I googled my name this morning looking for a link to a recent news article. What popped up gave me pause (and a bit of a chuckle): an Instagram reel about my six-ingredient pot roast (from my recent cookbook) and an interview on CNN where I'm discussing the escalating international trade war.

To be human is to truly be multifaceted. Moms really can do it all. 

As founder and CEO of Simplified, a brand of planners and paper goods sold online and in major retail stores nationwide, I’ve built a career based on organization and simplicity. A space where everything had its place.  In a world of chaos, helping others find order feels meaningful. (And all the recovering overachieving perfectionists said amen.)

But as my business expanded, my children grew up, and I approached my forties, something inside me started to develop. It was small and shy at first, as my priorities began to shift and my interests began to broaden.

The closets and the meal plans and the laundry routines still mattered, deeply so, as I wholeheartedly believe life inside the four walls of our homes is often where we make our biggest impacts on the world. But I started to look much further outside those walls, at friends and neighbors facing hardships, at policies that affected the rights of people I loved, and eventually inward at my own privilege.

When you build a business around creating order, people expect you to stay in your lane. They want the simplified version of you, the one who fits neatly into the box they've assigned. But what happens when that box becomes too small to contain your conscience?

"Stick to planners, not politics," a commenter wrote on a post I shared about my joy in watching Kamala Harris take the oath of office as the first Black, Asian-American, and female Vice President of the United States. The words lingered with me. Was I overstepping? Should I remain in my designated lane? Would speaking up destroy everything I'd built?

I consulted friends, mentors, my parents, my husband, and my team over the years. I wondered thousands of times if I should stick to planners, not politics.  But silence has its own cost.

But as I got older, and my convictions became stronger, and the state of the world began to threaten freedom and democracy itself, I decided once and for all that idea was nonsense. And that the best type of legacy I could leave would be one of inclusion, of factual and respectful truth-telling, and ultimately of love. My kids were watching.

Last week, I became the named plaintiff in the first civil complaint, Simplified v. Trump,  filed against Donald Trump challenging his unlawful attempt to impose emergency tariffs on goods imported from China. As a small business owner with nine employees, I've already paid $1.17 million in tariffs since 2017, and the new emergency tariffs—which have reached as high as 150%—would be catastrophic for my business, potentially forcing me to lay off employees or shut down entirely.

My decision to become the face of this legal challenge wasn't taken lightly. I believe the President's action to bypass Congress and declare an emergency to impose these tariffs is unlawful. The International Emergency Economic Powers Act (IEEPA) that he invoked has never been used to impose tariffs in its nearly 50-year history. 

And suddenly, planners are political.

My planners help people organize their lives, but those lives exist within systems and policies that affect us all. As a small business owner whose livelihood is directly impacted by political decisions like tariffs, staying silent isn't a neutral position—it's accepting whatever happens without standing up for my employees, customers, or business.

Reducing anyone to just one aspect of their identity—whether it's "planner maker" or anything else—denies their full citizenship and right to participate in conversations that shape our shared future. We can make beautiful planners AND engage thoughtfully on issues that affect us. The two aren't mutually exclusive; they're part of being a whole person and responsible business owner in society.

The relationships in my life have been both challenged and strengthened through this process. Some of the people closest to me hold opposing political views. We've had to learn to disagree respectfully, to listen to understand rather than to convert. These conversations aren't always comfortable, but they're necessary if we want to preserve connections across dividing lines.

There's a cost to speaking up—trolls in comment sections, lost customers, sleepless nights wondering if I've put everything I've built at risk. But the cost of silence is far greater. It's paid in opportunities lost, in the slow erosion of rights, in the message it sends to my children that comfort matters more than conviction.

When I look at my team—nine incredible women with families who depend on the livelihood our small business provides—I know this fight isn't just about planners or politics or profits. It's about showing up fully as who we are, using the voices we've been given, and standing up for what's right even when it's hard. Especially when it's hard.

I don't know how this lawsuit will end. I don't know what my business will look like six months from now. But I do know that I'll be able to look my children in the eyes and tell them that when the moment called for courage, their mother answered. That sometimes, the most organized response to chaos isn't a color-coded planner—it's the willingness to step into the arena and fight for what matters.

We're not obligated to remain in the boxes where others have placed us. A person who creates organizational tools can also have thoughts on constitutional principles. Someone known for simplifying homes can also engage with the complexity of public policy.

So no, I won't "stick to planners." I'll stick to being human. Multifaceted, complex, and brave enough to use whatever platform I have to make this world a little better for all of us.

Because in the end, that's the legacy worth organizing our lives around.

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