Why I Wrote No More UGLY Wins™

I was getting an award in a professional setting I had worked hard to reach. I should have been enjoying the moment, but beneath the applause, I sensed something I couldn't quite explain.

Something had changed.

I was still good at my job. I was still achieving, and people still noticed my work. But the wins didn't feel the same anymore. What used to be a good kind of tired had just become plain tired.

A month later, I sat by the window on a plane heading home from a leadership event. I had spent five years working to become president of my state professional association. I had built the relationships, gained the leadership experience, and finally earned a seat at the table I had worked so hard for.

While I was on that plane, I finally admitted something to myself that didn't make any sense:

I don't want this anymore.

The problem was, I wanted to want it.

I had worked for it, prayed for it, and prepared for it. People believed in me, and I knew I could do the job. That made the realization even more confusing. Nothing had gone wrong. I hadn't failed or been pushed out. I was still good at it.

I just didn't want it anymore.

So I made a choice, even though I knew it would disappoint some people. It scared me. I didn't have a clear plan for what came next. I couldn't point to something bigger and say, That's where I'm headed now.

I stepped away anyway.

From that airplane window, I had no idea what would become possible after making that decision.

For over 15 years, I held onto a promise to myself that I would go back to school and earn another degree. I had become great at meeting deadlines and keeping commitments to others, but I kept putting off the promise I made to myself.

This time, I kept my promise. I went back to school and earned that degree.

And there was more.

I started workshops for girls. After one session, a mother came to us and asked, “What did y'all do to my daughter?” She told us her daughter had changed since coming back from the workshop.

People had been telling me for years that I needed to write our family's story. Eventually, I thought, You know what? Let me write the book.

And I did.

While my first book was being edited, the editor told me something I've never forgotten. Reading our story made her rethink how she supported her own grandchild. She said she planned to visit her grandchild and his mother that weekend and support them in a new way.

Other families started telling me how our story helped them. Some said it gave them hope. Others said it helped them see their children differently or notice new possibilities.

One book turned into two. Eventually, that work was recognized with a Writer of the Year award.

I couldn't have seen any of that when I made my decision.

On that airplane, I couldn't see the degree. I couldn't see the girls' workshops, the books, or a grandmother deciding to support her grandchild differently after reading our story. I couldn't see Writer of the Year.

All I could see was what I had spent five years building and the people I might disappoint if I left it behind.

It took looking back for me to understand something else about those years.

After my MS diagnosis, not knowing what the future held made me feel like I was living on borrowed time. I started saying yes to leadership roles, professional organizations, executive boards, and new responsibilities. Even when they overlapped, I found ways to make it all work.

And they did work.

I was succeeding. That's why I didn't question the way I was winning.

I didn't question saying yes so often. I didn't question taking on too much or the expectations I put on myself. I also didn't realize how good I had become at keeping promises to others while putting off the promises I made to myself.

Why would I question it?

The results kept telling me it was working.

Years later, looking back finally helped me put words to what I couldn't see at the time. Sometimes my exhaustion came from medical reasons. Sometimes it was my work.

And sometimes, I had to admit...

it was ME.

Some of my exhaustion came from the way I had learned to succeed. I had gotten used to ways of winning that left me tired for one simple reason:

They worked.

Those were my UGLY Wins™.

That's why I wrote No More UGLY Wins™.

I'm not telling you to quit your career, leave everything you've built, start over, or be less ambitious. I wrote the book I wish I had when I was still winning, when nothing seemed wrong enough to question, but something just didn't feel right.

Because that's what can make an UGLY Win so difficult to recognize. You may still be producing. Still achieving. Still getting things done. Still receiving the congratulations.

Still getting the applause.

This book invites you to take a closer look at how you've been winning, notice what you may have accepted as normal, and decide what needs to change before exhaustion becomes the price you think you have to pay for excellence.

You don't have to erase everything you've built to change the way you build what's next.

You can edit the way you win and still be excellent.