Learning to Belong in All Three Spaces
Let’s be honest—some days it feels like I’m living three completely different lives. There’s State Executive Director Lauren—the one who shows up buttoned-up, answers policy questions before her first cup of coffee, and remembers every detail of every meeting (or at least pretends to). Then there’s Midwestern Mom Lauren—the one making lunches, batch baking caloric dense bars and treats, and starting the dishwasher before realizing there’s still a meeting tab open on her laptop. And then there’s Just-Me Lauren—the hardest one to schedule in but the one I probably need the most.
The other day I went from a monumental meeting—like, career-defining, can-feel-the-shift-in-the-room kind of meeting—to walking straight into the kitchen and loading the dishwasher. I just stood there for a second thinking, How did we get here? One minute I’m discussing statewide leadership initiatives, the next I’m trying to figure out who keeps leaving half-empty LaCroix cans on the counter. The whiplash is real.
When all three lives collide, it’s chaos. A perfect storm of calendars, emotions, and caffeine. There’s usually a moment in the day when everything happens at once—the school text, the work call, the creative idea that hits mid-chaos—and I just stand there trying to remember which Lauren is supposed to respond first. But somehow, we always find a way to make it work. That’s the thing about women who lead—we make it work even when we’re not sure how.
Lately, I’ve been trying to redefine what belonging means in all of this. For a long time, I thought belonging looked like balance—like if I could just get the perfect color-coded calendar, I’d finally feel grounded. But belonging isn’t balance. It’s presence. It’s knowing which space needs you most in that moment and letting that be enough.
At work, belonging looks like purpose. It’s finding meaning in the work and connection in the mission. At home, belonging looks like messy joy—late dinners, a dog that refuses to come inside, and kids who want to talk about life just as I’m trying to shut down for the night. And then there’s belonging in that third space—the GRL Initiative—the one that feels like a mix of all the best pieces of me. It’s where I get to tell the truth, share the hard parts, and remind others (and myself) that leadership is personal.
Lately I’ve been practicing saying exactly what I need, and then saying it again. Because just because someone doesn’t hear you the first time doesn’t mean you were wrong to ask. For years, I worried about being too much—too direct, too passionate, too pushy. But I’m learning that following up isn’t being pushy. It’s being clear. And clarity is one of the most generous things we can offer—to others and to ourselves.
Belonging, for me, is allowing all three Laurens to exist in the same 24 hours. The one leading teams. The one wiping peanut butter off the counter. The one dreaming up new ideas for GRL. None of them are wrong versions. They’re just different expressions of the same heart trying to make an impact in different spaces.
So if you’ve ever felt like you’re juggling three lives, or that you keep dropping the ball somewhere, you’re not doing it wrong. You’re just human. Maybe the goal isn’t to balance them perfectly—it’s to belong fully, even when it’s messy and imperfect and real. Maybe it’s to stop asking, “How do I keep them separate?” and start asking, “How do I let them coexist?”
Because the truth is, we’re not meant to live tidy little compartmentalized lives. We’re meant to live layered ones. To be professionals and parents and dreamers and friends and people still figuring it out. To be bold and tired and still showing up. To be all of it—sometimes in the same hour.
So when the three lives collide, pause. Take a sip of coffee. Ask for what you need, even if it’s the third time. Let the emails wait for a minute. And remind yourself that belonging was never about choosing one version of you—it was about letting all of them belong to the same story.
Pep Talk: When the lines blur between your worlds, don’t panic. That overlap is where your real life lives. The one you’ve built with purpose, persistence, and a slightly overworked coffee maker. You belong here—all versions of you.
