I girl bossed too close to the ivory tower.
Balancing a career and motherhood is no joke — but somehow, we make it work. And by “somehow,” I mean a delicate dance of scheduling conference calls during naptime, closing deals with a baby on the hip, and showing up to board meetings with glitter in our hair (not metaphorical — actual glitter).
Being a girl boss isn’t about having it all perfectly balanced. It’s about knowing when to lean in, when to log off, and when to accept that dinner might just be chicken nuggets … again.
We hustle hard — in heels, sneakers, or fuzzy slippers — and we show our kids what ambition looks like with love at the center. It’s not always graceful. It’s rarely quiet. But it’s always powerful. Because here’s the truth: Every time we answer emails while helping with homework, negotiate salaries while prepping snacks, or chase dreams between carpool lanes — we’re teaching our children something extraordinary. That women can lead, love, and level up — all at once.
It’s been a while since I shared my story. Hi I’m Kelli and I work in college athletics. Balancing motherhood and career is one thing. Doing it as a woman of color in college athletics? That’s a whole other kind of hustle. I’m not a coach in the sense of helping student-athletes achieve their goals athletically. I am an athletic academic administrator.
As an athletic academic administrator working with Division I student-athletes, I’ve spent years, (17 years actually) helping young people chase their goals on and off the field/courts. But here’s the truth: behind the scenes, I’ve been running my own race too — chasing deadlines, nurturing dreams, wiping tears (sometimes mine, often my child’s), and showing up where I’m needed most.
I’ve walked into male-dominated rooms, juggled sports schedules with school projects, traveled consistently for weeks while thankful for friends, family, and FaceTime, and made game-day decisions in both cleats, Jordan’s, and heels. Through it all, I’ve learned a few things — not just about survival, but about thriving as a woman, a mother, and a leader. So here it is — the real, lived list of:
My 10 Things Every Working Mom / Girl Boss Knows — And Some Especially When You’re a Woman of Color in Sports (and probably in other industries too)
- You’re not just breaking glass ceilings — you’re building new blueprints.
You’re not just working; you’re redefining what leadership looks like for the next generation. Your presence in leadership, in meetings, in spaces not built for you; It matters. It matters to your children and to your community. It matters to the young female professional who sees you on Zoom and thinks, That could be me. You’re not just working — you’re lighting a path. - Mom guilt is real — but so is mom power.
As a single mom, my daughter has watched me struggle, stand back up, speak up, and keep going. My ambition is not something I apologize for — it’s something to own. The guilt definitely crept in quietly. It whispered more than enough: You should be more present. You should be doing less. You should be doing more. There was a time I thought I broke her because chasing my career dreams meant moving a lot. But there was the fire of purpose — showing my daughter what it means to chase dreams with grit and grace. And while doing that, making sure she benefits as well. Fast forward to the now, and I think we did a good job as #justthetwoofus navigating it all. That power runs deep.
- You don’t just mentor athletes — you mother while managing.
My student-athletes often call me their second mom, and they’re not wrong. I show up with academic plans and tough love. I remind them to email their professors, eat something other than the candy in my office, and call home. Then I clock out, head home, and do the same for my own child. The work never stops, but neither does the impact. - You’re often the only one — and that makes you the first.
In athletics, especially in leadership roles, I’ve walked into more rooms than I can count where I was the only Black woman. It’s isolating. But it’s also an opportunity. I remind myself I’m not just there for me — I’m making space for the next woman to feel seen and supported. - You’re fluent in the art of “the side-eye in silence.”
A glance. A brow lift. A perfectly timed pause. You’ve learned that in some rooms, especially the ones where you’re the only woman of color silence isn’t submission, it’s strategy. Because sometimes the most powerful response isn’t a rebuttal, but your calm restraint, your controlled demeanor, your ability to read the moment and still command it. You’ve learned when to hold your tongue, not because you don’t have the words, but because you understand the weight of them. You know how to protect your peace while still preserving your presence. And that presence speaks volumes. It tells the room, I see you. I’m not shaken. I’m still here, and I’m not going anywhere.
- Being underestimated is exhausting — and motivating.
Yes, I’ve had to prove myself twice as much. I’ve had to hold my tongue. I’ve had to lead while being questioned. But I’ve also shown what grace under pressure looks like — and that a Black woman in leadership is not a trend, but a necessity.
- Advocacy is part of the job — at work and at home.
I advocate for athletes to be seen as students first. I push for policy changes, resources, and access. And I do the same at home making sure my daughter knows her voice, her worth, and her right to take up space. Both kinds of advocacy require heart and hustle. - Success looks different now — and that’s okay.
Success isn’t one-size-fits-all. Maybe it’s leading a team. Maybe it’s leading bedtime stories after a long day. Either way, you’re building a legacy on your own terms. And how you view success can change over the years. When I first started, success looked like promotions, polished resumes, late nights, and early mornings chasing recognition, results, and respect. I wanted the title. I wanted the influence. I wanted to prove to everyone and to myself that I could make it. Then I became a mom and suddenly, success started looking different. Still had the drive but it wasn’t as intense. There were seasons where I felt like I’d lost momentum. Like I was behind in the world while I paused for motherhood. But here’s what I’ve learned. Success can evolve. It’s allowed to shift. And it’s never too late to redefine it on your own terms. You haven’t missed your moment. You haven’t fallen behind. And you don’t have to choose between the woman you are and the woman you’re becoming.
Your success story didn’t end when you became a mother. It just got a deeper plotline. - Your child is watching you redefine what success looks like.
She sees me tired but determined. She hears me talk through challenges. She watches me show up for others, and at times for myself (work in progress 😉). I’m sure she didn’t always understand what I was doing. As she now enters young adulthood, I hope she has learned that success isn’t about perfection. It’s about perseverance, purpose, and knowing when to rest without quitting. - Your sister circle is sacred.
Every girl boss of color knows that behind every powerhouse woman is a tribe hyping her up and holding her down.
Bonus Point: You carry your ancestors with you while guiding your daughters, nieces, mentees, etc. into the future.
The saying I am my ancestors wildest dream comes to mind. I do this work because someone before me fought for the chance. I hear the cheers of the ancestors and know that I am still covered by my grandmother’s prayers. And I keep going because my Mini Me that’s watching me at home — she deserves to believe she can do anything too.
To every mom who’s showing up at work and at home — especially those navigating spaces not built for you — know this: you are seen. You are powerful. You are doing sacred work. Keep going. Keep building. Keep bossing up.
And if you’re interested in my career path as an athletic academic administrator, check out my LinkedIn.
Mommy Daughter Adventures 