When I was in my last digital marketing role before making the transition to coaching, I was in a strange predicament.

I felt connected to the mission of the organization that was serving frail and marginalized communities. I adored my colleagues who became close friends, in some cases like family to me. I was comfortable with the work and I was good at it. I had the flexibility to be a present mother while moving my career forward.

So you might ask, as I did daily: Given all that was good, why did I feel so stuck and truly lost in my career?

I wrestled with all the things I now hear my clients say:

I should feel grateful for this job.

It’s fine. I’m fine.

I don’t even know what I’m looking for.

Now that I’ve figured it out, what if what I want doesn’t exist?

It’s typically not a feeling of overwhelm or a desperate desire to jump. Rather, it’s a nag. A tug. A question that begins to appear as the subtext to every project, event and new assignment: “Is this it?”

If this is where you are right now, you can begin taking these steps to find your answers:

1. Accept the possibility of more
Part of why you are stuck is that you continue to block the idea that something else could be out there for you. Sure, you don’t know that there is, but you also don’t know that there isn’t. By accepting the possibility that there might be another path and giving yourself permission to investigate options, you can move out of judgment and into curiosity. Swap—“When the hell am I going to figure out what I want to be when I grow up?” For “I wonder what my next chapter could look like.”

2. Commit to something physical
I’ve found in my own experience and in those of my clients—often the only path to our answers is tapping into the wisdom of our bodies. The bridge to my breakthrough was running the New York City Marathon. I focused on daily training—working through setbacks and finding a will to nail my goal. The lessons, the confidence and the ideas for what was possible in my life instantly shifted once I crossed that finish line. I’m not that great a runner and I ran a marathon. What can I do in my life with the things I’m really good at?

3. Seek out clues—everywhere
This was a process I went through and one that I work on with clients in transition. What are the moments in your career—and life—when you were ignited? What do people come to you for that’s not in your job description? Be open to finding evidence that there is more out there for you, that there are new things you want to learn and explore. As a digital marketer, I wondered why so many people asked me to review their resumes or give them tips on how to manage up to their bosses. Your clue may come in an unlikely package, so don’t be too literal about each one. Investigate further. Allow it to live and breathe for awhile so you can begin making the connections.

The truth is, a good job is a great place to be. If you’re in a good job, you’re not racing or rushing to leave—which is helpful because exploring and experimenting takes time. It’s also a place to mine for clues and in doing so, you may be able to make the job you have into the job you want, at least for awhile. This was my path prior to running my marathon and breaking things wide open. Whatever you choose to do, know that when you are in a good situation, you can do things on your timetable, at your pace and in your own way. And when the time comes to make your shift, you will know you came from a clear and honest place.

At the age of 11, when a new potential friend asked me, "What does your dad do?" I had to make a split-second decision.

Do I think this is going to be someone in my life for longer than an afternoon?

Is it worth dropping a bomb on our conversation?

Will we make our way through that first naked minute?

Sometimes, I simply chose safety and comfort. Pretend. "Sales." I lied.

And then there were the moments self-acceptance peeked through long enough for me to fumble the words, "Both my parents died, actually. In a car accident."

I looked longingly at that kid across from me. Knowing she wouldn’t get it, but hoping for at least a deep breath, a nod or a "Wow" of acknowledgment.

Most often there was a speedy change of subject and I sorted through my list of pre-selected topics used to salvage what was left of the conversation.

There were a few occasions though, when I met someone who could be there with me. Stand in that tragic, unfair truth for a beat. She would one-up the nod and the wow with the pinnacle of solidarity: a follow-up question.

Whether it was, "Were you in the car?" or "Who do you live with?" or "How are you even standing right now?", all I saw before me was strength and courage and someone who could get me.

Sometimes they were kids with their own pain. Divorce, addiction, loss and illness in their lives, too early to comprehend. And sometimes they were simply unafraid of the hard things in life, perhaps even curious about them.

As I look back on those early years of building relationships after my parents died, I see that outside of my inner circle, I created rose-petaled paths for people to softly land by my side. I made it easier for them to know me, to talk to me by locking up the very moments that made me strong and resilient in a box categorized, "over it." My loss was not my fault, yet I still felt shame when I said those words aloud.

As I shifted careers four years ago, I began to choose who I serve and who I collaborate with. I decide how I talk about who I am and what I do. I understand that I will never be "over it." And I never want to be.

This is who I am. I say the hard things. I write about them. Whether we’re going to know each other for the next 2 years or 2 hours, the calculation of how long we’ll be in each other’s lives has no bearing on who I’m meant to be.

So when I stood in front of 30 strangers this weekend to facilitate a leadership workshop, I walked them through why my early tragedy was one of the key moments that shaped who I’ve become as a leader. Honest. Compassionate. Imperfect. Vulnerable.

I spoke those words without apology, without shame, without a reason to try to be anyone else but myself. And a beautiful thing happened. They were inspired to do the same.

The start of the new school year. The crackle of leaves underfoot. Bundling on crisp mornings and evenings. The shortening of days.

Autumn marks many endings and beginnings that flood my mind with memories of where I’ve been at this time throughout the years.

Walking the length of New York City after transferring to NYU. Learning that the energy and the people made me feel more alive than I ever knew possible.

Moving through the mixed emotions of closing the door on one career to build a dream.

Fighting back tears on first day sendoffs of preschool, elementary and now middle school.

In this season, change is the expectation and transition is the language. While I use my nostalgia to ground me and measure my progress, there’s a momentum I find in all that’s new. I seek it out, even hunger for it, more than any other time of year.

There’s an acceptance of the discomfort of change, knowledge that things may be hard for awhile, but we will figure it out. I will figure it out.

When I stand in this resolve, in the present moment, feeling the rotation of the earth, I wonder why at other times of the year I’m resistant to these shifts.

It reminds me of my friends in LA and other persistently warm climates who tell me, “I miss the change of seasons.” When I hear this statement mid-February, when I’m up to my ears in the elements and dying to pack up and move close to the equator—it’s hard to understand why anyone could say such a thing. But in this moment, swept up in the breeze of fall, I get it.

Universal permission to change.

To wind down projects and habits that may not have presented a natural end. An excuse to believe that something new is possible, that all these people starting fresh again know what they’re doing.

It’s a reminder that when we feel the resistance, we’re often building the case against ourselves, looking for the opinions and the data to convince us to remain in place.

And it’s an acknowledgement that at any time of year, we can give ourselves the permission to choose the opinions we want to believe and stack the data toward outcomes that will bring us energy. Knowing that whatever the result, we will learn—and for me—that’s the goal.

In my work supporting mothers as they navigate their careers and rise as leaders, there are often moments I look around the room at all of the female faces in the workshops, the conferences, the policy discussions and think—we’re talking to ourselves.

If we’re going to make any progress in clearing paths for women to rise into senior roles, we must include our male counterparts in the conversations.

Here are some simple ways working fathers can take an active role toward supporting gender equity in the workplace.

1. Talk about your kids at work
Parenting and the work that goes into it often feels like a taboo subject that must be hidden. When you talk about your children and your experience of being a parent with colleagues, it normalizes the conversation. Read more about this in my post, Here’s Why I Talk About My Kids At Work.

2. Take your leave!
When dads take the parental leave they’re offered, everybody wins. According to NBC News, "Fathers get to bond with their new baby, there’s a decreased risk of mom getting postpartum depression and it shifts the perception that caregiving is a female’s responsibility." Even with these positive outcomes, fathers are often hesitant to take the leave for fear that there will be a potential stigma or other negative impact on their career trajectory. By taking the leave, you not only support your partner at home, but you also show other fathers that it is possible to drive your career forward AND spend time at home with your baby.

3. Align on responsibilities at home
The mental load struggle for working mothers is real. In addition to their careers, women are taking on the lion’s share of parenting and household infrastructure tasks that happen seamlessly often without their partner noticing. I call it, "the third job." Clothes and supplies appear in the house and then disappear when they are no longer needed. Caregivers are managed. School forms are found and submitted. And the list goes on. Working fathers can check in with partners on the distribution of responsibilities to help even the load. And working mothers can release control of tasks and perfectionist approaches to managing said tasks. When household tasks are more evenly distributed, women have greater mental bandwidth, belief in their abilities to rise to senior levels AND be the mothers they want to be.

4. Create cultures of flexibility on your teams
Flexibility means different things to different people. If you are a working father and lead a team, create an open dialogue about what flexibility means to you and to the colleagues you lead. It is possible to both expect excellent work AND respect boundaries around flexibility and prioritization of family life. Both of these things can be true, and the formula will be different for each individual.

5. Mentor and sponsor women
Of course this is not relegated to working parents, but in general, given the number of men vs. women in senior roles—the mentorship and sponsorship of women by men is a critical step on the path toward gender equity. Senior women, already in a bandwidth crunch, often find themselves stretched even thinner when they try to bridge this gap for a multitude of mid-level women. This is an ideal place for male allies to step in, share possibilities and opportunities with their female colleagues—and make the case to broader audiences to support their growth.

While these approaches to allyship appear simple in theory—they absolutely take practice and an openness to stepping into some vulnerable terrain. If you’re used to compartmentalizing career and family life, it may be uncomfortable to share stories about your kids or perhaps lessons you learned while parenting that apply to your leadership style. If you feel there may be some resentment from your partner about an uneven distribution of household responsibilities, it will take courage to bridge those conversations with empathy and an open mind about how things can shift in the future. That said, if you’re reading this, you’re already committed to taking action and I appreciate you being here. Please choose one of these options as a way to continue on your path, then find someone to hold you accountable and share your results with others.

Last week I shared a professional moment of failure in Imperfect People (Like Me) Make Mistakes. I made a human, scheduling mistake by adding an important workshop on the wrong day of my Google calendar. I then forced myself to snap out of my shame spiral—figuring out a way to get there with enough time in order to make it a meaningful experience for people.

In that piece, I focused on how I responded to my mistake and who I stepped up to be. But what has been lingering from this experience and is no doubt one of the most significant factors in my moving through it, was how my people showed up for me in that moment.

Mid-failure, I called my friend and colleague on my walk to the subway and she jumped into action on my behalf. She Googled my fastest route and mode of transport—WHILE giving me a pep talk.

Then, two minutes into my subway ride, another close friend simply appeared on my train car. It felt like a gift from the universe. She reminded me that I know my content, this is what I do best—and I will just do it.

After I was home, I called my colleague and mentor with whom I was collaborating on this project. I love working with her company, so I worried about her reaction. Without missing a beat she said, "You showed them what leadership looks like."

Wow, right back at you, friend. In hearing these words I realized, I have truly found the right team. The people who have my back, support me, believe in me, push me beyond what I even know I’m capable of…and also know I’m human and that I make mistakes. Gratitude replaced the shame of my failure and I began to feel whole again.

My favorite reaction, though, was from my husband. When I texted him what had happened that evening as I safely sat back on my couch, in comfy clothes, he texted me this image.

First laugh of the day! Twelve years ago, we had tickets to see Genesis with friends. Our friends texted us one evening while we were at home eating takeout. "Where are you guys? The show is about to start!"

We figured out that my husband put the show on our calendar for the wrong day. With one image he was able to say, "You’re not alone." And make me smile all at once.

I am a woman, a coach and a writer, preaching the gospel of compassion for thyself. And yet, as an entrepreneur in the client service business, I secretly hold myself to a higher standard. Especially when it comes to time and reliability.

I confirm all appointments a day or two in advance.

I arrive early, even when it’s uncool.

I’m the one at the party cutting the lemons and limes as the other guests file in.

I live and breathe by my Google calendar/s.

And in my less gracious moments, I’m the rigid one laying into my inner circle people for lateness and last-minute cancellations. You know who you are, and this piece is one part empathetic ode to you.

It’s within this stranglehold on perfectionist professionalism that I found myself in a failure of my own doing.

After two full days of onsite coaching for a corporate client, I was at home, in shorts and a t-shirt, resting and refueling, preparing for a corporate workshop the next day. All of the workshop materials had been sent more than a week in advance. I had time for a couple of calls and a walk in the park. Time to visualize and organize my thoughts, and to get a manicure to make sure I was polished for my topic of Personal Branding.

I was about to join a video call when my phone rang. It was the client. The workshop was not the next day, but that very day—beginning in 30 minutes. And it was nearly an hour away from my home.

I was in shock. Stunned. I could barely form a sentence. It had been on my calendar for the following day for months. I was sure of it. But I didn’t have time to backtrack on emails. And I had a sneaking suspicion it was my mistake. I wanted to vomit or just say I couldn’t do it.

But instead, I put on a dress, some heels, ignored my chipped nails, grabbed my makeup bag for the subway ride, apologized from my deepest depths and said, "I’ll be there in an hour."

I texted the client to get everyone started on the worksheets during my subway ride, offered an additional webinar or extra session to make up for what I knew was my fault. And I made it. 36 minutes late—but with a self-pep talk in the elevator and a joke to state the obvious in my intro—I jumped right in.

That phone call will surely replace my, "showing up for final exams after missing half the year of Spanish class" track, as the new number one spot on my stress dreams playlist. There’s no getting around it. It was bad: truly my worst professional mistake to date.

The shame ran deep. Mostly because I made this blunder around a value I hold dear: Integrity. In talking myself through it over the past weeks, looking for the lesson and most importantly—forgiving—I recalled the things I often say to clients when they are reminded of their imperfections.

"You are doing your best. You’re human. As much as you hate to admit it, you too make stupid mistakes. It’s how you show up after the mistakes that make you who you are."

And what pulled me from my shame is how in the face of that moment, I rose to be who I know I am. A woman with both integrity and flaws, with expectations of excellence and compassion for myself. And most of all, human.

For the past few months, I’ve been working on an experiment: a new networking membership that would supplement my corporate workshops and 1:1 coaching.

I fell in love with the idea. The name. The impact it could have on women’s lives.

And I did as I tend to do. I talked about it with my people. I inspired them to believe in its importance. And they cheered me on, as they always do.

Then, without warning, I felt stuck. I chose to file my papers, label my expenses, log my coaching hours—anything to avoid moving forward on my membership.

I judged myself for:

Allowing fear to paralyze me.

Letting my people down.

Being the kind of person who gets stuck.

I skipped my weekly writing time one week because I knew this would be the only post I could write. My writing is my joy, my escape and the place I find my answers. Denying myself that time was a wake up call. I knew I had to put the weapons down.

I gave myself permission to pause and received it like a gift.

Relief and renewed trust in my intuition washed over me.

In quiet, compassionate non-judgment, I looked at the membership with new eyes. It wasn’t fear holding me back.

I was energized by the mission, but not the work—and this is a critical element in a career of my design. This is why I commit to experimenting—to see if the work is energizing and worth pursuing.

This time, in this moment, it wasn’t. It isn’t. And that’s part of the process. The membership is one of hundreds of ways I can fulfill my mission of getting more women into positions of power. My commitment is to the mission, not to the specific tactics that get me there. I know for the work to be top quality and make the broadest possible impact, it must be something that taps into my unique gifts—driven by my curiosity and energy.

I often talk to my clients about something I call The Inspired No. It’s a strategy to say No to a friend, colleague or potential partner so that you authentically acknowledge the exciting work he or she is doing AND offer a “no for now.” That’s the perspective I’m bringing to my membership and everyone I enrolled in moving forward with me on it. I know it’s not right for me, right now. I feel sure of this. And I’m leaving the door wide open to potentially discover a way for it to energize me somewhere down the line.

One humbling lesson I’m learning one more time is that I will always be the kind of person to get stuck. Because I’m a person and it’s in our DNA. But it’s how I respond to my stuckness that reminds me of the choices I continue to make. I am learning in the face of mistakes, building my resilience muscles and using these moments as points of connection with the flawed and beautiful humans I serve.

The nature of work is changing. Flexibility is gaining acceptance. Remote and virtual roles are growing in popularity. Organizations are catching on to the increased employee engagement that can come from remote work in addition to the organizational cost-savings and reduced environmental impact.

All that said, sometimes when you’re in a virtual or remote role, it’s easy to get lost in the background, to be forgotten or overlooked. How does one navigate a career, become visible in an organization, build deep relationships and reach for desirable projects and assignments when the rules of the game have changed?

When I work with clients who come to me in this situation, we focus on these 5 ways to build up their personal brands to help them continue to connect with their work, their colleagues and their leadership.

1. Be you
Take the time to get clear on your strengths and also what makes you different from your colleagues. Do you come from a different industry or discipline than most of your peers? Leverage those differences as a way to add a new slice of value to projects and teams instead of trying to fit into the pack. If you’re struggling to figure out your gifts, do one of my favorite self-esteem boosting exercises: ask 5 people in your life what they see as your strengths. (You’re welcome!).

2. Look like you’re at work
Love it or hate it, video conferencing is here to stay. Even though you’re at home and your dog may be lying on your feet, when you have video calls you should look professional (at least from the waist up!). Wear a nice shirt, do something with your hair and make sure the part of your office that’s on camera is neat-ish. This is an opportunity to remind people who you are and let some elements of your brand shine through. Do you have a bookshelf behind you with some favorite books? Photos of your family? Your meditation pillow? Whatever it is, this is an opportunity to share a piece of you without leaving your home.

3. Choose action and participation, early and often
There’s no sitting on the sidelines in meetings or on teams when you’re a remote worker. You must participate. You must share points of view. You must be visible. For some, this takes practice. If you’re struggling to get a word in with a vocal crew—I get it. Phone and video calls can often be awkward with timing. Talk to a colleague who will be in the room ahead of time and set him or her up to ask you for your POV in the meeting or to back you up after you’ve made a good point.

4. Volunteer in meaningful ways
Note some areas to help the organization that are not part of your job description AND are also things that are important to you. If you’re committed to environmental causes perhaps you can help your organization with a recycling policy or set up a service day with your team where you can contribute time to an environmental non-profit. If you want to bring together a women’s leadership group or plan a speaker series—these are great ways to experiment with new skills and projects—and be known for the causes and work that’s meaningful to you.

5. Prioritize relationships
No matter whether you’re in the office or remote—building and maintaining deep professional relationships is critical to effectively navigating your career. When you’re in a virtual role, you can do this by setting up virtual coffee meetings with colleagues to connect, staying in touch with your manager regularly and setting up occasional days of meetings on-site so that you have in-person time with your team and beyond. Make an effort to remember the names of partners and kids and dogs. These details go a long way in building trust and showing that you care about the lives of your coworkers.

While the benefits of remote work for employees are clear—flexibility, reduced stress from a commute, and the ability to get solitary work done—if your goal is to be promoted and known within your organization, it takes some extra effort to step onto that path. It also takes a level of self-motivation, energy management and the ability to know when you need to step away from your laptop and talk to a person. Knowing all of this can help you decide whether or not a remote role is for you and whether you can tweak your approach to make it work. As someone sitting on a couch writing this, I’m relaxed and grateful for the direction work is taking. And I’m also ready for my moment to go talk to a person. Right. Now.