I have stated a bite-sized portion of my why in parts of my website and elsewhere, but if you’re interested in the full story behind how The Ambitious Assistant came to be, read on. I will forewarn you that it is honest and open, and that it might be emotionally taxing to read. It wasn’t an easy road that led to me starting The Ambitious Assistant, but being the open and frank individual that I am, I felt it was important to be straightforward about the events that led to me following my dream. I wear my heart on my sleeve and what you see is what you get with me, so why would I represent myself any other way? If you do continue to read, thank you for taking the time to delve into an important piece of my life.
“Talk about them. Be proud of them. Losing a courageous battle doesn’t make you weak.” – Jennifer Betts
My life went from obliviously happy to painfully aware overnight. Quite literally. My son took his own life at 3:00 AM on October 9, 2022, causing me to wake up that day a completely different person – and one that I didn’t recognize. On Friday, I was the mother of four beautiful adult children, and on Saturday I had to call my family to tell them I was technically now the mother of three. I had no idea how to reconcile that. Hell, I had no idea how to put my pants on that morning, much less anything that required thought. While this is brutally painful to talk about, I also adore talking about my beautiful boy – my only son. But also because I believe so very strongly that the stigma attached to both suicide and addiction need to be shattered, I feel it’s important to talk about this openly.
I’ve learned a lot, not only about grief in the months that have passed, but also about living life. I’ve lost loved ones before, but nothing compared to this. That Saturday I felt as though a piece of myself died with my son, and I still do. I am achingly incomplete without my child, and yet I’ve also changed in ways that I could have only dreamt about before. As C.S. Lewis so aptly wrote “Grief is like a long valley, a winding valley where any bend may reveal a totally new landscape.” I would have never known that I had the kind of strength I do had I not walked this path, however unwillingly. I would have never dreamed that a business would rise from the ashes of my heartache, nor that I would find the kind of passion I had so desperately hoped for about something. Now, however, I have discovered that I am passionate about fighting the stigmas that are attached to how I lost my son, and about helping others with what gifts I have to offer.
“The ‘ton of bricks’ that are thrust upon your shoulders by a loved one’s suicide never goes away. But you do get stronger shoulders.” – Frank Kaufman
I would never, ever have imagined this happening to my family. My children grew up in a variety of places, having moved often in their early years. However, we have been in Texas for the past 20 years. My son was born in Veszprem, Hungary and spent the first 3 years of his life there. After moving back to the states, my last two daughters were born, bringing our blooming family up to 6. The children’s father and I divorced when the children were young, and those were hard years – mostly for my son. As gruff as he seemed, he was always an extremely tender-hearted person. As the years progressed, my children all seemed to have settled well into our new normal when I met my current husband. A man who went from a bachelor to a stepfather of 4 in what felt like overnight. The kids all came to love him, and our life seemed, well, almost normal. We’ve experienced a lot in that time; from a house fire to the loss of grandparents and a dearly loved uncle to an overdose, but each time, my little family seemed to get up, dust off, and move on.
“Grief is like the ocean; it comes on waves ebbing and flowing. Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming. All we can do is learn to swim.” – Vicki Harrison
In the days leading up to my son’s death, I knew he was struggling, but I had absolutely no idea how much. Because it was October, we were excitedly getting ready for Halloween with the grandchildren. One day my son came to the kitchen to hug me, then left the house. I didn’t know exactly why, but everything about it felt wrong. Every motherly instinct I had was vibrating on high alert. He didn’t ask to take the car, and I knew the friends he said he was going to see were people he had cut off years ago.
In a weird state of panic, I rushed out the front door to stop him. “Do you PROMISE me that this is really what you’re doing, Brandon?” I begged with tears in my eyes. He kind of sighed and then lied to me for the first time in many years by responding, “Yes, mom. I promise.” I stood there, not believing him, but how do you stop a 25-year old man from walking away. I promptly ran inside and asked my husband to go check his room, and sure enough, there was a suicide note. In the days that followed, we spent countless hours walking the homeless camps and wooded areas where he had been dropped off by an Uber, hoping to catch a glimpse of our son.
The entire family took off work, hung fliers, talked to the local businesses and walked or rode bikes for dozens of miles a day. Each flier we hung had a note hand-written to my son, begging him to let us try to change the way he thought about this life. We brought cash and gave money to each person in the homeless community who had any information about him. Not a single member of my son’s family failed to show up, and we later came to believe that he did see us – he just hid from us. He genuinely didn’t want to come home.
“Sometimes only one person is missing, and the whole world feels depopulated.” – Alphonse de Lamartine
I had no idea a heart could actually shatter. It can, I’m here to tell you. On the fourth day of searching for our son, my husband left earlier than I to resume our search. My grandson’s father, Wesley, had woken up from a fitful sleep in a cold sweat and with an urgency to get out to the search area before the rest of us. When Wesley arrived, it was to discover a crime scene van and the news that a body had been discovered. He contacted my husband first, not wanting to scare me yet, but my husband promptly let me know.
When my husband called back to confirm that it was our son, he could hardly get the words out through his sobs. I cannot describe what went through me at that moment. To say that my heart was shattered is the understatement of my lifetime. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think, all I could do was feel – and scream “no!” over and over and over, as if somehow my refusal to accept it would change the outcome. From inside, my daughter Claire heard my screams and dropped to her knees in the hallway at the pain she heard. She eventually came to the garage where I was and we both sank to the floor and cried for the next 2 hours. There wasn’t a word spoken, just raw, unadulterated pain. A pain I had literally prayed to avoid from the moment my children were born. Please, don’t ever let me lose them. I had no idea how I was supposed to get up off the floor of the garage and go on with life.
“One thing I learned is however I decided to grieve is the right way for me. Everyone’s different.” – Ron Prickett
Over the days and weeks to follow, I learned more about myself than I had in the past 20 years combined it seemed. The fact that I still woke up and didn’t die of grief in my sleep continues to amaze me morning after morning. Being able to talk about him and feel something other than exquisite pain was also a surprise. We were among the “lucky”, those survivors of suicide who at least had a semblance of an explanation for why he did what he did. Our son graciously took the time to write a note and leave a video explaining his why. Many do not. He also reassured us in his messages that nothing any of us have done contributed to this, nor could we have changed it. As much as I would like to believe that I could’ve altered his path, who am I to know what living in his skin felt like. He struggled with this for 10 years before he took action.
In the months that followed, I quickly discovered that I had a new passion to grab ahold of today with both hands – and both feet for good measure. Having learned the hard way that we’re not promised tomorrow, I decided to take action on something I had only dreamed about before. Starting my own business. I was ready to stop the hour commute, the long days, and the minimal amount of time that left for my family. I was done being a family on weekends alone, with an hour or two at night. I wanted to prioritize my time with the family I had left, and be able to place them first in my day-to-day life, not just in my heart.
“Know it wasn’t your fault. Know someday you may take comfort in educating people about suicide.” – Sue Mahlburg
After we gathered to celebrate my son’s life, my family sat with me out on our back patio and oddly enough the conversation turned to the “little side business” I had been dreaming about before all this had transpired. I found myself shocked to be actually feeling a kernel of excitement to be talking about it. As the weeks and months passed, I only grew more passionate about that business, and that little side business has since turned into The Ambitious Assistant as it is today. It’s no longer something I do on the side, but something I dedicate my heart to daily.
When I was finally (I was 50 before someone got it right) diagnosed with ADHD, I knew that I had to help others who struggled the way I had for so many years before my diagnosis and therapy. I discovered that not only did I want to change my life in a way that would allow me to spend every possible moment making the most of my family, but also that I had a passion deep in my soul to make a difference in the lives of others as well. How I could combine those two things had initially been a mystery, until I realized that this passion applied both to my business and neuro-diversity. By supporting others with ADHD, I get to do what I love doing and benefit others at the same time.
At The Ambitious Assistant, we combine a long history of executive assistance and management to bring the best possible service to our clients. When you add in the passion to serve and assist, you’re getting our all in every task. I no longer take anything for granted, and that includes what an honor it is when a client trusts us to become a strategic business partner in their own success. We respect and value that trust and do everything in our power to ensure that it will never be considered misplaced.
I have been an administrative professional for over 25 years. My experience in administration has varied from office manager to executive assistant with several other titles in between. I’ve spent the last 15 years successfully supporting and serving C-level executives. I have always loved what I do for a living, but I felt restricted in my corporate job. I couldn’t choose who I wanted to help. I wanted to be able to expand the skills that I already bring to the table, learn news skills that would benefit others, and to grow and blossom just like I want to help others do. It fills me with a deep sense of satisfaction when I hear a client sigh with relief at all that they no longer have to do on their own. No more overwhelm or procrastination panic, just the joy of being able to dedicate themselves to the creative aspects of their business that they enjoy. Being a strategic partner with other ADHD individuals brings a sense of joy, and that is precious to me.
When you partner with The Ambitious Assistant, you are getting a lifetime of developed skills and passion, along with the personality and grit to make it an exceptional experience. If there is anything we can do to partner with you, please reach out here to schedule a FREE 30-minute Discovery Call.
