I was born into the divide.
I am a CODA — a Child of Deaf Adults. Born with the ability to hear, to two Deaf parents. My first language is American Sign Language. And from the very beginning, I lived between three worlds: the Deaf world, where my parents lived — with its language, its culture, its deeply connected community. The hearing world, where everyone else seemed to live. And my world — which was a combination of the two.
And for most of my childhood, and honestly a good part of my adult life, I had no idea where I belonged. So I did what most of us do when we don’t know where we belong.
I put on a mask. I became what everybody else needed me to be. What I thought I was supposed to be. I spent more years than I would like to admit trying to earn my place in both.
What I was actually learning — without knowing it — was the most important leadership lesson of my life: Your blend, what you think divides you, is the belonging.
ORIGIN STORY
Coming home.
Today, I own one of the nation’s largest sign language interpreting companies. I didn’t build it in spite of wearing a mask. I built it because I understood — more than most — what it costs to put one on. What it feels like to spend your life performing for rooms you’re not sure you actually belong in.
Our mission is to create belonging by removing language barriers between Deaf and hearing individuals. When you can show up as yourself — communicating in your own language — you don’t have to perform. You don’t have to change who you are to be understood. You can just be you.
I didn't go to business school. I didn't have a roadmap. In 2008, my parents — deaf entrepreneurs who had built a business from nothing — were betrayed by someone they trusted. They called me for help. I left a career in corporate HR, walked into a company that needed rebuilding, and never left. I threw spaghetti at the wall. I hired and fired and learned and failed and kept going.
I took TCS Interpreting from the ground up to a multimillion dollar company and expanded — not because I had it all figured out, but because I trusted myself enough to stay in the ring. Every bridge I crossed taught me the same thing: You think showing all of yourself is the risk. It’s the return.
The woman you've been editing out is the leader they've been waiting for.
THE TURNING POINT
When belonging
disappeared. Again.
In my thirties, after having two boys, I adopted a baby girl from India. Riley was born Deaf and 14 months old when we went to pick her up. I won’t pretend that wasn’t part of the draw — some quiet part of me was pulled toward finally belonging to someone who understood.
I thought I was helping her find her way home. She was helping me find mine.
Three weeks after she came home, we discovered that she could hear. Fewer than 2% of children with her diagnosis spontaneously regain hearing before age two. She was part of that 2%.
It was devastating and to this day it is a journey of grief. Not because I didn’t want her to hear. But because the belonging I thought I’d finally found — disappeared. Again.
THE SHIFT
The moment I stopped
looking away.
Riley is 10 now. A few months ago, we were sitting on her bed. And she said to me, very quietly —“Mom, I’m embarrassed that I have white parents.”
I pulled her close. And something happened that I can’t fully describe — because it wasn’t a thought. It wasn’t something I figured out. It was recognition. Instant. Physical.
I had spent my entire childhood embarrassed that my parents were Deaf. Wishing I was like everyone else.
My daughter wasn’t just telling me about herself. She was holding up a mirror. And in it, I saw myself at her age — carrying the exact same weight. And for the first time, I didn’t look away.
That is when my passion for creating belonging in the world caught fire. Not in a boardroom. Not from a research study. From a life lived at the intersection of every divide — and the discovery that the blend was never the problem. It was always the path home.
THE DISCOVERY