The Truth is Uncomfortable.

Yeah. That Arnold Schwarzenegger.

So do Codie Sanchez, Scott Galloway, Colin & Samir, Shaan Puri, and Jay Shetty. And none of them are doing it for fun. They're doing it because a list you own compounds in ways that social media never will.

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When I first launched How I Ally, the very first episode I recorded was with Bianca Sprague.

Re-releasing it to open Season 2 feels exactly right.

Because the conversation is just as urgent today as it was then.

Bianca is the founder of BeboMia, an international maternal health training organization operating in over 50 countries. But what makes her voice so powerful is not just her expertise—it’s her willingness to say the things many mothers are thinking but rarely feel allowed to say out loud. In this episode, we talk about the invisible labor of motherhood, the emotional cost of unpaid care work, and how systemic forces—from capitalism to cultural expectations—shape the way women experience parenting.

And the truth is uncomfortable.

One of Bianca’s most striking insights is the distinction between the work of motherhood and the relationship of motherhood.

The work includes the endless logistical labor:

It’s the invisible infrastructure of family life. The relationship part—the moments of connection, play, curiosity, and presence—is often squeezed out by the demands of the work.

As Bianca puts it, many mothers spend most of their time doing the labor of parenting rather than experiencing the joy of the relationship.

Another theme we explore is how birth itself can shape a woman’s confidence as a parent. Hospital birth experiences often introduce language and interventions that make women feel like their bodies failed—phrases like “failure to progress” or unnecessary diagnoses that create doubt rather than empowerment. When that sense of failure carries into postpartum life—combined with sleep deprivation, social isolation, and relentless responsibility—it can create a perfect storm for postpartum mood disorders.

Bianca shares that postpartum PTSD, anxiety, and depression are far more common than most people realize.

But many women suffer quietly.

Because admitting the struggle still feels taboo.

Perhaps the most sobering insight from our conversation is this:

Unpaid care work is a massive economic engine. Entire systems rely on women providing free labor at home—raising children, maintaining households, supporting partners’ careers—without recognition or compensation. And yet culturally, that work is framed as natural, loving, or instinctive.

Not labor.

Which means mothers often feel pressure to prove their worth through sacrifice.

Exhaustion becomes a badge of honor.

Bianca is also candid about something rarely discussed publicly: the mental health risks mothers face when they feel isolated, overwhelmed, or trapped in impossible expectations.

In the perinatal period, suicide is one of the leading causes of death for mothers.

But conversations about maternal mental health often happen behind closed doors—if they happen at all.

Breaking that silence is part of why this episode exists.

I became a mother to twins.

Anyone who has experienced early parenthood—especially with multiple babies, medical appointments, and constant responsibility—knows how quickly the weight of care can become overwhelming.

Listening back to this conversation reminded me why I started How I Ally in the first place.

Because allyship isn’t just about public issues.

It’s about telling the truth about the systems we live inside.

Motherhood.

Work.

Mental health.

Relationships.

Care.

If we can’t talk honestly about those things, we can’t change them.

Season 2 of How I Ally begins where the podcast began—with a conversation that refuses to look away from hard truths.

🎧 Listen to the episode now. Search for 'How I Ally' on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or wherever you get your podcasts.

There’s a narrative right now that Gen Z is “disrupting” the workplace.

They’re too outspoken.

Too demanding.

Too unwilling to follow the rules that generations before them quietly accepted.

But what if we’re asking the wrong question?

What if the real question is:

Why did we ever build workplaces that required people to disconnect from themselves in the first place?

In my conversation with Kris Erickson, co-founder of Workforce Science Associates, she shared something that stopped me:

The generation that should be the most excited—the newest to their careers—is actually the least engaged at work right now.

That’s not apathy. That’s a signal.

A signal that something foundational isn’t working.

Gen Z is asking for things that, if we’re honest, most of us have always wanted:

The difference is—they’re saying it out loud.

And for many leaders, that feels uncomfortable. Because it challenges systems that were built on distance, hierarchy, and delayed feedback.

Annual reviews.

Top-down communication.

“Pay your dues.”

That model is breaking.

One of the most powerful parts of our conversation wasn’t about Gen Z at all—it was about what they’ve missed.

Many entered the workforce during the pandemic.

No hallway conversations. No sitting in a meeting early and casually connecting.

No organic moments where relationships—and careers—begin to form.

Instead:

Zoom. Mute. Next meeting.

And we’re now seeing the impact of that.

Not just on engagement—but on belonging.

There was a moment in the conversation where I shared something personal:

I once lost a job because I was caring for my father.

That wasn’t that long ago.

And it raises a question that sits at the center of everything we talked about:

Who are we allowed to be at work?

Because caregiving, motherhood, illness, identity—these aren’t side notes.

They shape how we show up every single day.

Kris said something that I haven’t stopped thinking about:

And the inverse is also true.

We’re not just seeing a generational shift. We’re seeing a redefinition of leadership.

Kris described leadership as a “contact sport.”

Not performative.

Not distant.

Not transactional.

But human.

Relational.

Consistent.

Present.

It requires knowing not just what someone does—but who they are.

It’s easy to frame Gen Z as the problem. But what if they’re actually the mirror?

Reflecting back all the ways work has been misaligned with what people need to thrive.

More feedback.

More flexibility.

More humanity.

Not less accountability—

more connection.

Allyship doesn’t only live in big moments or public declarations.

Sometimes it looks like:

It looks like building environments where people don’t have to choose between being good at their job and being fully themselves.

If there’s one thing I’m taking from this conversation, it’s this:

Gen Z isn’t asking for too much. They’re asking for what we’ve been missing.

And if we’re willing to listen—not defensively, but openly—

we might not just improve the workplace.

We might improve each other.

There’s a moment in this conversation that reframes everything:

“Caregiving is harder than being a CEO.”

And it’s not said lightly.

In this episode of How I Ally, I sat down with Jennifer A. O’Brien—a woman who has done both. She has led large healthcare organizations, stepped into failing systems to turn them around, and also spent years caring for her dying husband, her parents, and others she loved.

And without hesitation, she said caregiving is harder.

Not because it requires more intelligence or strategy—but because it requires everything at once:

Years ago, I posted something simple:

“You are the CEO of your situation.”

I meant it for young caregivers—people navigating impossible situations without a roadmap.

Jennifer saw it and stopped.

Because it was true.

But more importantly—it gave language to something most caregivers never name:

They are leading.

Not in boardrooms.
Not with titles.
But in homes, hospitals, and quiet moments where everything is on the line.

That post eventually became the foundation for her book Care Boss.  

We often think leadership is about authority.

But in caregiving, leadership looks like:

It’s leadership without applause.
Without structure.
Without training.

One of the most practical shifts in this conversation is learning to filter what actually matters.

Not everything deserves your immediate attention—even if it feels like it does.

A midday text from a caregiver?
Not always urgent.

A high fever or emergency?
Absolutely urgent.

Learning to distinguish between the two isn’t just helpful—it’s survival.

Because without that filter, everything feels like a crisis.

And no one can live that way.

Most of us are conditioned to correct what’s wrong.

But Jennifer introduces something simple and powerful:

Pinpointed positive feedback.

Instead of:
“Good job.”

Try:
“I appreciated that you waited until the end of the day to share that update—it helped me stay focused.”

This does two things:

It’s as true for caregivers as it is for children.

And maybe more importantly—it creates safety.

There is a line in this episode that stayed with me:

“He is dying. I am surviving.”

Caregiving holds two realities at once:

That tension is almost impossible to explain.

And yet, it defines the experience.

We often ask:
“How long does grief last?”

But that question doesn’t have an answer.

Instead, Jennifer offers something more real:

When you’re in it, a full day can feel impossible.

So instead of trying to get through tomorrow, try this:

At the end of the day, say:
“I made it through today.”

That’s enough.

We chase “good.”
We chase “better.”
We chase “thriving.”

But in caregiving—and in many seasons of life—

Okay is everything.

Okay means:

And sometimes, that is the highest form of strength.

If you are parenting, caregiving, grieving, or just trying to hold everything together—

You are leading.

Even if it doesn’t look like leadership.

Even if no one sees it.

Even if you feel like you’re failing more than succeeding.

Because showing up—again and again—is the work.

And it counts.