What Open-Heart Surgery Taught Me About Vulnerability, Resilience, and the Power of Supportive Culture

When I was three, a surgeon opened my chest to repair a heart that didn’t quite know how to beat right. The procedure failed. They had to do it again, this time under local anesthesia. The memories are still hazy—blinding lights, the sharp smell of antiseptic, awkward voices. I didn’t have the words for vulnerability back then, but I felt it.?

As I grew older, running gave me a beautiful way to redefine vulnerability.?Instead of running away, I propelled forward—through forests, across deserts, over mountains. Every mile further proved that my imperfect heart is resilient and can endure.

But life doesn’t let you outrun what you inevitably must reconcile.

One month ago (Nov 7th), I found myself back on the operating table, staring up at those same blinding lights. Another open-heart surgery. A new valve. The closure of an atrial septal defect that had lingered in me for decades. I thought I was ready.

I’d prepared my whole life to be strong for this moment. But in the days leading up to the operation, I felt the same vulnerability I’d known as a child.

My family was there—their love wrapped around me like armour. But what surprised me most was the care I found in my workplace.

I work for Blu Ivy Group , an employer branding boutique based in Toronto that builds high-performance and supportive cultures. That’s not just a tagline; it’s what I experience. My colleagues didn’t treat me as an employee who needed time off, they?treated me as a human being who needed space to heal. They stepped in, actively making space for me to focus on recovery. My team reorganized schedules without hesitation, picked up responsibilities I couldn’t handle, and checked in—not just to ask how I was doing but to let me know I wasn’t alone. My leaders didn’t just grant me time off; they created a buffer, giving me the peace of mind that my work could wait until I was ready to return.

Each gesture, big and small, told me the same thing: you’re not just an employee, you’re a human being, and we’re here for you.

Recovery is humbling in ways you can’t prepare for. The simplest acts—sitting up, standing, eating—become challenging, but?every breath feels like tasting sugar for the first time.?

Pain, I’ve learned, has a strange way of clarifying what matters. It strips away the noise and leaves you with the essentials: the people who stand with you, the spaces that hold you, the moments that remind you why you keep going.

Great companies don’t just focus on results. They create the right spaces for people to find meaning in their work and build relationships. Work isn’t just about KPIs and daily tasks. It’s about co-creating and cultivating spaces where people feel seen, understood, and supported. What kind of workplace do we strive to create with our teams?

My colleagues and leaders didn’t check the “be supportive” box. They met me where I was—with grace, empathy, and a genuine commitment to my well-being. That’s what makes Blu Ivy so special.

Coming back to work after this experience is humbling. You notice the smallest things—the simple act of breathing we take for granted. As I sit here, reflecting, one thing is clear: I’m on the right team and can’t wait to design and activate the next strategy for our wonderful clients :-)?

It’s not just about the miles we run or the goals we achieve. It’s about the moments we show up for one another—the quiet, profound ways we remind each other that we’re not alone.

Pause for a moment and think about the people around you. What small action could you take today to remind someone they are not alone? A simple question—How are you, really?—or an act of kindness might seem insignificant, but to someone carrying a heavy weight, it can be everything.

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