From Robots to Radical Connection

How one engineer-turned-activist found her facilitation voice and brought it to the frontlines of global learning

I didn’t always have the language for what I was doing. But when I think back, I can see the early threads. They run through every phase of my career, especially during my decade at National Instruments, where I led teams building robotics platforms for kids in partnership with LEGO. These tools were designed to introduce young minds to science and engineering through graphical programming. It was deeply technical work, but also creative and collaborative. And most importantly, it was human-centered. The kids were our end users, and that meant we had to think differently. We had to step into their world.

I still remember cutting holes in pizza boxes, duct-taping together prototype hardware, and building touchable experiences so we could test usability with kids in classrooms. There was something magical about those messy, hands-on sessions. We were collaborating with designers from LEGO, building empathy for little hands and chaotic play styles. I didn’t realize it at the time, but those moments were my first real taste of facilitation—guiding a group through ambiguity toward something that mattered.

Later, while leading the product team for NI’s academic tools, I ran into a new kind of challenge: distributed product development. Our software came from Austin and Shanghai. Our hardware from Penang and back. Everyone was doing great work, but it wasn’t adding up. It felt like we were all laying tracks from different directions, hoping they’d connect. So I brought the global team together. We simulated the full user experience—hardware, guides, software, and personas—in one big room. We roleplayed unboxing, onboarding, and even teaching with our prototype. That was the moment something clicked for me. It wasn’t enough to design good parts. We had to design the connective tissue. That was design, but it was also facilitation. I just didn’t have the word for it yet.

There was another moment I always come back to—a design thinking workshop at IBM during Austin Design Week. We were challenged to design the worst hospital experience imaginable. It was absurd and hilarious—we imagined zombies in the waiting room, bloodied tools left lying around, terrifying moans echoing down the hallways. But beneath the comedy, something deeper was happening. We were surfacing our collective fears. And from there, we could design better. That facilitation technique—”design the worst” to unlock what’s most important—has stuck with me ever since.

Looking back, the shift was already happening. I started showing up at Austin Design Week. I went to IDEO trainings. I found myself drawn to design thinking. And I began to notice that the leaders I admired most weren’t the ones with the best answers. They were the ones who knew how to guide a group through uncertainty. They could make the murky feel purposeful. When I attended the Voltage Control summit in early 2020—just weeks before the pandemic—it hit me like a lightning bolt: these were my people. I was witnessing the art of facilitation, and I wanted in.

Design at the Edges

My path into facilitation wasn’t straight. It wound through product management, engineering education, and people leadership. But the common thread was always the same: I was obsessed with helping teams work better together. After that 2020 summit, I dove in. I joined every virtual meetup I could. I took Eric’s learning experience design workshop and immediately started redesigning my team meetings. I used mural boards, breakout groups, solo time, lean coffee, and liberating structures to fight the Zoom fatigue that was crushing morale.

There was one moment during those early pandemic months that stays with me. My team was exhausted. The line between work and home had blurred. So I tossed out our regular meeting structure and instead opened with a prompt: “What’s something you’re proud of this week, work or not?” The answers ranged from “I made banana bread” to “I finally got my toddler to nap.” It wasn’t much. But it brought us back to each other. That 5-minute share changed the tone of our meeting. And we got more done. It reminded me that facilitation isn’t always a fancy workshop. Sometimes it’s just holding space for what people need most.

I also started paying attention to the ways people were connecting online. The facilitation community blew me away. In the early days of the pandemic, it felt like facilitators were holding the world together. They were generously sharing tools and frameworks, helping people gather in meaningful ways, even as the world went remote. That inspired me to go further.

By then, I was leading a growing global team of 45 product owners. I started designing experiences that brought our chapter together—deep onboarding, virtual conferences with interactive side chats, hands-on workshops built by internal voices. What started as a few experiments turned into a full-blown community of practice. The feedback poured in. “This is the best internal event I’ve ever attended.” “I learned things here I couldn’t learn in a book.” “Every discipline should run like this.”

That’s when I realized I needed to go deeper. Facilitation wasn’t just something I was doing. It was becoming a core part of how I lead.

Choosing to Say Yes

When the first-ever Voltage Control Facilitation Certification cohort opened up, I was nervous. I didn’t see myself as a facilitator. I was a leader, sure. A team builder. A curious question-asker. But I had only ever facilitated my own meetings. Was that enough? Could I really claim this title?

Something in me said yes.

I joined the cohort.

And it changed everything. The program gave me language for things I was already doing—but more than that, it gave me the tools and confidence to go further. I saw how my approach to leadership was deeply facilitative. How I had always been focused on unlocking the collective wisdom of a group. How I’d spent years creating safety and structure for teams to wrestle with tough topics and push each other toward better ideas.

I still remember one of our cohort sessions vividly. We were practicing feedback frameworks, and I shared a story from my work. Another cohort member reframed it, offered a new lens, and I suddenly saw that situation in a totally different light. It was the first time in a long time I felt truly seen in my leadership. That peer-to-peer reflection became one of the most valuable parts of the experience.

The cohort experience gave me a mirror. I saw my own leadership reflected back in a way that made it real. Tangible. Nameable. And it allowed me to fully own it.

My Leadership Is Facilitative

I didn’t expect the portfolio to be as powerful as it was. At first, it felt daunting. But as I began to build it, something unexpected happened: I started to reframe my own story. I looked back at past projects with new eyes. Suddenly, I could see the throughline. I wasn’t just trying stuff. I was practicing something. My experiments in team culture, onboarding design, collaborative workshops—they were all early expressions of the facilitation competencies.

Through the certification, I found clarity in purpose. I found frameworks to strengthen my instincts. And I found a cohort of others who were stretching facilitation into all kinds of wild and beautiful directions. It expanded my definition of the work. It showed me that this craft lives everywhere.

One unexpected shift came in how I mentored others. I began using facilitation tools in 1:1s—pulling out templates, whiteboards, even metaphor cards. What started as performance check-ins became co-designed coaching sessions. People opened up. They brought their full selves. And we built trust that translated into better collaboration across the board.

Most of all, it helped me articulate my values. I believe in gathering with intention. I believe in designing for belonging. I believe the best ideas come when we create space for every voice, especially the quiet ones.

Everywhere, All at Once

These days, facilitation shows up everywhere in my life. It’s how I lead work in rural Kenya, bringing together organizations to build a robotics program for under-resourced kids. It’s how I design meetings across time zones and shaky internet, using shared artifacts to help teams move forward asynchronously. It’s how I create community among women in my life, hosting wisdom circles and shared reflections.

Facilitation is how I lead as a mom. When my family hit a rough patch recently, we pulled out sticky notes and affinity mapped our way to a shared decision on weekend plans. It was silly, but also incredibly connecting.

It even shows up in the unlikeliest moments. One evening in Kenya, we were waiting for hippos to emerge along the riverbank. I pulled out Rose, Thorn, Bud and invited everyone to share a highlight, a challenge, and a hope from the trip. What followed was one of the most honest and beautiful group conversations I’ve ever been part of. It reminded me that all it takes is one prompt, offered with care, to open up something meaningful.

The skills I’ve gained have become a default lens: How do we create clarity? How do we design safety? How do we move from messy to meaningful?

And I’m not done yet.

Fueling the Future

Science in a Suitcase is my current focus. We’ve rebuilt the organization from dormancy post-pandemic to a thriving initiative reaching over 200 kids annually in rural Kenya. We’ve delivered 65 robots to six schools. We’ve launched tournaments. We’re exploring expansion. And we’re doing it through partnership, storytelling, and deep facilitation.

I’m also dreaming into what’s next. I see robotics not just as a STEM tool, but as a creative prompt—a way to unlock new ways of thinking. We’ve had teens in Nairobi prototype civic solutions with LEGO robots. We’ve hosted sumo bot battles that double as mad lib storytelling games. I want to keep exploring how facilitation, learning, and play intersect.

We’re building a board, deepening our partnerships, and imagining new models for sustainability. It’s not always easy, but the vision is clear: connection, creativity, and capacity-building across borders.

If you’re on the fence about certification, I’ll say this: these skills will change your life. You’ll become a better leader, parent, friend, and collaborator. You’ll learn how to make every gathering more purposeful and alive.

You’ll find your voice. And you’ll help others find theirs, too.