The Power of My Third Chapter

I have always thought of my life in chapters: preparing, doing, and giving back. I could not have named them that way when I was young, of course. At the beginning, I simply knew that I wanted to be a businessperson like my father.

My father, John W. Van Kooten, was a self-made man in the truest sense. Arriving in Canada as a fourteen-year-old Dutch immigrant, his lack of English meant he was initially placed in grade one. Through sheer determination, he attended night school, educated himself, mastered the language, and went on to forge a highly successful career. He was a brilliant, hardworking, proud, and dependable man who actively participated in his community. Watching him set off for work looking so important inspired me deeply; I knew then that I wanted to be just like him. My mother, Marjie, who was of Scottish heritage, was an immigrant as well. Both of my parents held a profound belief in the power of education and the wealth of opportunity Canada provided. Their philosophy was simple and clear: always do your best. Crucially, they never measured "best" by anyone else's benchmarks—it simply meant dedicating yourself completely to your own highest standard.

Growing up in Toronto, my family eventually relocated to the Niagara Region just before my university journey commenced. Originally intending to pursue business school at Wilfrid Laurier, I shifted plans upon discovering Brock University's co-op accounting program. It presented a highly practical path: I could remain living at home, purchase a vehicle, secure my Chartered Accountant designation, and complete a business degree simultaneously. This pragmatic approach aligned perfectly with my goals, prompting me to join Brock's inaugural co-op accounting class in 1980, from which I graduated in 1984. I viewed accounting not as the final destination, but as a gateway to establishing a robust career in the business world. Rather than overanalyzing my place in the field, I simply dove in and focused on the work ahead.

That resolve was tested during a co-op term at Dunwoody & Company in Welland. In an office where the professional roles were entirely occupied by men and the support positions by women, I was the sole female CA student. At the very outset of my career, a senior partner explicitly told me, “You will never be a Chartered Accountant”. Even now, I can vividly recall that discouraging declaration, but I refused to let his judgment define my future.

This fuelled the determination I carried into the following decades. I brought my formative expectations into my working life: to do my best, show up professionally, and follow through. When not taken seriously, I took on more difficult, unfamiliar assignments. This willingness helped me navigate a career where I often entered rooms where few looked like me, forging a path where none had been laid out for a woman.

After Brock, I built my career in Ottawa. By the mid-1990s, I was a tech executive raising two young sons while trying to grow a company. When asked why I didn't stay home, bake cookies, or give up my career, my answer was simple: I wanted a profession. My sons understood I was a working mother; they might sometimes be the last to be picked up from afterschool care, but I was always there.

There was no language of perfect balance in my life then, nor would it have described the reality. I worked full time, came home, had dinner with the boys, got them to bed and read them a story. Then either went back to my computer to sleep exhausted. I do not describe those choices as sacrifices. I think of life as having “stages and ages”, and during that stage my attention belonged to my sons and to the business I was helping build. I did not have time to give back to the community then, not because I did not want to, but because I could not do everything at once and was mindful of what I could do today versus what could wait until tomorrow.

That defining period served as the foundation for my second chapter—the "doing" years. As the CFO of TimeStep Corporation, I played a key role in building an early-stage Ottawa tech company from the ground up until its acquisition in 1999 for US$100 million. Transitioning into venture capital, I became a general partner at Celtic House and began serving on the boards of our portfolio companies. Once more, I found myself as the only woman in the room. Throughout much of this journey, my mentors, sponsors, and advocates were exclusively men; I never had the experience of working for a female boss. I remain deeply grateful to the exceptional male sponsors who championed me, opened doors, offered encouragement, and modelled leadership. Even so, being the only woman at the table taught me a poignant lesson: having a seat did not always mean being included in the critical conversations happening around it.

My direct approach of making sure my voice was heard followed me into my work as an independent corporate director. I chaired boards and audit committees, served as a lead director, worked on governance and special committees and dealt with the complicated matters that come before boards when businesses are raising capital, restructuring, making acquisitions or confronting difficult questions. Yet the experience of being the only woman remained familiar.

Stepping back into the entrepreneurial seat, I left Celtic House in 2002 to found my own venture, Rosatinet Inc. This move allowed me to channel the deep financial, operational, and strategic expertise I had accumulated from building TimeStep and investing as a general partner in other founders. Through Rosatinet, I advised emerging technology companies on financing strategies, network expansion, and the complex business hurdles of scaling a tech start-up. All the while, my role as a corporate director continued to expand alongside my entrepreneurial work.

My professional life provided strength during a major personal crossroads. In 2009, the abrupt dissolution of my twenty-three-year marriage blindsided me. We had raised two sons, built a life, and owned and sold a business together. While some might view this as a failure, I saw it as an unplanned pivot, demanding a way forward. I leaned heavily into my career, family, and support network, while also becoming a certified yoga teacher. This provided a spiritual grounding and a yin-and-yang balance to my corporate board work. Choosing not to dwell on alternative paths, I focus on committing to choices and moving forward rather than over analyzing.

In 2012, after more than twenty-five years based predominantly in Ottawa, I returned to the Niagara Region. By then the question in front of me had shifted. I had the accumulated experience of building businesses, investing, serving on boards and navigating those rooms as a woman was beginning to point toward another kind of work. I knew the value of sponsors, mentors, allies and champions because I had benefited from them myself, and I knew just as clearly what their absence could mean.

It was in 2015, after I had already spent roughly fifteen years serving on corporate boards, I interviewed for a position with a TSX-listed retail company whose board was entirely male, even though women represented the large majority of its consumers. The CEO’s opening remark was, “I’m not interviewing you because you’re a woman” to which I replied, “Well, I’m not here because I’m a woman. I’m here because I can add value to your board, so let’s talk about strategy.” We did, for approximately two hours. I was genuinely interested in the business, but I did not want to become the token woman on that board. There was a generational element to the exchange, and I did not assume the remark was intended exactly as it sounded. What mattered was how I chose to respond. There are moments when you can walk out or take something on. I took a hard pass.

It was around this time I realized I had fully experienced both sides of the equation: the value of people who opened doors for me, and the reality of being the only woman once I walked through them. And thus, a new idea was born.

In September 2015, I launched Women Get On Board. More than 150 business leaders gathered for our launch reception in the KPMG offices at Bay and Adelaide in Toronto. The vision was bold: to build a national movement that connects, promotes and empowers women to serve on corporate boards with confidence and courage. I wanted women to have the knowledge, networks and preparation to pursue those roles, and I wanted businesses to understand what became my “Power of Three” philosophy: one woman at the boardroom table is a token, two are a presence, and three create a voice.

Over time, my circle of people supporting that work changed as well. Some of the first members of my advisory board were men I knew from my career who could make introductions and help build the movement. Gradually, more women became champions and allies too. I wanted to create what I had not seen early in my own career: more women in the room, with enough presence to influence what happened there.

My bond with Brock University grew even stronger over the years. I continued to act as a dedicated ambassador for the institution, collaborating with the school to launch the Deborah E. Rosati Entrepreneurship Fund in 2014, and subsequently sponsoring a Women in Leadership Mentorship Program in 2022. Then, in 2023, I received a phone call from Brock President and Vice-Chancellor Lesley Rigg, who shared the news that I had been nominated for an honorary Doctor of Laws degree. For a rare moment, I found myself completely at a loss for words. My immediate reaction was a wave of imposter syndrome: how could I hold the title of "Doctor" without earning a PhD? The timing felt particularly ironic given that my son had been accepted into a PhD program at Dalhousie university during that exact same week. Lesley playfully remarked, "Well, you'll be a doctor before him!" Hearing that, the proud mother in me couldn’t help but chuckle.

At convocation that June, I stood at the podium in the Brock gymnasium before business undergraduates and master’s graduates. I am accustomed to public speaking, but as I began delivering my address, tears unexpectedly began running down my cheek, and I had no tissue. “My mother is here,” I told the audience, looking toward the front row where she sat with my brother, my sister and my life partner, Dale. I relied on my yogic breathing, steadied myself and continued.

There was a great deal of past, present, and even future converging in that very moment: my parents’ immigrant beginnings, the importance they placed on education, my own years at Brock and the work that had followed. My relationship with the university had continued across those decades. I was standing at convocation receiving my honorary doctorate, with my mother there to see where those beginnings had led.

Two years later, on September 25, 2025, Women Get On Board celebrated its tenth anniversary at the TMX Market Centre. Standing proudly at the iconic TSX to close the market, I reflected on a decade of supporting thousands of women through education, mentorship, networking, and allyship. This milestone culminated in work rooted in my own experiences as the only woman at the table—navigating sidebar decisions, facing mentors who opened doors, and enduring moments where gender preceded qualifications. Those defining challenges drove my commitment to this cause, echoing my parents’ enduring advice: “Keep at it. Keep going.”

My mother was not there to see this particular milestone. She had passed the month before, in August, at eighty-nine. In October, our family and community gathered to celebrate her life, and instead of a conventional memorial card, I created a bookmark with a limerick I wrote in tribute to her Scottish heritage and to the person she had been. She was hardworking, optimistic and kind, but what stays with me particularly is the way she paid attention: She did not reserve affection for milestones. She cared for people through her presence and her genuine interest in their lives.

Each year I choose three words to help orient me, and for 2026 one word that kept returning to me was “cherish.” I have come to understand cherishing as an active and intentional choice: to recognize and nurture the people, moments and values that give my life meaning. It is one way I can honour my mother, not only in how I wished to think of her but it also belongs to the chapter of life I am in now.

The most profound realization during this process has been witnessing how the disparate threads of my life have woven themselves into a single, cohesive tapestry. When I look back at the young woman articling at Dunwoody & Company, the venture capitalist scaling tech companies, and the advocate standing at the TSX market close for the 10th anniversary of WGOB, they no longer feel like separate versions of myself. Instead, I see the constant, underlying current of determination, the "Power of Three," and an unwavering commitment to authenticity that has linked them all together

There is a vulnerability inherent in these reflections. Re-visiting the silence of that boardroom in the 90s, the imposter syndrome I felt before receiving my honorary doctorate, and the profound grief of losing my mother has required me to hold space for the woman I was, while celebrating the woman I have become. Documenting the moments—like the tears during my convocation speech—has transformed them from fleeting memories into permanent anchors of my story.

This process has also provided startling clarity for the future. By intentionally defining my "third chapter" and elevating the principle of "cherishing" into a guiding philosophy for 2026, I have moved from simply doing to giving back with purpose.

Ultimately, my story in GEMS Unearthed is not just a reflection: it is an invitation for the next generation to see the path clearly. It serves as a testament that every struggle, every pivot, and every triumph was simply the groundwork for the legacy I am building today.