Parliament | Word of the Year
From Brave to Abundant
September 2024, I wrote about being fired. Our largest client—the one that held 30-40% of our revenue—gave us 30 days' notice after seven years. That moment became the forcing function that would transform everything.
I chose "Brave" as my word for 2025. Not because I felt brave, but because I needed to be.
Brave meant taking bigger swings. It meant building The Bird House from concept to reality. It meant growing our team from cautious to confident—from a handful of us holding on tight to fourteen people at the start of 2026. Brave meant looking at the wreckage of what we thought was security and choosing to build something better instead.
But here's what nobody tells you about being brave: success brings its own kind of fear.
As we've grown, I've felt my body want to contract. That old instinct to clench, to protect, to operate from scarcity. Every new hire triggers it. Every big swing surfaces it. That voice that whispers: What if there's not enough work? What if we can't find the right people? What if we've stretched too far?
I know this voice. I've named it. And this year, I'm done listening to it.
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My word for 2026 is Abundance.
It's on my wrist. On my wallpaper. On my desktop. Not as affirmation, but as confrontation—a daily argument against the contraction I feel creeping in when things get big.
Because here's what I know to be true: There is enough work. There are enough clients. There is enough talent. There is always enough time.
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The irony isn't lost on me. We built the Brand Being Method to help other founders see themselves clearly—to hold up the mirror so they could read their own label from outside the jar. And now I'm doing that work on myself, recognizing that the scarcity mindset that protected me when we were small is the very thing that will limit us now.
Abundance doesn't mean reckless. It doesn't mean taking on everyone or saying yes to everything. It means trusting that when you're aligned with your purpose, when you're doing work that matters, the resources you need will be there. It means believing that growth doesn't require sacrifice—it requires intention.
Here's what being fired taught me: Fear makes you bad at your job. When we were working from scarcity—terrified of losing that 30-40% of revenue—we stopped advocating for good strategy. We executed instead of innovating. We worked holidays instead of setting boundaries.
Here's what being brave taught me: The path of least resistance is a trap. Real growth lives in the exciting and scary challenges we actually want to face.
And here's what abundance is teaching me: Contraction is a choice. When I feel myself clenching—when I start catastrophizing about pipeline or talent or time—I have the power to choose expansion instead.
I refuse to let fear own the outcome after we've been brave enough to build this.
Because the truth is, Dan (our former client who fired us) gave us a gift. Not just the forcing function to transform our business, but the proof that loss isn't death—it's often liberation. He showed us that when something no longer serves its purpose, the brave thing isn't to hold tighter. It's to let go.
So this year, I'm letting go of scarcity. I'm choosing to believe in enough. I'm trusting that the same bravery that built The Bird House and grew our team to fourteen can also hold space for abundance without contraction.
This isn't about toxic positivity or manifesting. This is about recognizing that the limiting beliefs I carry are exactly that—mine. And if they're mine, I can put them down.
Because at the end of 2026, I want to look back and see not just what we built, but who I became in the building. Not the founder who white-knuckled her way through growth, but the one who learned to hold success with open hands.
To expansion. To enough. To abundance.