(Above) 90’s Alexia – just getting started in radio (listener map behind me)

I was promoted to my first major leadership role at 37. But the story starts long before that.

When my children were in elementary school, I stepped away from my corporate job in search of something more flexible. Back then, there were no work-from-home days. The corporate world didn’t accommodate moms in the way it does now. I wanted a place that worked for my life, and I found that in a nonprofit radio station I loved.

My role was to lead development efforts and support the General Manager in running the station. I jumped in and did what I do best—bringing order to chaos. Over eight years, I built processes for everything: volunteer programs, database systems, community outreach, customer service, donor communication and more. If an area needed fixing, I did it.

Then, I started to see something else. Two team members in another department were unknowingly doing the same work —overlapping, creating confusion. It was obvious to me, so I brought it to my boss.

He heard me, but did nothing.

For years, I watched the pattern unfold. I saw the issues. I raised them. Nothing changed. I questioned myself, thought something was wrong with me. Why was I seeing things while no one else did? Why did no one do anything to bring clarity?

The dysfunction became impossible to ignore, so I asked to move into an outside sales role. I thought distance would give me a fresh start.

My boss said no.

“You’re too valuable where you are.”

He was right.

Six months later, I left that job for a director level position with a job readiness program . It was fulfilling, purposeful work—and a challenge I loved.

Then, two years later, I got the call.

They wanted me back at the station.

The role? Outside sales.

I was surprised, but curious. By now, my kids were older and more active, the flexibility and earning potential of a sales role made sense. I returned that June as the new Sales Rep.

At the time, I didn’t fully understand how much things were unraveling. The staff were restless, there was no direction and a fund designated for a specific project was not used in the way it was promised. In mid September, the GM asked me to review a letter he had written to our donor base—an apology. It was not uncommon for me to write donor letters when I was there years before, so I stepped in to help. We rewrote that letter, inviting donors to share feedback. He asked forgiveness and ultimately their support. That letter went out to tens of thousands of households.

Weeks later, he stepped down.

Then he asked me to replace him in an interim role.

I was stunned. My first instinct was no.

I spent a week walking, thinking, praying, asking for advice.  In the end, I said yes.

On a sunny October Monday, I walked into my new office with more uncertainty than confidence.

Four days later was when I learned that we didn’t have enough money to cover payroll. I also learned that some people didn’t believe I was the right person for the role.

In that moment, I was devastated.

Maybe this was a mistake. I had prayed. I believed I had heard clearly.

But sitting there, facing the reality of what I had stepped into, I couldn’t help but wonder: Did I hear wrong?

I paced the halls, wondering what to do, gathered the staff and told them the truth. We weren’t just behind, we were deep in debt, with every line of credit tapped. That was when I realized that people’s livelihoods were now resting on me—the very people I needed to win over.

The station was in crisis. And somehow, I was responsible for fixing it.

It felt overwhelming. Heavy. Real.

That very week something unexpected happened: hundreds of envelopes, filled with encouragement, prayers, and financial support started to pour in. It was the responses from the apology letter. We not only covered payroll, that event kicked off and climb upward that lasted my tenure. We lined the walls with those beautiful notes until there was no more room.

Even the skeptics began to soften. We went on air, thanked our listeners, and asked for their continued support.

They showed up.

By December, we had our largest fundraiser ever.

What started as “interim” turned into three years.

In that time, we simplified our mission and vision. We clarified roles. We rebuilt trust. We paid down all of the debt. We exceeded fundraising goals year after year.

We became an organization we could be proud of.

But the real transformation wasn’t just organizational. It was personal.

Out of sheer desperation, I learned something early on:  I could not do it alone. I was never supposed to.

I was surrounded by a team of advisors—people who were stronger than me in areas where I needed help. A leadership coach. An HR advisor. A marketing expert. A seasoned media executive. Those advisors, along with our staff and volunteers, made all the difference. What I learned in those years wasn’t just how to run a radio station. I learned my limits alone and how limitless we were together.

Now, almost 20 years later, I can still feel those moments—the weight, the doubt, the responsibility.

If you’re a leader reading this, you probably know that feeling.

The pressure. The expectations.

The quiet question in the back of your mind: Am I the right person for this?

I’ve been there. What changed everything for me wasn’t becoming more confident. It was becoming more supported.

That’s the work I do now.

I lead leaders—because leadership isn’t meant to be carried alone.

If you’re a driven leader who is lonely and tired, I urge you to consider building a team of trusted advisors.  If you’d like to talk with me about how that can benefit you, contact me at alexia@alexiazigoris.com