Today, I had the opportunity to revisit the teachings of Pat McCabe, shared in the summer of 2020 with a cohort from the Healing and Reconciliation Institute. It had been several years since I last heard her words, and I was struck again by a central invitation she offered: rather than striving to create entirely new narratives, we may be better served by returning to and retelling the original stories. In doing so, we open the possibility of co-creating a more grounded and collective future.

Holding this perspective, I have been reflecting on my own professional life, particularly on what it means to be considered an “expert.” In recent years, I have felt more like a beginner than at any other point in my career. This has made it more difficult to speak with absolute certainty about what is universally true beyond my own lived experience. At the same time, there are two areas of knowledge to which I have remained deeply committed.

The first arises from my background as an attorney. Over many years of practice in New Mexico and California, I had the privilege of working within corporations, nonprofits, and government entities, as well as alongside the leaders responsible for guiding them. What became clear through that experience is that without a foundation of trust embedded in governance structures, even the most well-intentioned leaders can become distorted by power. This risk increases when systems fail to reflect shared power and an ecological understanding of responsibility.

A true structure of trust is one in which each person holds responsibility to the whole. In organizational settings, this means expanding beyond legally required roles to include additional voices—those who can speak to the impact on land, on future generations, on employees, and on the broader community. Too often, these perspectives are absent from decision-making processes. In their absence, the voices that prioritize profit above all else tend to dominate. Over time, this can lead to a disconnection between leaders and the organizations they serve, where extraction replaces stewardship. The consequences are not only structural but deeply human, often resulting in internal conflict, shame, and harmful coping mechanisms.

The second area of knowledge comes from my work in more private, relational spaces with leaders—spaces where we are invited to show up in our full humanity. This work rests on a simple but essential truth: none of us are perfect. Each of us has the capacity both to harm and to be harmed. Recognizing this is foundational to healing and reconciliation, and it is equally foundational to responsible leadership. It reminds us that no leader is immune to causing harm under certain conditions, regardless of their intentions. For this reason, strong and thoughtful governance structures are not optional—they are essential. We need both individual accountability and collective systems that support it.

As I reflect on these two strands of learning, they have shaped my current commitments. On the governance side, I have chosen to listen to and walk alongside peacemakers. On the leadership side, I remain committed to supporting and advocating for matriarchs, in all the forms that role may take—modern, traditional, institutional, and self-defined.

Across cultures, matriarchs carry a profound responsibility: to nurture and guide the next generation, to transmit values, and to sustain the cultural practices that foster resilience. In my own understanding, informed by both leadership development and my Latvian and Baltic heritage, this role is deeply tied to the continuity of life and community. It calls us to speak clearly and act with intention in service of what must endure.

One way we can do this is through the retelling of social change movements—stories of collective resistance and resilience. These stories do not belong only to well-known leaders; they are also the stories of ordinary people whose collective actions made transformation possible. This includes those of European descent. The histories of colonization, suppression, and resistance in Europe long predate those on Turtle Island, and understanding these histories is part of reclaiming a fuller picture of our shared past. Scholars, historians, and wisdom keepers alike point to a recurring pattern: the deliberate suppression of the roles, power, and healing capacities of women. The reason is not difficult to understand—when women gather in alignment and purpose, transformative change becomes possible.

As we consider how to move forward in this moment, I invite you to explore your own lineage and to participate in retelling the stories of resistance carried by your people. Look not only to prominent figures, but to the collective efforts that unfolded quietly and persistently behind the scenes. As my Auntie Jacquie Cordova reminds us, it is often the work of ordinary people that carries extraordinary power.