People often wonder why a white woman has committed her life to DEI. It’s time for me to tell my story.
As many of you know, I help leaders who are committed to creating inclusive cultures build teams that trust each other, collaborate effectively, and unleash their collective intelligence. My commitment to this work began long before I knew the language of inclusion, psychological safety, or systems change. It began on a tiny Pacific atoll in the year 2000, when I stepped into my Peace Corps assignment with a head full of contradictions I couldn’t yet name.
When I arrived in Kiribati at age 21, the Peace Corps trainers told us the islands would be underwater within fifty years due to climate change. Yet the people living there had almost no electricity, no cars, and no factories. They had none of the factors driving this global crisis. At the same time, woven into our pre-service training was the quieter, unspoken message that we Westerners were there to “help” and “teach.” That, even as recent college graduates, we were the experts.
So the story I received was this:
Our actions were destroying their country, and our presence was supposed to save it.
Stepping into my rural assignment on the island of Onotoa, I carried all the confidence of someone taught her whole life that her way was the superior way. I believed I could create a workshop, deliver a few insights, and people would walk away “improved”. It didn’t take long to realize how naïve that was. I had no real expertise, no shared language, and no understanding of what this community actually needed, let alone wanted.
So I sat on my buia, the small thatched platform outside my hut, and had the first of many humbling realizations:
If I stayed only in conversations with the smattering of English-speaking officials on Onotoa, I would never understand the real life of the village. If I wanted to serve, I had to listen. And to listen, I had to learn the language.
Learning the Kiribati language was hard. The power difference between us made people shy; I was the foreigner, the outsider, the one assumed to have wealth and authority. The only person willing to brave the awkwardness with me was a twelve-year-old boy named Mwedewentebuki (pictured above, on the right). He came to visit me every day after school to help me practice. Slowly, communication began to open between us, and then with my community. I played soccer with the youth group, drank tea with the women, played cards with the hilarious older women, and even trained in a secret martial art taught only under the full moon by village elders.
What was really happening was this:
I was learning to listen. And through listening, we build trust.
Once trust grew, people began sharing what they actually cared about. I stopped imposing my ideas and started supporting theirs. I helped the youth group bring their vision of a multi-purpose sports court to life. The elders grew so energized that, instead of waiting for outside funding, they raised the money themselves. When a Member of Parliament reached out to thank me publicly for “empowering the community,” I realized that my role wasn’t to lead with expertise. It was to lead with humility, curiosity, and partnership. That orientation lead to empowerment.
When I later traveled the world, I connected with people working on renewable energy, anti-trafficking, and poverty alleviation. Through many conversations, I noticed a pattern. It wasn’t just technical problems blocking progress. It was the inability of people to collaborate effectively across power differences, cultures, and identities. And when things were hard, their inability to have candid, uncomfortable conversations about what was happening. Everyone was frustrated with everyone else. At the bar or over tea, I heard “the Nepalis are so hard to work with,” “the Australians don’t listen,” “the Americans think they know everything.” The work was breaking because trust was breaking. People walked away burnt out and problems persisted.
Yet I knew, from my years in Kiribati, that there were ways to make this work. That frustration was not an inevitable end to cross-cultural collaborations. I spent the following decades identifying, testing, then creating tools that address these challenges.
Today, I work with renewable energy companies creating solutions for the world’s complex challenges. I support ERGs grappling with global climate injustice and the internal inequities that mirror it. I help leaders see the patterns that keep them stuck, understand the power dynamics shaping how they work, and build the skills they need to hold hard conversations with courage and clarity.
I founded ReFresh Communication in 2011 because I couldn’t find anyone doing what I knew was needed: building leaders who can actually work across difference, who can confront culture, ego, and power skillfully and not with blame. Leaders who can create inclusive teams able to solve the complex, interconnected problems of our time.
Having lived, worked, and traveled across more than 35 countries, I bring a global perspective that grounds everything I teach. I know, from lived experience, that when people feel respected, trusted, and seen for who they are (not who we assume them to be) they will bring forward creativity, insight, and courage that no single perspective can produce.
That is why I do this work. This is why I help leaders who struggle to create inclusive cultures build teams that trust each other, collaborate effectively, and unleash their collective intelligence.
