Risha Grant

You ever look at a photo and think, Whew… if only they knew what was really going on. This was one of those.

I was smiling.
I was sipping.
I was sitting in the sun.

But nothing about my life felt light.

Everything under me felt like it was falling apart.
I couldn’t see straight from the confusion.

I was carrying questions I couldn’t answer, and stress that made it hard to breathe.

And still… I got in the car.

I couldn’t explain it.
Couldn’t afford it.
But I knew I needed space.

I need more than just an escape. I needed to find a way to survive.
To think. To pray. To feel something solid again.

And no, it didn't fix everything. But, it helped me keep going.

Life wasn't suddenly better.
But, I could breathe. Because I gave myself permission to.

I could breathe just long enough to remember that I could.

That I would.

So for the person who’s hanging on by a thread...
The one who’s smiling in public but unraveling in private...
Who’s wondering if it’s time to quit, or turn back, or disappear.

Hold on to the words, my Aunt Nay, gifted me, "No matter what it looks like, keep going".

There was a time I almost gave up. I mean really gave up.

I mean walk away from everything I’d built, and everything I’d hoped for gave up.

I was tired. I was hurting.
And I made the call you make when you’re ready to be done.

I called my mom, and I told her, “I can’t do this anymore.”

She listened. Calm as ever.
Then she hit me with something that changed everything.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t what I wanted to hear.
But it was exactly what I needed.

That moment pulled me back.
Because it reminded me that belief doesn’t always look like a pep talk.
Sometimes it sounds like someone holding you accountable to the future you said you wanted.

And in that moment, I had to decide, was I really done?
Or was I just afraid?

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What matters most to me? The people. Always the people.

The speaking, the coaching, the videos, those are just vehicles.
But the actual work?
It’s teaching people that there is no “them.”
There’s only us.

That’s the lesson I keep coming back to.
And I don’t just mean in moments of crisis.

We’re supposed to show up for each other, on regular days too.
Because life is easier when you know someone’s got you.
When you’re not out here trying to carry it all alone.

I grew up in a town where we understood that.
If someone was sick, my grandma cooked for their whole family.
Pies, casseroles, fried chicken.

I know I'm not supposed to say this publicly, but Black folks always bringing chicken somewhere. 🤣

That’s how we loved each other.
That’s what community looked like.

That’s what I’m trying to build in the workplace too.

Because culture isn’t just a business strategy, it’s a human one.
It’s about knowing the person next to you matters.
That your success isn’t threatened by someone else’s freedom.

This work isn’t about making anybody feel bad.
It’s about making sure nobody gets left behind.
Not the folks who’ve been excluded for generations.
And not the folks who are just now afraid it might happen to them.

Fear won’t move us forward.
But shared humanity will.

So yeah, what matters most to me?

Teaching people we belong to each other.
And building a culture where that’s not just something we say,
It’s how we lead.
It’s how we live.

That's what my work is about. That's what I help companies do.

Every now and then, I get to be ReRe again.

That’s who I was before all this.
Before the stages, before the strategy, before I chose to make this work my life.

And ReRe isn’t worried about business, bills, or anybody’s bottom line.

She’s laughing with her cousins about old whoopings and Big Wheels.

She’s eating good food, clowning, being loud, and remembering what it felt like to be fully free.

Recently, we were all together to celebrate one of my little cousins (he's 27, and yes I feel old).

And it was everything I needed. The kind of gathering that makes you forget what time it is.

The kind of gathering that doesn't require performance or pressure, the only thing that is required is love.

And when someone called me “ReRe” it stopped me for a second.

Because in that moment, I remembered, I haven’t gone anywhere. I'm still me
And it felt damn good to be reminded who I truly am.

More than a speaker.
More than a best-selling author.
More than executive coach.

I'm ReRe,. first.
Always.

Don't get me wrong, I love what I do. I chose it.
I carry it with pride.

But sometimes, I need the reminder that I’m not just what I do.
I’m still her.
Still ReRe.

And she’s proud of me.
But she also wants me to sit down, laugh, and eat something fried every once in a while.

So I'll be doing it again this weekend.

What y'all got up for this weekend? Who will you be?

They told me to leave. I stayed. Here’s why:

When I started this work, it wasn’t called DEI.
It wasn’t trendy.
It wasn’t profitable.

And in Oklahoma? It definitely wasn’t welcomed.

But I had a simple belief: Everybody deserves to be treated with kindness.

No matter who they are, what they look like, how they pray, or who they love.

At the time, I could count on one hand how many people even thought that was a problem worth solving.

But I saw the cost of silence.
And I decided, I’d rather stand alone and make change than blend in and stay safe.

That same pressure I felt then?
It’s what so many of you are feeling right now.

Leaders who care about culture but feel stuck between values and business politics.
Companies that made promises in 2020 but are backpedaling in 2025.

Employees who are quietly checking out because leadership stopped speaking up.

Look y'all, this is your moment.
Not to make a statement, but to make a choice.

Will you be the leader who keeps showing up?
Or the one who disappears when it’s no longer convenient?

I help companies rebuild trust.
I help leadership teams align culture with action.

And I do it because I know how hard it is to stand firm when the world says quit.

So if you’re in that moment now, I have your back.

You don’t have to lead it alone. I am in your corner.