As I sit on the bleachers, watching my daughter at her volleyball tournaments, chorus concert, or my son on the baseball field, basketball court, or either of them being recognized for their academic achievements, I’m struck by a deep yearning and hope of how differently we are experiencing the same game.
She sees play.
She sees learning.
She sees friendship, teamwork.
He feels meditative movement.
He is inspired by the opportunity to improve.
He sees the play before it happens, he is guided in faith.
I remember pressure.
I remember performance.
I remember the quiet war I waged with myself every time I stepped onto the court OR the stage.
Today, the butterflies in my stomach weren’t from excitement — they were from witnessing the game through fresh eyes. From realizing how deeply conditioned I once was to believe that worth came from winning, proving, and never letting anyone see me falter.
Motherhood has a way of slowing time just enough to reveal the truth.
The Recalibration I Didn’t Plan For
It’s 2025, and if there’s one certainty in our world, it’s fast-paced change.. And change — real change — is rarely comfortable.
I’ve walked that path intimately: lateral career moves that looked like resignation, regression, stepping away from corporate certainty into entrepreneurship, purpose-driven work, entering industries where I had no title, no roadmap, no guarantee. What once felt like losing ground was actually a profound recalibration — a quiet realignment with who I was becoming.
For years, I survived by disappearing.
I was the achiever.
The perfectionist.
The one who could handle it all, fix all the problems, and achieve all the growth straight upward.
I hid behind productivity, behind competence, behind being the woman who didn’t need anything. The world rewarded that version of me. They called it strong. They called it golden.
I called it safe.
And it nearly broke me.
Until one day, it broke me open.
When the Body Speaks
At some point, my body and my soul said, No more.
I tried to override it with willpower — because that’s what I had been trained to do. I tried to stay small, controlled, invisible in my fullness. I told myself it was too late to start over. That I was closer to retirement than reinvention. (Our financial planner still laughs about that season.)
But I knew the truth.
I knew where the pain lived in my body. I knew when the disease began forming. I knew what would happen if I didn’t listen.
And I also knew that the cost of staying silent — especially as a wife and a mother — was far greater than the cost of beginning again.
Motherhood as the Great Teacher
Motherhood today doesn’t just change my schedule — it has changed my nervous system. It asked me to slow down in ways ambition never allowed. It softened the sharp edges of my identity and exposed the places where I had confused survival with strength.
I had believed the voices that told me I was too emotional for leadership. So I adapted. I migrated into roles that rewarded stoicism and independence. Early on, I taught my children, subtly, that survival came first. Not anymore, that was where we came from, not where they were going. I thank God every day for knowing where the world is evolving, to know enough to break the conditioning that no longer serves humanity, and courageously develop their leadership rooted in emotional intelligence, mental health understanding, collaboration, and community building.
I don’t want my children to treat their bodies like battlegrounds for unresolved pain. I don’t want them to believe they must push harder or grind until they burn out, or must shrink, harden, or disappear to belong.
Motherhood taught me the medicine of slowing down — and in that slowing, I found truth, just in time to share it with them.
From Individual Strength to Collective Healing
There was a time I felt proud to be the only woman in male-dominated rooms. I see it differently now. I wasn’t disrupting the system — I was mastering it. There was no ‘fame’ in being the only woman in the board room— I had become a mirror to the same energy that groomed me.
And that realization didn’t bring shame. It brought compassion.
There are no mistakes. Only lessons.
Today, I am no longer interested in what I can accomplish alone. I am devoted to what we can create together. I am shifting from vertical hierarchies to horizontal collaboration. From soldiering through to building community.
This is where Conscious Tourism was born — as a response to everything I had lived.
A Note to the Next Generation
I’ve struggled greatly in silence — and I refuse to pass that silence on.
To my children, and to the children of this world: may you learn through experience, not pressure. May you know joy without performance. May you feel supported in your becoming.
And to every woman reading this who feels the quiet resistance pressing in — let it be an invitation. Resistance is not a failure. It’s a doorway.
Slow down enough to walk through it.
With reverence, courage, and deep gratitude,
KellyAnn Daubach
Founder, Conscious Tourism
Woman. Mother. Leader.
Healing the past to transform the future.
