It was a warm California afternoon, the kind that hums with possibility. I was sitting in a circle of extraordinary leaders in Los Angeles — people I had admired from afar for years. The energy in the room was electric yet deeply peaceful, like every heart had been cracked open. I felt like I had finally come home.

As the conversations unfolded, something inside me began to shift. One by one, these incredible souls looked into my eyes with tears streaming down their faces, telling me how much our connection meant to them — how our conversations had changed something within them. I could feel their love and sincerity land in my chest, almost too big to hold.

In that moment surrounded by giants of impact and authenticity, I felt small in the most beautiful way. I realized that leadership isn’t about striving or proving; it’s about remembering who you are and allowing love to move through you.

For years The Backyard Peace Project had been on my heart waiting for the right time. But sitting there, bathed in the warmth of that afternoon light and the truth of those connections, I suddenly couldn’t remember a single valid reason why I hadn’t begun.

Quietly I whispered to God, “If You want me to do this now, please show me.” From that moment forward, miracles began to ripple through my life and my business — doors opening, people appearing, everything aligning. That was the day I stopped waiting and started leading from love.

Before that day I was afraid of being seen — not the polished version of me that had it all together, but the real, raw, imperfect woman who had walked through trauma, heartbreak, and healing.

I told myself I was waiting for the right time, for the right resources, for the right clarity. But beneath those practical excuses was a quiet, persistent fear that if I stepped fully into my vision, people might not understand me, that they might dismiss The Backyard Peace Project as naïve or too ambitious, that my heart, laid bare, would be met with silence.

I had spent years guiding others to dissolve their fears, to rise into their truth — yet I was still holding onto my own limiting belief: that my light was somehow too much or not enough, depending on the day. I thought I needed to earn the right to lead such a movement, to have all the answers before beginning.

That weekend in LA shattered that illusion. As those remarkable leaders spoke love and truth into me, I realized I didn’t need to be ready — I just needed to be willing to let love lead, willing to trust that my story, my scars, my heart were enough.

When I came home I could feel the shift still alive in my body. It was like something inside me had been switched on — a steady hum that wouldn’t quiet down. I didn’t have a business plan or a launch strategy; I had a calling that refused to wait any longer.

The first thing I did was simple but terrifying: I spoke it out loud. I told my husband, my children, and a few trusted friends, “I’m starting The Backyard Peace Project.” Saying it made it real. There was no going back.

Then I did what I always teach my clients — I took the next loving step, even without the full picture. I opened my laptop, created a blank document, and typed: The Backyard Peace Project – Global Peace Begins at Home. My hands were shaking. I didn’t know what would come next, but I knew I had to move.

I began reaching out to people who inspired me — leaders, changemakers, healers, and friends. I shared my vision, my heart, my why. Some said yes immediately. Others simply held space for me. But every conversation felt divinely guided, like invisible threads weaving something far bigger than me.

In the weeks that followed, I started designing what the movement could look like: communities, ambassador programs, online gatherings, even a book that would give others a voice. I built the first version of the website myself at the kitchen table, often late at night with a cup of tea and a heart full of wonder.

There were plenty of messy moments — tech failures, self-doubt, tears of joy and fear. But for the first time, I didn’t try to fix or hide them. I realized that beginning meant giving myself permission to show all the messy parts of me so others could feel safe to do the same.

So often we see polished leaders who, without meaning to, make others feel like they’re falling short. I never wanted to lead that way. I wanted people to see me — all of me — the parts still in progress, the parts still learning, because when we allow our imperfections to be visible, we give others permission to stop pretending, to breathe, and to believe that they too can begin exactly where they are.

That’s how peace begins — in truth, not perfection.

The most surprising thing that’s happened since launching The Backyard Peace Project hasn’t been external success — though the community, the ambassadors, and the global support have been incredible. The real transformation has been internal.

I learned that if you want peace in the world around you, you must first cultivate it within yourself. It sounds simple, but living it is a lifelong practice. Peace isn’t passive — it requires integrity, standards, ethics, and values that you honor even when it’s uncomfortable. It asks for clarity and boundaries that protect what is sacred within you.

There have been moments when this has meant releasing people, projects, and dynamics that I once thought I needed, letting go — with love — so that I could remain aligned with the higher vision of what I’m here to create. That was never easy, but it was necessary because peace can’t thrive where there’s chaos, compromise, or self-abandonment.

Through this journey I’ve realized that leadership rooted in peace is fiercely honest. It’s not about keeping everyone happy or holding everything together; it’s about standing in truth with grace, and in doing so, something extraordinary happens: The world around you begins to reflect the peace you’ve cultivated within.

That’s the greatest miracle of all — discovering that world peace really does begin in our own backyard, in our own hearts.

If every CEO on the planet were in one room, and I had just one minute to speak, I would say this:

Lead with heart. Lead with compassion, empathy, and understanding. The world doesn’t need more control — it needs more connection.

Listen not with the intent to reply but with the intent to truly understand — because every voice, every story, every perspective holds a piece of the puzzle we’re all trying to complete.

Lead with forgiveness — toward yourself and others. Lead with strength that is grounded in grace. Speak the truth, but speak it with the intention to uplift and enrich, not to divide.

Lead by example, not by image. Lead in a way that elevates, expands, and celebrates others. Let your success be measured not only by what you build, but by how many people rise because you believed in them.

Above all, lead with love because when love becomes the foundation of leadership, peace stops being a dream — it becomes the legacy we leave behind. World peace begins with us, and it starts in our own backyards.