What tornado warning?

I live in an Atlanta suburb filled with lakes, cart paths, and more Southern hospitality than you could ask for.

It's “Bless your heart”—but not in the mean way.

I didn't mean to end up here.

But just before the Great Unpleasantness, I went fully remote.

So I packed up my kids and my pets and traded skyscrapers for a lush half-acre yard with enough birdsong to turn us all into Merlin app junkies.

Like all good moves, it came with tradeoffs.

Bye, crime—hello to an allergy season that’ll knock you flat.
Bye, noise—hello to neighborly groupthink.
Bye, “this tear-down costs half a million” BS—hello to a new housing threat: Tornadoes.

We get a thick smattering of storms in spring.

So far this year, 5 have been serious enough to produce twisters.

When one’s about to hit, you know.

First, the phones and tablets blare that emergency tone: steel-wool-through-your-veins ear poison accompanied by storm-emoji texts telling you to get indoors.

Then come the actual sirens.

My hands tingle.
My shoulders lock up.
My chest tightens.

So my little crew does what we’ve trained ourselves to do:

We grab the pillows, the snacks, the iPads.
We pile into my son’s closet—the most tornado-proof room in the house.
Then we wait.
We refresh the radar.
We watch the purple blobs move across the screen until they pass.

And each time, my kids initiate the same conversation:

“When is the tornado coming?”
“I don’t know that it is.”
“Then why are we in the closet?”
“Because the conditions are right—and if it comes, it comes fast.”

They still don’t fully understand.
They think I’m being dramatic.
But I remind them—gently and repeatedly:
You don’t wait until the storm hits to prepare.

That’s why I teach women how to build a business based on their skills and experience before the storm hits at work.

- Before your CXO gets replaced and the new one cleans house.
- Before AI wipes out 70% of your team and keeps only a few for human oversight.
- Before the burnout, the budget cuts, or the layoff that no one saw coming.

Some marketers would tell me not to say this, but I will anyway:

Half the women I help don’t launch their businesses right away.
They learn.
They build quietly and wait.
They keep it in the background just in case.
They watch the skies at work.

And then, when:
The sirens go off.
The pressure drops.
The phone call comes.
The restructure hits.

They’re not panicking.
They’re not scrambling.

They’re ready:

To sign their separation agreements on a Friday—
and launch their businesses on Monday.

That’s why I created The Radiant Resistance.

Because in this season of accelerating change, we don’t always know what’s coming.

And not having a backup plan?
That’s like picnicking during a tornado watch
Because the sun is still peeking through the clouds.

Don’t wait for the sirens.
Build it now.
Even if you don’t launch it yet.
Because when the winds pick up and the sky turns green—
you’ll be so glad you’re not figuring it out in real time.

xo,

Mary