and not every situation requires my perspective.
Sometimes generosity means speaking the truth. Other times, it means giving people the space to discover their own.
I've learned that I can be honest without explaining everything, compassionate without overextending myself, and direct without feeling responsible for how everyone receives my words.
That's growth, too.
The Difference Between Secrecy and Privacy
One of the most meaningful lessons of these two years is that there is a difference between secrecy and privacy.
I've spent a lot of time reflecting on what I share, who I share it with, and why I once felt the need to explain so much of my life.
Secrecy is about hiding. Privacy is about protecting.
And I've learned that not everything beautiful in my life requires an audience.
Some of my greatest blessings have happened quietly. Some of my hardest battles were fought without anyone knowing. And some of my most meaningful relationships have flourished without public acknowledgment or outside opinions.
I've learned that people can genuinely love you without needing access to every part of your life. That boundaries aren't rejection. That silence isn't always distance. And that choosing not to share something doesn't make it any less real.
There was a time when I wanted people to understand my decisions, my intentions, and my journey. I wanted to explain the why behind everything.
Today, I'm much more comfortable letting my life speak for itself.
I'm not hiding my happiness. I'm protecting my peace.
I don't need everyone to know what God is doing in my life to know that He's doing something extraordinary.
And that, too, is one of the pearls these two years have produced.
And Then Came Love
Somewhere in the middle of rebuilding, rediscovering, and learning to enjoy my own company, love found me.
Not the kind of love that requires me to perform strength every day. The kind that makes room for my softness.
The kind that reminds me that being independent doesn't mean I have to do everything alone.
For someone who has spent much of her life being the strong one, learning to receive love, protection, and tenderness has been a beautiful adjustment.
I've learned that I can be capable and still be cared for. I can be strong and still need someone. I can be independent and still appreciate a hand to hold.
And perhaps one of the sweetest lessons has been discovering that love doesn't wait for life to be perfectly arranged.
Sometimes it arrives right in the middle of the mess and reminds you that you're still worthy of something beautiful.
Why Pearls? Why Now?
As this two-year anniversary approached, I thought a lot about what could possibly represent everything I've experienced.
I kept coming back to pearls.
I've always admired their elegance, but this time it wasn't their beauty that captured my attention. It was how they're made.
Unlike gemstones mined from the earth, pearls are created inside a living thing.
When an irritant becomes trapped inside an oyster, the oyster protects itself by coating it with nacre, a substance that builds up in layers over time. Eventually, those layers can become a pearl.
Think about that.
Something uncomfortable enters its world, and its response produces something beautiful.
The oyster doesn't know it's creating something people will one day admire. It's simply responding to what it has experienced.
And that spoke to me.
Because these last two years have certainly had their share of irritation!
Experiences I didn't invite. Circumstances I couldn't control. Moments I never would have chosen. The unanswered emails. The closed doors. The financial adjustments. The relationships that changed. The nights with more questions than answers. The humbling realization that I could be accomplished and experienced and still find myself starting over.
But with every experience, something was being developed within me.
Another layer of patience.
Another layer of discernment.
Another layer of humility.
Another layer of courage.
Another layer of gratitude.
Another layer of faith.
And a kind of peace no corporate salary could ever buy.
The beauty of a pearl isn't that the irritation never happened. It's that something remarkable was produced because of how the oyster responded.
That's what these two years have meant to me.
I didn't choose every circumstance, but I have had to choose how I respond.
I've had to decide whether disappointment would make me bitter or wiser. Whether uncertainty would paralyze me or push me forward. Whether losing certain relationships would harden my heart or teach me to love with greater discernment.
And I'm still making those choices.
I've learned that not every disappointment is a defeat. Not every closed door is a loss. And not every person who leaves your life takes something valuable with them.
Sometimes what leaves makes room for something you never knew you needed.
And sometimes the greatest thing you gain is a better understanding of yourself.
The pearl doesn't erase the irritation. It becomes evidence of what was produced through it.
That is why pearls represent this chapter of my life.
Life Looks Different. So Do I.
I haven't stopped wanting more for my life.
I still have professional goals, financial goals, business ideas, and dreams that sometimes feel bigger than the resources I have to reach them.
There are prayers I'm still waiting to see answered. Opportunities I'm still pursuing. Chapters I haven't written yet.
I'm still figuring things out.
But I no longer measure my life only by what I've achieved, what I've earned, or what title sits beside my name.
I've learned to treasure the ordinary blessings.
Waking up. Watching the sunset from my balcony. Cooking Sunday dinner. Laughing with the people I love. Being held when the world feels heavy. Remembering my mother, and the family whose love and sacrifice shaped the woman I am today.
I've learned that a beautiful life doesn't have to be a perfect one.
When I reflect on these two years, I see more than career changes, new businesses, and personal accomplishments.
I see a woman who has experienced loss without losing her capacity to love.
A woman who has faced uncertainty without abandoning her dreams.
A woman who has learned that privacy is a privilege, peace is priceless, and unconditional love doesn't always come from the people you expected.
A woman who has learned that being generous with her directness doesn't mean she owes everyone an explanation.
A woman who has spent two years learning that being strong doesn't mean carrying everything alone.
I see a woman who is still becoming.
And I like her.
I love her, actually.
So today, I'm not simply celebrating two years outside of corporate America.
I'm celebrating the courage it took to keep going when I couldn't see what was ahead.
I'm celebrating the businesses I built, the books I wrote, the relationships I nurtured, the love I welcomed, the boundaries I set, and the faith that carried me through every uncertain moment.
I'm celebrating the woman who refused to let a difficult chapter become the whole story.
My life doesn't look the way it did two years ago.
Neither do I.
And while I wouldn't volunteer to repeat every lesson, I wouldn't trade the woman those lessons have helped me become.
The irritation was necessary.
The pearls are proof.
I AM PROOF.
And God? Not because everything worked out the way I wanted, because some things still haven't, but because I've never been without evidence of His grace...
He has been AMAZING through it ALL.
With love, gratitude, and a whole lot of pearls,
Bee
BeeSeatedHere | Life. Love. Legacy.
