The leadership lesson nobody tells you: Sometimes your body knows first

⏱️ Reading time: 6 minutes

Welcome to my weekly newsletter where I share insights and advice from my experience as a woman of color leader championing values-driven leadership and preparing for the future of social impact.

I'm standing in my kitchen in Puerto Rico, and I almost don't recognize myself.

Not because I look different—though I'm 13 pounds lighter and feel stronger than I have in years. But because of the energy. The clarity. The sense that my nervous system and I are finally on the same team again.

After five years of ups and downs, I had almost lost faith that this was possible. That I could feel grounded again—not just in fleeting moments, but as a sustained state of being.

And then September 2025 happened. And I realized something profound: I've been here before. I know the way back.

Let me take you on a journey through a decade of my life—through fight, flight, freeze, fawn, and back to grounded. Not because my story is special, but because I see so many of you living versions of it right now. And I want you to know: the way back is real.

2016-2017: When Everything Broke Open

July 11, 2016. The Terrain Hotel compound in Juba, South Sudan, where myself and many of my colleagues lived and worked, was attacked during an outbreak of civil war. Aid workers were assaulted and held hostage for hours. Some of my closest friends were among them. The compound was looted—there was nothing to return to. The UN investigations came. The FBI got involved. There was a military tribunal for the expat victims.

The South Sudanese women and others who also experienced this violence? They didn't get a tribunal. They didn't get justice, or even the semblance of it. So many people were impacted, and the inequity of who received attention and resources haunts me still.

I happened to go on leave (R&R) that very morning, before the military lockdown. If my flight had been delayed another hour, it could have been me.

The vivid nightmares started immediately. Flashbacks. Imagining what my friends had endured. Non-stop sobbing. Secondary trauma, vicarious trauma—I had the vocabulary for it, but knowing the terms didn't make it hurt less.

Fight mode activated immediately. I threw myself into being there for my friends and colleagues—community organizing, emotional support, just showing up however I could. I helped with the #NotATarget campaign. I had done hostile environment awareness training, but nothing prepares you for this. The guilt. The rage at systems that send people into harm's way without adequate protection.

Then my body made a decision my mind wasn't ready for: Freeze.

My employer gave me as much time as I needed. I took six weeks. I probably needed six months. But I couldn't rest—my team needed me, South Sudan needed me, the work was urgent and I was the only one who could do it. Right?

So I went back to work. Remotely, from my parents' house in California—my employer had all expats working remotely after the compound was looted. I was mentoring my South Sudan staff, coaching them, providing support in the middle of the night to match their time zone. Fight + Flight: pushing through while simultaneously running away from the reality of what had happened.

It wasn't sustainable. But here's what I didn't know then, what I couldn't see: I was also in the middle of realizing I was in an abusive romantic relationship. I broke off that engagement. And slowly, painfully, I began to see the harmful family dynamics I'd never unlearned—the patterns that kept me stuck in these loops of fight, flight, or fawn.

I started therapy. Trauma-informed individual sessions and group therapy with other survivors of intimate partner violence. I didn't have the language of polyvagal theory yet, didn't understand nervous system responses. But I was beginning to see that something fundamental had to change.

2018-2022: Flight as an Intelligent Response

Flight got me out.

I made a choice: I would continue my humanitarian career, but not on those terms. Not living in active conflict zones. Not with zero life outside of work, zero hobbies, zero capacity to date or dream or just... be.

I Googled my way to Thailand. Chiang Mai, to be specific. Close enough to South Asia to honor my ancestral roots, with enough expat infrastructure to feel safe as a woman navigating these contexts. Passport privilege? Absolutely. But also survival.

I worked the Rohingya refugee response, traveling between Thailand, Bangladesh, and Myanmar. I was still helping others—still in that savior mindset that humanitarian work cultivates so effectively. Fawn mode was my baseline: everyone else's needs before mine, boundaries as a luxury I couldn't afford.

But Thailand was teaching me something. Slowly. Quietly.

And then COVID-19 locked the world down, and ironically, it grounded me.

March 2020: I got stuck on Koh Samui for three months. I chose to be near the beach. I swam or did yoga every day. I nourished myself. I got creative. And for the first time in years, I had the space to ask: What do I actually want?

That's where Fearless was born. Not fully formed—I was still consulting, still figuring it out—but the seed was planted. I was learning that I mattered. That my needs were valid. That loving myself first wasn't selfish; it was essential.

I was finding my way to grounded. And by 2021, I was there.

2021-2025: Building Fearless (Unsustainably)

If you're reading this and thinking "but wait, didn't you say you just found your way back to grounded in 2025?" Yes. Yes, I did.

Because here's what they don't tell you about healing, about growth, about building a values-aligned business: you can start grounded and still go on a journey.

From 2021 to 2025, I was running Fearless—but not in a sustainable way. I was still consulting on the side, running cohort programs like the Shifting Power Accelerator, coaching, voluntary community-building, navigating inconsistent income. I was grounded in my vision, but the daily reality was anything but stable.

And then 2025 hit. Hard.

2025: The Year Everything Came to a Head

January 2025: Fight mode. Trump takes office, USAID shuts down, panic ripples through our sector. Rising authoritarianism. Genocide. Shifting geopolitics. The rise of AI. Climate crisis. Job loss. Life loss. So much uncertainty, and I did what I always do—I organized. I created the Grounding Gathering for Nonprofit Professionals. I showed up for others.

But I was burning out fast. Fight is useful in short bursts. In overdrive? You lose rest. You lose yourself.

Spring 2025: Flight mode. I was running out of money. I started looking for jobs I didn't want. Planning my exit strategy while trying to convince myself this was what I needed to do.

Early Summer: Fawn mode. Holding it together for everyone else. For my partner. For our friend staying with us. And for our new puppy—who I was so anxious about, so overprotective of, that I transferred my anxiety onto him. Now we're undoing the coddling I gave him. Even my dog wasn't safe from my nervous system dysregulation.

I had a panic attack that made it clear: my life couldn't continue this way.

July 2025: Freefall into Freeze.

I couldn't function. And this time, I knew enough to recognize what was happening. I had the language now—the polyvagal framework, the nervous system literacy I'd been studying and sharing with others.

So I did something radical: I started having real conversations.

With my partner, who supported me completely. With my friends, who shared their own vulnerabilities. With my family—my parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, mother-in-law—about partition, diaspora, intergenerational trauma, and what healing actually means.

My 40th birthday came in August. And I made a commitment: if I want to be happy, content, at peace—if I want to be a good mother someday, a good friend, a good coach, an effective activist—I need to start with me.

September 2025: The Return

I came back from California in September after that healing trip with my family. And something had shifted.

I started feeling WAY better. Not just "okay" or "managing." Actually, genuinely better.

I committed 100% to my health—movement, nourishment, boundaries, rest, brutal honesty with myself and others. I spent time in nature. I leaned into creative work on Fearless, rebranding, repositioning, returning to our roots and my story.

The weight started coming off. 13 pounds, 2.3% body fat. But more than that—the heaviness lifted. The disbelief that I could have this much energy while navigating perimenopause, while being neurodivergent, while building a business in a collapsing sector.

I was grounded again.

And here's what I know now that I didn't know in 2021, the last time I felt this way:

Grounded isn't a permanent state. It's a practice. It's a return.

What This Means for You

I didn't recognize what was happening to me in 2016. I didn't have the language for it until 2022. I didn't fully understand it until I did an inventory of my own nervous system patterns across the years.

For most of my career in the nonprofit world, I lived in the world of the mind. Analysis. Strategy. Intellectual rigor. But I didn't have an intuitive relationship with my own body. I couldn't hear what it was trying to tell me.

The polyvagal framework gave me that language. It helped me look back at my energy levels, my decisions, my relationships, my physical symptoms. And suddenly, the chaos made sense. Not as failure, but as intelligent adaptation. My nervous system was doing exactly what it was designed to do to keep me safe.

Because here's what I've learned: there's a mind-body-gut connection that shapes everything—how we think, how we react, how we show up in our leadership, how we relate to others at work and in life. In the social impact sector, we're trained to privilege the mind. But our bodies impact our thinking, our reactions, our leadership capacity.

(If you're curious about the gut piece of this puzzle—maybe we'll explore that another time. For now, let's stay with the nervous system.)

The question wasn't "what's wrong with me?" The question was: "What is my body trying to tell me? And what do I need to feel safe enough to be grounded?"

The First Step: Know Where You Are

You can't shift what you can't see. You can't heal what you won't name.

That's why I created the Nervous System Leadership Assessment—a quiz to help you understand which response pattern is most active in your leadership right now. Not to diagnose you, but to give you language. To help you see yourself with compassion instead of judgment.

Because here's what I've learned from my own journey and from coaching dozens of leaders like you:

Your nervous system responses aren't the problem. They're information.

Fight might look like overworking, perfectionism, control. It's also the part of you that fights for justice, that organizes, that refuses to accept the unacceptable.

Flight might look like constant busy-ness, jumping from thing to thing, never landing. It's also the part of you that knows when it's time to leave, that protects you from harm.

Freeze might look like procrastination, dissociation, numbness. It's also the part of you that knows when to stop, when rest isn't optional anymore.

Fawn might look like people-pleasing, saying yes when you mean no, putting everyone else first. It's also the part of you that builds relationships, that cares deeply, that knows how to collaborate.

And grounded? Grounded is when you can access all of these responses and return to center. When you can fight for what matters without burning out. When you can rest without guilt. When you can say no and yes from a place of clarity instead of fear.

Your 2026 Can Be Different

I'm not going to lie to you and say it's easy. The journey from fight/flight/freeze/fawn to grounded takes time, intention, and often support.

But I'm living proof that it's possible. Even after a decade of trauma responses. Even after thinking you've lost your way permanently. Even in perimenopause, even while neurodivergent, even while building a business in uncertain times.

The way back is real.

It starts with understanding where you are right now. With giving yourself permission to see your patterns without shame. With recognizing that your body is wise, even when it feels like it's working against you.

So here's my invitation to you:

It takes just 2 minutes. It will give you a detailed guide to your current response pattern and specific practices to help you shift toward grounded.

Because you deserve to lead from a place of groundedness. You deserve to feel the energy, clarity, and peace that I almost lost faith in.

You deserve the life and career that's possible when your nervous system is on your side.

I'd love to hear from you: Does this resonate? Where are you in your own nervous system journey? Hit reply and tell me—I read every response.

In solidarity and hope,

Maya 🧡

PS. If you're ready to go deeper—if you want community, frameworks, and support as you navigate this journey—I'd love to have you:

• Join us for the "From Reactive to Strategic Leadership" workshop this Thursday, January 8th or
• Become a founding member of Flourish Fellowship, launching February 1st

If this brought up difficult feelings: Please reach out to a trusted friend, therapist, or support resource. You can also take the Nervous System Leadership Assessment when you're ready—it's designed to be reflective, not re-traumatizing.

If this newsletter resonated with you, please forward it to a leader who needs to hear this. Sometimes we need permission to check in with ourselves. Sometimes we need language for what we're experiencing. Sometimes we just need to know: you're not alone, and the way back is real.

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