Sis… If I Had Legs I'd Kick You Wasn't Just a Movie. It Was a Mirror.

Image for Fair Use: ABC News

Ok if you know anything about this movie, this may sound like a far cry but hear me out. I mean ASAP Rocky was in a leading role if that means anything :) But also…

Have you ever watched a movie that left you feeling exposed?

Not because it reminded you of one bad day—but because it quietly reflected years of carrying too much without even realizing how heavy it had become.

That's exactly what If I Had Legs I'd Kick You did for me.

As I&I women, especially those of us who heal and serve for a living, we're fluent in survival. We can serve dozens in a day, lead a meeting, comfort a family, answer twenty 11 inbox messages, make it to basketball practice, check on our mama, and somehow still convince everyone around us we're "doing fine."

Yes ma’am... we're Olympic-level mask wearers.

The mother in this film isn't falling apart because she's weak. She's falling apart because she's been too strong for far too long.

And if we're honest?

Many of us know exactly what that feels like.

We were raised to push through. To pray through. To smile through. To work twice as hard for others for half the recognition. Somewhere along the way, we started believing that needing support meant we weren't built for this.

So we keep going.

Until our bodies start talking louder than our mouths.

Until we're snapping at people we love.

Until joy starts feeling unfamiliar.

Until we realize we've become experts at taking care of everyone except ourselves.

Now don't get me wrong—therapy has improved countless lives. Many of us wouldn't be where we are without it.

But here's the question this movie made me ask:

Why are so many high-achieving women who help others still exhausted... even after they've learned the language of healing?

Sometimes we can explain every childhood wound, every attachment style, every trauma response—and still wake up every morning living inside the exact same patterns.

Because awareness is the beginning.

It isn't the destination.

Nobody taught us how perfectionism shows up in how we meticulously manage others.

Nobody taught us how code switching changes the way we speak in meetings.

Nobody taught us how being "the strong one" quietly becomes our entire identity.

Nobody taught us how centuries of carrying our families, our communities, and our workplaces could settle into our systems.

That's why we created collabo.

Not because we need another leadership or burnout course.

Not because we need another motivational quote.

But because we believe we need each other.

We need spaces where accomplished women can finally say, "I don't know."

Where asking questions isn't seen as weakness.

Where mentorship replaces competition.

Where purpose gets louder than performance.

At collabo we talk about three things: meaning, mastery, and mentorship.

Meaning reminds you why little girl you dreamed of becoming a healer in the first place.

Mastery helps you become deeply confident—not because you know everything, but because you're no longer afraid of what you don't know.

Mentorship reminds you that none of us were ever supposed to carry this alone.

Watching this movie, I didn't just see one overwhelmed crazy white woman mother.

I saw all professional women busy helping others when they need help. I saw physicians, nurse practitioners, PAs, teachers, social workers and therapists with sometimes overwhelming and complex lives.

I saw us.

The healing we've been searching for isn't about becoming stronger or more resilient, it's about finally putting some of the weight down.

Because we have never had a strength problem.

We've had a support problem.

And that's exactly what collabo was built to change.

AND that is where collabo seeks to offer something different.

At collabo, we believe shift begins with small doses of self-awareness. Not simply asking, "How are you feeling?" but asking, "Who have you become while trying to help everyone else?"

Our framework rests on three pillars:

Meaning reminds us why we entered healing before productivity metrics, inboxes, and endless documentation began defining success.

Mastery develops genuine confidence that comes from mentorship, reflection, and continuous learning—not from pretending to have all the answers.

Mentorship creates safe relationships where uncertainty is welcomed rather than hidden, allowing witnessed growth without shame.

The mother's story illustrates what happens when someone continually gives without receiving the support, perspective, and community needed to remain whole. Her experience is not merely personal—it reflects a broader cultural pattern affecting caregivers everywhere.

Self-awareness is not a luxury reserved for #Sundayresets or wellness retreats. It is a professional competency. A professional woman who understands their own nervous system, emotional triggers, cognitive biases, and patterns of overfunctioning is better equipped to communicate, collaborate, make thoughtful decisions, and provide compassionate care.

Perhaps the greatest lesson from If I Had Legs I'd Kick You is that healing rarely happens in isolation. We are not meant to shoulder impossible burdens alone.

The workforce has spent generations teaching professionals how to care for others. The next generation of must also teach helpers and healers how to care for themselves—and for one another.

Because healthier women create healthier workplaces. Healthier workplaces create healthier systems. And healthier systems ultimately create a healthier world .

That is the future collabo is working to build: less solo, more soul.