Every weekday, I jump out of bed, pull on a pair of FR jeans and a matching top, and lace up my size 7 boots. The fabric is stiff but familiar, and the boots are broken in from years of walking hard ground. This rhythm, this routine, is more than muscle memory. It’s how I step into purpose. I don’t just show up for a job. I show up to lead.

I head out the door and into an industrial world that wasn’t exactly built with women in mind. But that has never stopped me.

Leadership isn’t about appearances or titles. It isn’t about being in charge for the sake of control. Real leadership, the kind that transforms a workplace, a home, or a life, is about taking care of those in your charge.

That principle has shaped the way I lead and the way I live. I don’t lead with my hands. I lead with my head and my heart. I’m not a mechanic or a hands-on technician, but I understand systems, logistics, and strategy. I see patterns, identify gaps, and try to stay a few steps ahead. My strength doesn’t come from muscle. It comes from insight, clarity, and a desire to help people grow.

I may not be turning valves or rewiring panels, but I walk into every shift knowing the weight I carry isn’t measured in physical effort. It’s measured in presence, in responsibility, and in the way I choose to show up for the people beside me.

My mind is analytical, but my leadership is relational. I care deeply about helping people become the best version of themselves. I believe in asking good questions, listening closely, and walking alongside others as they build confidence and purpose. That’s where I find the most meaning, not just in solving problems but in developing people.

I’ve also learned that being emotional isn’t a flaw. It’s a gift. Emotion doesn’t make me fragile. It makes me attuned. It’s what allows me to read the room, to notice when someone’s spirit is off before it ever affects their performance. It’s what gives me the courage to ask, “Are you okay?” when someone just needs to be seen. My emotion keeps me connected. It keeps me human. And in this kind of work, that matters.

In spaces where grit and grind are often praised over grace, empathy and compassion can be misunderstood. But they are among my greatest tools in a male-dominated environment. They allow me to lead with understanding, to deescalate tension, and to earn trust through presence rather than pressure. I’ve found that when people know they are heard and cared for, they perform better. They take more pride in their work. They feel safe enough to speak up, to take ownership, and to grow. That doesn’t make me less effective. It makes me more equipped to lead people, not just manage processes.

My strength is often found in the unseen connections. I can identify a scheduling pattern that prevents burnout, or notice a communication gap that’s causing slowdowns. Numbers speak to me, revealing not just problems, but possibilities.

The most meaningful part of my job isn’t fixing what’s broken. It’s watching someone who once second-guessed themselves step up with confidence. It’s hearing someone say, “I never thought I could do this until you showed me I could.” That’s the win. That’s what lasts.

It isn’t always easy being a woman in this field, especially in leadership. There are assumptions that come with the role. Sometimes people are unsure of what to expect, or they focus more on the fact that I’m a woman than on how I lead. But I’m not here to prove a point. I’m here to do the work and do it well.

While I’m proud to be a woman, and proud to bring strength, intuition, and resilience to the table, I don’t want my value to be seen because of that. I want to be recognized as someone who leads with integrity, who shows up prepared, and who is steady in the hard moments. I’m not interested in trendy titles or applause for doing hard things in a hard hat and eyeliner. I’m interested in trust. I want to earn respect the way any leader should, by being consistent, honest, and committed to the people I serve.

Effective leadership also means admitting what you don’t know and seeking out the right people to help. It means sharing credit when things go well and making sure others are seen and appreciated. Good leaders don’t take the spotlight. They reflect it back onto the team.

In my role, that might mean analyzing data to uncover inefficiencies, building bridges between departments, or mentoring someone who reminds me of who I used to be: eager, uncertain, but full of potential. It means being the calm in the chaos, even when I’m carrying my own load.

Leadership isn’t about being the loudest voice in the room. It isn’t about having all the answers. It’s about creating an environment where others feel empowered, equipped, and encouraged. It’s about lighting the way so others can rise.

That’s the kind of leader I strive to be. Not because I want recognition, but because when I lace up my boots at the start of the day and pull them off at the end, I want to know I helped someone else find their footing.