How I Turned a Setback Into a Platform

 Sometimes the moment you feel most invisible is the one that teaches you how to truly be seen.

You don’t always talk about it—the moment that knocked the wind out of you. Maybe it was a public loss. Maybe it was a quiet unraveling behind the scenes. But you remember how it felt: the sting, the shame, the silence that followed.

This is a story about one of those moments—and how it became the very foundation I stand on today.

The Moment I Almost Quit

When I lost the city council race, I didn’t just lose an election. I lost the storyline I’d been building for years—one rooted in bringing new energy and representation to our city. I believed it was time for leadership that reflected the people actually living, working, and raising families here. I wanted to give millennials and Gen Z a voice in shaping our future, not just preserving the past.

I wasn’t running for the spotlight. I was running to give voice to a generation that was being ignored. My opponent had served for 17 years. Her kids were grown. Her vision was fixed in the past. Mine wasn’t.

I had worked hard. I had shown up. I had done everything “right.” And yet, I walked away with a scarlet letter—one nobody could see, but I carried it anyway.

The ‘letter’ you carry only has the weight you give it.

There were whispers that I had split the vote. That it was my fault the newcomer won. That I wrecked things. People didn’t blame the 17-year incumbent for running again when her support was already fading. They blamed me—for daring to run at all.

The first city event after the election was a ribbon cutting for the welcome center. Council members and staff kept their distance. No one really said anything. And maybe that was worse.

But the hardest moment? Sitting on the dais during her final council meeting—her retirement recognition night. The room full of people honoring her service. I sat there in silence, carrying the weight of what they weren’t saying.

That’s what the scarlet letter felt like. Not public disgrace, but private erasure.

The Truth That Set Me Free

The first step in my visibility reset wasn’t a journal entry or a bold Instagram post. It was forgiveness.

I hugged the man who won. I meant it. I released him from the shadow of my pain.

Then I hired a life coach and joined a mastermind. For the first time in months, I let myself believe that my story wasn’t over.

It was scary. But it felt like a crack of light breaking through.

I stopped hiding. I stopped ghosting my own platforms. I started telling the truth again—even if my voice shook. I shared in rooms where I used to only present wins. And in doing so, I learned:

People remember how you show up now, not how you felt about a loss then.

A few weeks later, my coach said something that stayed with me: “Your real power is in your comeback.”

She called me the “Comeback Queen”—at first as a joke. But something about it stuck. It didn’t feel true yet, but it felt possible. And that was enough to keep going.

That scarlet L? The “L” that felt like it stood for “loser,” even though no one ever said it outright, was the symbol of everything I thought I had lost. But through the small, steady work of reclaiming my voice, I began to realize it could mean something entirely different. It didn’t mark me as a failure—not forever, anyway.

It took time. Months, honestly. I remember sitting alone in my car outside a city event, debating whether to go in or drive away. Even simple things like showing up felt like mountains to climb. At first, I couldn’t even say the words “I lost” without choking on them. But little by little—through forgiveness, coaching, and telling the truth in small, unglamorous ways—I started to see that L differently.

It meant “launch”—not loser.
It became a launch point—for a mission, a message, and a new kind of leadership.

📥 Ready to show up again — but not sure how to start?
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Turning Your Setback Into a Platform

Setbacks don’t define you. How you respond to them does, and that response can become your comeback after failure.

Most people aren’t watching you as closely as you think. I learned that the hard way—when someone from the chamber of commerce, someone I thought had been following every detail, had no idea I’d even run.

Visibility isn’t about vanity or being an influencer—it’s about telling the truth. It’s how you open doors—for yourself and for others.

You don’t need a flawless origin story to lead.
You just need the courage to tell the truth about what shaped you.

And if you’re in the messy middle right now?

Let me tell you from the other side:

You can turn the moment you almost gave up into the platform where you rise. Your comeback story after failure doesn’t need to be perfect—it just needs to be yours.

What if your greatest loss became the foundation for your legacy?

If you’ve been carrying your own invisible L, maybe it’s time to put it down. Not because it didn’t matter, but because your story isn’t finished yet.