Why I Went to Georgetown to Build a Wellness Company

I started my career the way a lot of people do when they’re not quite sure what they want—as an administrative assistant. I didn’t go to college right after high school. I earned a trade school certification in Introductory Programming, used it to get my foot in the door in government contracting, and from there I worked my way through nonprofit office management, real estate licensing, mortgage finance, and eventually seven years as an operations manager in private industry where I handled both operations and the books.

None of it was glamorous. All of it was education.

Those years taught me how companies actually run—not the vision-board version, but the version where someone has to reconcile the accounts, manage payroll, catch the errors no one else notices, and keep the engine running while leadership focuses on growth. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was building exactly the skill set I’d eventually need to launch a wellness company. Not the passion part. The infrastructure part.

The Company That Shaped Me

The role that changed my trajectory was at a financial services company where I stayed for many years. The company was large—over a thousand employees—but our regional office felt small and tight-knit. Several of those colleagues attended my wedding. My manager, Belinda, gave me something invaluable: space to grow, permission to make mistakes, and the trust that I could figure things out. That kind of leadership doesn’t just develop your skills. It develops your confidence.

It was during that time that I started to see where my career was heading—toward a financial controller role, or something on the strategic finance side. I’d been chipping away at my undergrad, going to evening classes straight from work, and I made the decision early on to change my major to finance. Best decision I’ve ever made.

And then, about six weeks after my wedding, I was diagnosed with cancer. Everything stopped.

Why Georgetown

Once I got my feet under me and started to reset my life, I knew I wanted my master’s in finance. Partly because I wanted to be an example for my son. But mostly because I knew it would fill the knowledge gap between where I’d been and where I wanted to go.

I wasn’t applying to ten programs. I told my husband: if I get into Georgetown, I’m going. Their MSF program had everything—an international consulting project, a curriculum built around exactly what I needed to learn, and coursework that would serve me whether I went back to corporate or built something of my own. It was an investment. But so was everything else I’d done to get to that point.

One of my elective courses was a new venture entrepreneurship class, and I made a decision that changed everything: instead of building a fake company for the assignment, I’d build my real one. I’d already spent years researching functional mushrooms, adaptogens, and cellular health. I was already taking them during treatment. The science was there, even if it wasn’t mainstream yet. So I used that course to force myself through every step—market analysis, financial modeling, competitive positioning—and I came out with an executable business plan. Not a dream. A plan.

The More I Learned, the Dumber I Felt

I used to joke with my cohort about what I called my reverse Dunning-Kruger experience. Before Georgetown, I thought I knew enough to build a business. Inside Georgetown, every concept I learned cracked open an entirely new world of concepts I didn’t yet understand. It was a never-ending rabbit hole, and it would take decades to fully apply everything I gained in that program.

But here’s what it actually gave me: it connected dots I didn’t even know were there. It made my prior experience make sense. Suddenly I could have real conversations about valuation, sensitivity analysis, revenue modeling, and capital structure—not just understand the terms, but understand the thinking behind them.

The process of learning how to value a company was the most transformative part. Not the number you land on—the process of getting there. It forces you to examine every aspect of the business: how you generate revenue, where expenses live, what your tax exposure looks like, how to model best- and worst-case scenarios. That discipline is what separates a founder who’s guessing from a founder who’s building.

The Gap I Keep Seeing

I’ve watched other wellness brands market anti-aging skincare using twenty-two-year-old faces. And every time, I think the same thing: your skin doesn’t look like that because of your product. Your skin looks like that because you’re young and your body is still producing collagen on its own. I’d never buy from you—because you’re not talking to me.

That’s the gap. The wellness industry is full of passion but thin on rigor. There are brilliant ingredients, emerging science, and real demand—but so many brands don’t understand their market, don’t know their unit economics, and can’t explain why their product works beyond “it’s natural.” Understanding your customer isn’t a nice-to-have. It’s a business foundation. And it’s one that too many founders skip.

This is why I feel more prepared now, in my forties, than I ever could have been at twenty-five. Women over forty are being written off—by the beauty industry, by wellness brands, by a culture that treats perimenopause and menopause like an ending instead of a transition. Nobody is talking to us. Not with the science. Not with the empathy. And definitely not with the business discipline to actually deliver something that works.

The Interview That Ended the Debate

After earning my Master’s in Finance from Georgetown, I explored the corporate path. The job market had changed, and to be truly competitive in strategic finance, I probably needed my CPA—a three-year detour I had to think long and hard about.

I went on several interviews. The feedback was always the same: great personality, strong background, but not quite the right fit. One role in particular, I prepared for like it was a final exam. I spent days studying their annual reports, analyzing their budget, understanding their financial structure. I walked in early, with a printed executive binder, organized and confident. I was ready.

Three questions in, I had a hot flash. My glasses literally fogged up. To them, I looked like a woman who was extremely nervous. They had no way of knowing it was chemotherapy-induced menopause—I was too young for anyone to assume that. But in that moment, sitting at a table with three people who were forming a first impression I couldn’t correct, something clicked: I am trying to fit myself into spaces where I don’t belong.

I had a fully executable business plan I’d been working through for over a year. I had fifteen-plus years of operational and financial experience. I had a Georgetown MSF. I had lived the exact problem my company was built to solve. The only thing I was missing was the decision—and the guts to relentlessly pursue what I already knew I should be doing.

The Unfair Advantage

People talk about unfair advantages in business like they’re always about connections or capital. Mine is lived experience. I am my customer. I went through chemotherapy-induced menopause at forty. I know what it feels like when your body changes and nobody’s building products for you. I know what it’s like to be exhausted at a cellular level and have every lab come back “normal.” I know what it’s like to sit in a room full of professionals and have your body betray you in a way no one can see.

That’s not a limitation. That’s a superpower. And it’s one that no twenty-five-year-old founder—no matter how smart or well-funded—can replicate.

Before Georgetown, I thought a great idea with great pricing was enough. I thought I could build from my kitchen and figure it out. I understood how to run a business operationally, but building from scratch and scaling? That’s an entirely different beast. Georgetown gave me the framework. My career gave me the discipline. And my life gave me the reason.

None of what I’m building with Earthkiss would be possible without all three. And I’ll never regret the day I decided to apply.

Your Turn

What skill from your “other life” is secretly your superpower for what you’re building next? That thing you learned in a job you thought was just a stepping stone, or a season of life you thought was a detour—what if it was actually preparation? I’d love to hear your story. Drop a comment or send me a message—I read every one.