This isn't the year-end recap you might expect. It's not about a series of wins. For me, 2025 didn't feel like a win at all. Instead, this year brought me a lesson learned silently, behind the scenes—one I never wanted to learn.

Some years we grow; this one was about enduring. Personal tragedy. Grief that hung on. A political landscape that attacked the values I spent 15 years teaching as a museum educator—multiple perspectives, civic engagement, empathy. And for the first time in five years of running my consultancy, I lost the fiery drive that's always defined me.

Without it, I didn't feel like me.

But here's the unexpected part: something I built in the spring—before some of this happened—held me up when I couldn't hold myself.

What I Built in the Spring

In late spring, I put the finishing touches on something I'd been developing for months: The Teach Your Thing Toolkit.

This was my own transition—from done-for-you freelancer doing all the writing, editing, and graphic design for every single client—to consultant with a repeatable framework. I did for myself what I do for my clients: I captured my own method and packaged it so it could be repeated, expand my reach, and build sustainable income.

It felt good. A long-awaited milestone. I was ready to deploy.

And then everything stopped.

May

In May, my sister-in-law Molly was killed by domestic violence. 

Molly was my partner Fred's only sister, but I hadn't realized she was enduring this. I now know her (young adult) children had tried desperately to help, but I'd had no idea.

The grief was quiet somehow, but deep, intense, and disorienting. Summer blurred into fall. There were days when I admitted to myself: "If I do ONE thing today, it'll be a good day." Some days, that one thing was answering an email. Once I responded to a survey from a trusted business mentor. 

For someone with strong intrinsic motivation—someone who's built a business on that fire—this was unfamiliar territory. Sure, I kept things going that were already in place, but strategizing new stuff? I didn't have it in me.

And the backdrop didn't help. Watching the dissolution of democratic processes, attacks on immigrants in my city of Minneapolis, the unraveling of institutions I'd dedicated years to defending through education—it all compounded. The weight was everywhere.

(This winter I lit a candle in Molly's honor at a taize service at my church.)

The Thing That Saved Me

Here's what I realized while I was barely holding on:

Because I'd built a repeatable system for the business, I had more energy for family. For example, I showed up after we found out—no questions asked—when nieces, nephews, cousins, and Molly's lifelong friends gathered at her home.

The Teach Your Thing Toolkit did the heavy lifting when I couldn't. The framework was there. The worksheets were done. The videos were recorded. I could show up for clients even on my lowest-energy days because I'd built an infrastructure that had already eliminated unnecessary drain. 

The system held me when I couldn't hold myself. I stayed present for clients, truly hearing them, not having to worry about customizing every tiny detail, whether they'd asked for it or not.

For weeks in the aftermath of Molly's passing, there were more chances to show up. Molly's goats Spot and Stripe need a new home? I'm there. Fill the dumpster so we can prepare the house for her children? Bring on the work gloves. Stand around awkwardly in a group of extended community and just be, because no one knows what to say? Yep, you know I'm there, too.

And that's when I understood—really understood—that a repeatable program isn't just a nice-to-have business upgrade.

It's insurance for when life happens.

Why This Matters for You

I work with changemaking leaders who are ready to take their expertise and turn it into a repeatable offer. They come to me for lots of reasons:

• They want to scale beyond trading hours for dollars
• They're tired of reinventing the wheel for every client
• They want to expand their reach and impact
• They're ready to build predictable revenue

All of those reasons are valid and important.

But this year reinforced something deeper: A repeatable system preserves your precious energy.

It's infrastructure for when you're operating at 50% capacity. When you're dealing with grief, or illness, or caring for aging parents, or navigating a personal crisis, or just having a month where you're running on empty.

Scalability isn't just about growth. It's about sustainability.

It's about being able to keep showing up—for your clients, for your mission, for yourself—even when you don't have the bandwidth to create everything from scratch.

And here's what surprised me: having a system doesn't mean you lose the personal touch or the ability to customize. My Toolkit creates a repeatable structure, but there's still plenty of room to adapt to each client's unique situation. The framework gives you a foundation; what you build on top of it is still yours.

Systems don't create constraints. They create freedom.

What's Next

I'm writing this in late December, and I finally feel like myself again. The fog lifted sometime in late fall. The energy came back. And I'm ready to do what I couldn't do for most of 2025: share what I've built.

I've created tiered programs for 2026—you can join a cohort or work with me individually. Either way, you get access to The Teach Your Thing Toolkit (lessons, worksheets, short videos), plus coaching sessions to guide you through building your own repeatable offer.

The outcome is the same regardless of which path you choose: You'll turn your expertise and hard-won wisdom into a learning experience that can scale—whether that's a course, a membership, a consulting offer, or a signature workshop.

Something you can deliver even on the days when "doing one thing" feels like enough.

An Invitation

If you'd like to work with me in 2026, reach out and let me know what's on your mind.

In a world that keeps demanding more from us, sustainability might be the most radical thing we can build.

Here's to a 2026 where we preserve our energy, expand our impact, and keep showing up—even on the hard days.

With gratitude,
Suzi

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