And I’ve spent every day since trying to make good on that opportunity, not just for myself, but for others like me who’ve never been handed the keys to the room, let alone the building.
Today, I have the privilege of serving as the CEO of the second-largest privately held bank in the St. Louis market. When I arrived, the bank was hovering around $1.8 billion in assets. Today, we’re knocking on the door of $3 billion. But numbers only tell part of the story. What really matters is how we grow, and who we grow with.
I got into college on the thinnest of margins. If the university hadn’t believed in giving nontraditional students a shot, I wouldn’t be here with three or four degrees to my name. I was nontraditional in every sense of the word Black, from the foster care system, working through learning gaps that stemmed from a shaky educational foundation. But I was hungry. I was ready. I just needed a chance.
That chance changed my life.
It also taught me something that now defines my leadership philosophy: when people are overlooked by the system, it’s often because the system was designed to overlook them. You can’t outwork a door that’s locked shut. But when someone opens that door, when you’re given your shot, it’s on you to deliver.
Every leadership role I’ve held has come with subtle, and not-so-subtle, reminders about what leadership “looks like.” In too many rooms, people weren’t used to seeing Black leadership the way I saw Black leadership. But I didn’t wait for permission to change that. I’ve always believed in opening the door a little wider, not just for those who look like me, but for anyone who’s ready to rise.
That said, I don’t politicize diversity. I strategize it. I hire intentionally based on the markets we serve. If we’re building relationships in North County or North St. Louis City predominantly Black communities we hire from those communities. If we’re working in rural or suburban regions that are majority white, we hire there too. That’s not politics. That’s common sense. That’s good business.
In the past, the Underground Railroad was a path to freedom from physical bondage. Today, entrepreneurship and leadership are our modern-day escape routes, from economic oppression, generational poverty, and systems designed to stall progress. Whether you're running a corner hustle or running a corporate division, Black entrepreneurship and intrapreneurship, rising through the ranks inside institutions, are powerful forms of resistance.
When we take our seat at the table and keep that seat we create space for others. We model what's possible. We build wealth and power that future generations can expand on. But we also carry a responsibility: to show up, perform, and open the door for the next one in line.
Sometimes, you earn your way into a room by grinding it out. Other times, someone sponsors you, sees your potential, and ushers you in. Either way, once you’re in, the responsibility is the same: perform. Deliver results. Be worthy of the seat, because your performance isn’t just about you. It’s about all the people watching, wondering if someone like you belongs there.
You don’t have to carry the burden of representation alone, but you do have to honor the moment. To waste the room is to waste the shot.
These days, I’m thinking a lot about the limitations placed on diverse small businesses. You hear stories that mirror the government benefits cliff: grow too much, and suddenly you’re penalized. In the supplier diversity space, hitting a certain revenue threshold can mean losing access to certain programs, and with it, the contracts that helped you grow in the first place.
Then there’s the issue of slow pay from larger GCs, prime contractors who hire diverse firms but don’t pay on time. I know diverse entrepreneurs who’ve had to take out loans just to cover payroll while waiting to get paid. That’s not partnership. That’s exploitation.
We have to create systems that build people up, not trap them in the middle. That means not just access, but equitable access. Not just opportunity, but opportunity with support.
I’ve never let bitterness take root. I can’t afford to. I’m focused on doing the things that are in my control to do, because there’s plenty we can control. We can build institutions that reflect the communities we serve. We can invest in entrepreneurs who’ve never been handed a trust fund but still dream big. We can sponsor talent that doesn't check every traditional box but has the heart and hustle to grow into the role.
And we can keep showing up in rooms that weren’t built for us, until they are.