WHY I STARTED SAINT KAY MEDIA (AND WHY IT’S NAMED AFTER A PATRON SAINT OF SIDEKICKS)

The surgery or the check. That was the choice.

I was standing in a bank line seventeen years ago, phone pressed to my ear while my father, a chiropractor, explained that the numbness spreading through my pelvic girdle meant I had maybe hours before permanent damage. “Get to the ER. Now.”

I looked at the teller windows. The line wasn’t moving. I was holding a check that needed to be deposited before another one bounced. I was on welfare, in the middle of a divorce, with a baby, living in my mother’s basement, pouring everything I had into an organic skincare company that was somehow in Whole Foods and scaling internationally, while I could barely keep the lights on. There were no reserves. No safety net. That deposit was the only thing between me and another bounced check.

Check or spine. Money or body. Urgent or important.

My dad said there was no time.

I left the line.

That moment taught me something I’ve spent the last seventeen years learning over and over: you never actually arrive. You just keep choosing.

THE MYTH OF ARRIVAL

We’ve been sold a lie about personal growth. The trajectory is supposed to go like this: struggle, breakthrough, arrival. You hit rock bottom, do the work, and emerge transformed. Cue the Instagram post with the sunset and the inspirational quote.

Except that’s not how it works.

I got the emergency surgery. The doctors told me I’d need a catheter forever, probably a colostomy bag. I taught myself to remove my own catheter by watching YouTube videos because I wanted to go out for my birthday without medical equipment. I spent years lying in bed talking to my body, begging it to work.

It took years. Not weeks. Not months. Years.

And here’s the thing: I’m still managing it. Weekly colonics. Ongoing protocols. The work didn’t end when I could pee again. It just continued.

That’s the pattern, actually. Every time I thought I’d arrived, life handed me another choice.

Three years ago, I was finally in a place that looked like arrival. Financially successful. Assets, investments, a portfolio my husband and I built from nothing. Highly respected in my field. International business trips. A meeting with government leaders in Costa Rica the next morning. And then I got a call from my son’s school counselor. He was suicidal. I called my business partner, told him I wasn’t coming, and quit everything. Walked away from all of it. Because none of it mattered if my kid didn’t make it.

That was my second surgery-or-check moment. Different stakes, same lesson. You don’t arrive. You choose.

THE SIDEKICK THING

My best friend Georgia calls me Kay. Always has. She’s the kind of person who lights up a room just by walking into it, and I’m the one next to her saying, “Yes, and what else?” Hyping every idea, matching her energy, and being absolutely insufferable about it. I recently showed up unannounced at the senior bingo she goes to every week with her mother-in-law just to sit next to her. Life got busy. We hadn’t seen each other in a while. Sometimes showing up is the whole thing. I just wanted to see her face.

When I was naming this company, I Googled “Saint Kay” on a whim. Turns out he’s the patron saint of sidekicks in some obscure text called The Hidden Almanac.

Perfect.

Because the best person in your life isn’t the one with the answers. It’s the one who shows up, sits next to you, and says, “Okay, what’s next?”

That’s the role. Mother of three sons. Mentor to young people who need someone who won’t quit on them. The person who shows up at senior bingo unannounced, because sometimes presence is the whole point.

WHAT WE ARE ALL DOING HERE

Nobody has it figured out. Not the person with the perfect Instagram feed. Not the therapist. Not me. Not you.

And here’s what they don’t tell you: even when things are good, they’re fragile. One kid gets sick. Your husband hits a wall. You miss four workouts and suddenly the whole system feels like it’s unraveling. Because it kind of is. Because being a healthy, functioning human is not a destination you reach and then maintain effortlessly. It is a constant, exhausting, never-ending negotiation with yourself. Discipline. Routine. Pushing through discomfort on the days you have nothing left. Doing it anyway.

The moment you stop is the moment everything starts shrinking. Emotionally. Intellectually. In your relationships, your work, and your capacity to show up for the people who need you. Growth isn’t a phase you move through on the way to stability. It’s the whole thing. It’s the price of admission.

That’s why I built Saint Kay Media. Not because nobody is having the conversation. Because I felt compelled to. Because I watch young people like my assistant, who is family to me, struggle in ways that break my heart, and I know that honest conversation is part of what gets people through. We needed a safe place for it. A place where the real stuff is welcome. So I built it. The same way I build everything. Imperfect, disciplined, and doing the work every single day.

Surgery or check. Costa Rica or son. Comfort or truth.

You just keep choosing.