It took over a year of steady effort and quiet persistence to break through. To finally be seen not as someone who might step into an executive role someday, but as someone who belonged there. Becoming an executive director was the result of myriad years of experience and hard-earned trust.

I’d taken on leadership roles before. Years ago, I took over for a beloved legacy figure in the field. Everywhere I turned, I heard, “Wow, you’ve got some big shoes to fill.” I started responding with, “No, I don’t. He wore loafers. I wear four-inch heels.”

That moment sparked something. #HighHeelsHigherGoals became a mindset. The heels are a reminder of how I show up: unapologetically Latina and driven by purpose. If you’ve seen someone clacking confidently through the entire ASAE Annual Meeting in heels, that was probably me. However, it’s one thing to break a glass ceiling. It’s another thing to walk across the shards in heels.

The first 30 days of my ED tenure have been about stepping in with confidence, leading with my values, and keeping the door open wide enough for others to walk through too. When you’re the first or the only, your presence can either become a performance or a platform. I chose the latter.

Finding My Footing

The first week felt like breaking in new heels. Each step came with pinches and wobbling. On Day 2, before I had even cracked the acronym code (what is it with associations and acronyms?), a staff member asked me to review a contract. Real dollars. Real decisions. Real consequences. And I froze for a second. What if I made the wrong call? What if this all went sideways? That was my first real buckle-in-the-heel moment. I had to center myself, take a breath, and remind myself I was built for this.

By the third week, I had my first Executive Committee meeting. I still didn’t have all the lingo down, but I was getting my bearings. I brought curiosity, clarity, and yes, a pair of heels (even if it was a virtual meeting).

Walking the Talk

I learned quickly that applied learning beats theory every time. My CAE studies taught me the what. This role is teaching me the how. Policies have people behind them. Processes carry history. And acronyms? Please, let’s create glossaries for future EDs.

From the start, I focused on relationships — with the board, staff, and members. Those conversations became my compass. They revealed the heart of the organization and how people connect to the work.

Even with experience, I realized big changes should wait. Walking in assuming your way is the only way is like showing up in the wrong size shoe: no matter how polished it looks, you’ll end up sore and off balance. Listening first earns the trust you’ll need later.

Trust, Teamwork, and Texts at Midnight

And you can’t do it alone. I surrounded myself with smart, honest people. I leaned on mentors and friends. I reached out to my Diversity Executive Leadership Program family. I texted colleagues, sometimes at midnight, to say, “Tell me I’ve got this.” And they did.

Work-life integration took on new meaning. There were late nights and early mornings. Fires to put out. Email threads that felt endless. But I also made time to cheer on my son’s baseball team … with an AirPod in one ear, still present. I squeezed in marathon training. Some days I swapped sneakers for stilettos. Other days, I wore both.

I kept my humor. I laughed with staff. I sent memes. I danced alone in my office after wins. These moments became anchors. Small but mighty reminders that joy is strategy, too. One of the clearest friction points early on was the lack of a strong strategic plan. Leading without one felt like wearing heels that look great but don’t fit. You can try to add inserts or slap on bandages, but when the shoe doesn’t support you, every step hurts.

We paused. We assessed. And now we’re building a strategic plan that fits, one that reflects who we are and where we want to go.

Hitting My Stride

There’s no handbook for breaking glass ceilings. But there are people who hand you a broom, toss you gloves, and whisper, “Keep going.”

By the end of the first month, I stopped worrying about whether the heels fit. I was walking with purpose on my own. Some days I clicked through challenges in full stride. Other days I kicked the heels off, rolled up my sleeves, and got grounded in the work.

I took this role to make a difference and to walk farther than anyone in my circle ever had. And if someone who looks or is like me sees me leading and thinks, “Maybe there’s space for me, too,” then every blister was worth it.