Before I ever became a commissioned notary, I was already soaking up everything I could about the industry. I was watching YouTube videos, attending Tuesday Notary Titans calls, joining Facebook groups, and listening carefully to those who had walked this path before me.
From the start, I did what I now encourage other notaries to do: I built relationships with people ahead of me. I asked questions. I gave support where I could. I invested in community.
And through that, I found some amazing mentors. People I admired. People I learned from. People I cheered for, and who cheered for me.
Or at least, they did… until I started rising.
This is the part no one really prepares you for:
Sometimes, the people who once encouraged your growth start to resist it.
It happened more than once.
Each time I brought a new idea or direction to one of these mentors, something that was mine, they didn’t celebrate. They didn’t offer feedback. They didn’t lift me up.
Instead, I’d get subtle shutdowns:
“Oh, I’m already working on that.”
“You might want to hold off for now.”
“That space is getting crowded.”
At first, I listened. I deferred out of respect. I paused ideas I cared deeply about. But over time, I began to realize: I wasn’t being mentored anymore—I was being managed.
And then something shifted in me.
In early 2025, I decided to move forward with a new workshop and course—something I had built from the ground up. I didn’t wait for a green light. I just… did it.
And it changed everything.
Because I said yes to myself, I was invited to speak at three major events—including the National Notary Association Conference. My workshop was a success. My confidence grew. My voice strengthened.
But those mentors? They didn’t clap.
They didn’t acknowledge the growth.
They didn’t attend my talks.
They didn’t send a “congratulations.”
They just… fell silent.
I realized something difficult but true:
My success had become a conflict for them.
And it wasn’t because I did anything wrong.
It’s because some people only support you when you stay smaller than them.
So I pulled back. Quietly.
I stepped out of the groups I used to pour into.
I unsubscribed from emails that no longer inspired me.
I stopped waiting for support from people who had made it clear that my success wasn’t theirs to celebrate.
And let me be clear:
This wasn’t about resentment.
It was about clarity.
It was about peace.
The Truth About Outgrowing Mentors
Outgrowing a mentor doesn’t mean you’ve become arrogant. It doesn’t mean you’re disloyal. And it doesn’t mean you have to burn a bridge.
It means you’re evolving.
Some relationships serve you for a season. Some voices guide you to a certain point. And some teachers stop being teachers when you start to stand in your own power.
That’s okay.
I still think about those early mentors sometimes. I still remember what they taught me, and I still wish them well.
But now, my energy is focused on something bigger:
Creating the kind of community I was looking for all along.
A community that celebrates, not competes.
That shares, not hoards.
That elevates each other without strings attached.
Because I never wanted to be the notary who made someone feel like they needed permission to succeed. I wanted to be the notary who reminded others that they were already capable.
That’s what I’ve carried into my network. Into my courses. Into my coaching. Into my speaking.
The experience of being quietly pushed aside didn’t make me bitter.
It made me better.
It made me clearer.
And it made me more determined than ever to keep rising, and to pull others up with me.
So if you’ve felt this shift too…
If you’ve quietly realized you’re outgrowing the voices that once guided you…
Let me be the one to say:
You don’t need permission to grow. You only need the courage to keep going.
