Belonging is the Beginning and Ending of Everything

I was twenty-five years old, sitting in an outdated convention center food court in Denver with my dad, Robert, surrounded by gray and red and blue fixtures that already felt like they belonged to another era. It was 2009, at the SME annual meeting, and mining was still feeling the effects of the most recent global financial crisis. Only a short time before, I had finished my MBA and started finding my way into the mining side of MRC Recruiting, our family business. I had spent the previous couple of years learning, listening, and slowly starting to feel like maybe I was beginning to understand this industry. Then almost overnight the conversations changed: The search is on hold; the role is cancelled; we do not know what the next few months look like, so we need to pause.

It was a strange time to be entering an industry and trying to figure out where I fit. I had a background in human resources, but I was not technical. I was young. I was a woman. I was sitting beside my dad, who already had years of relationships and credibility behind him, and I was very aware that most of the people around me had spent decades building careers in mining. At that point, twenty years of experience felt like the marker that would somehow make me legitimate, and I was nowhere close. I questioned what I had gotten myself into, and then over the next two days, everything about the way I viewed my role started to change.

We met with probably thirty senior mining professionals during that conference. Most had been laid off, knew they might be laid off, or were trying to understand what came next. These were people who had led teams, built projects, and carried significant responsibility, and suddenly they were asking questions they had not expected to ask. How long is this going to last? What do I tell my family? I have not written a resume in fifteen years, so where do I even start? We did not have jobs to give them, but as I listened, I realized there was still something I knew how to do. I could help them tell their stories.

I reached back into my HR experience and started offering to rewrite resumes, talk through their backgrounds, and help them think about the next incarnation of their careers. It was less about a transaction and more about giving people a moment where they felt seen, heard, and a little less uncertain about what came next. They were able to take some control back in a situation where so much felt outside of their influence. I left that conference with a sense of purpose, but also with the very immediate realization that having a good intention was not enough. I had to deliver. I had to keep learning. I had to earn the trust that people were giving me.

The mining correction did not last forever, and many of those same people found their footing again, often moving into significant roles. Over time, they became clients, advocates, mentors, teachers, and friends. What started as something as simple as helping with resumes became the foundation for the way I would build my entire career. Relationships came first. Taking the time mattered. Long before I fully understood the industry, I understood that.

My path into mining was not planned. I would love to say there was a very intentional strategy behind it, but really it was a happy accident, a little bit of a serendipitous situation. I graduated in 2005 with a degree in Human Resources, living in New Mexico and imagining that I would probably become a consultant. I thought I would go into organizations, solve interesting problems, and play a role in helping companies work better. The reality of the HR jobs available to me at the time looked very different. I interviewed for multiple positions and kept getting offers, but every time I walked away thinking, Holy shit, I do not actually want to do this.

My dad eventually said, “Listen, you can’t do nothing,” and suggested I come work with him at MRC while I figured things out. It was supposed to be temporary, maybe six months. Instead, I found myself inside a business that had already been part of my life for years. MRC was run out of our house when I was growing up, and the people involved in it were woven into my childhood. Jim, who worked with us for most of my life, became one of my earliest teachers in recruiting. He taught me about conversations, relationships, clients, and the responsibility that comes with helping people make career decisions.

My dad created access for me at a point in my career when I probably would not have been invited into those rooms on my own. He introduced me to people who eventually became major influences on my entire trajectory, and I recognize how important that was. At the beginning, I was sometimes the daughter sitting beside him, absorbing everything, trying to understand an industry that was complicated and unfamiliar. But being invited into a room and belonging in that room are different things, and over time I had to build the second part myself.

Mining drew me in because of the people. I had grown up around it because family trips often seemed to happen wherever there was a mining conference: Vancouver, Toronto, Reno, wherever work happened to take us. My dad always found a way to build fun around it, so the industry was never completely foreign to me. But when I started doing the work myself, I realized what kept people there was not just the technical challenge. It was the stories, the adventures, the strange and unpredictable paths people built their lives around.

I would talk to people who had worked in remote places, dealt with impossible conditions, and had everything go wrong, and somehow they still loved what they did. Someone could tell a story about a tent blowing away in Mongolia and finish by saying they could not wait for the next opportunity. There was something fascinating about people who could work that hard, experience that many challenges, and still be excited about the work. I knew my contribution would be different, but I also knew that if my career allowed me to spend my days talking to those people, it would never be boring.

Over the years, my dad and I evolved from father and daughter into business partners, and with that came what we always called “creative tension.” Some of it was generational, some of it was personality, and some of it was simply figuring out what MRC needed to become. He built something incredibly meaningful, and he believed deeply in relationships. He was a social worker at heart, and his philosophy was always to take the time. Answer the question. Help the person. Have the conversation. Those relationships have come back to us over and over again for nearly twenty years.

Where we eventually started to differ was in how we thought about boundaries and intentionality. My dad came from a generation where you worked hard, said yes, and figured things out. I started recognizing that saying yes to everything was not always the best way to serve people. If we were working with clients who did not value candidates, partnership, or the long-term impact of a career decision, we were contributing to outcomes we did not believe in. A placement is not just a business transaction. It affects a person, a family, a company, and a community.

That realization changed the way I wanted to lead. We became much more intentional about who we worked with, what we stood for, and what kind of company we wanted to be. We created a brand that draws people in, but also naturally pushes away people who are not aligned with us. I am comfortable with that. There are times when walking away from work is the right decision because the ripple effect of the wrong partnership is bigger than a contract.

My dad started MRC in 1984. Within the same year, he had also married my mom and I was born shortly after. I’m not sure he planned it that way, but looking back, it feels like something. A lot of the most important things in his life started at the same time. In 2018, I married my best friend, Casey. Together we have 2 boys and an exuberant dog, and life has been full in the best way. A good friend of mine has always told me you have to jump before you’re ready. I didn’t fully understand that until I lived it.

In 2020, everything shifted at once. our son was born early, stepped further into ownership and leadership of MRC, and started guiding the company through a transition. The old guard of the business changed, my dad stopped traveling with me, and I became responsible not just for continuing what had been built, but deciding where it needed to go next. I had a preemie baby at home, and while taking almost no time away from work is not the story I would prescribe for everyone, it was the reality that fit my life at that moment.

Managing motherhood, business ownership, and the weight of a company my parents had built together was a lot to carry. My mom had always been the quiet backbone of MRC. She was captain miscellaneous: invoicing, bookkeeping, contract review, talking us off the ledge when we needed it. When she stepped back into retirement, a lot of invisible infrastructure walked out the door with her. But it became a defining period for me. I gained confidence. I found a voice that was more distinctly mine. My dad trusted me enough to let the company evolve, even when that meant changing parts of what he had created. By 2022, MRC had expanded with Heather and Samantha, becoming 100% women-owned and operated, and we built a team that could carry those relationships forward in our own way.

My relationships with women in the industry have also evolved. For much of my career, many of my strongest advocates were men. They opened doors, recommended me, and supported me when I was still building credibility. There were also women who shaped me early on. A wonderful client of ours was one of the first who told my dad to bring me into the room, to let me sit in interviews and learn. Barb Filas, who I have fan-girled my entire career was another client, sort of an informal mentor and example of someone who built a career that was entirely her own, and I have admired her impact and dedication to both supporting women as well as the mining industry.

It was only really after having kids that I became more deliberate about seeking and creating stronger communities with women. I wanted to believe in the abundance side of what women can create together, not the scarcity or competition that sometimes exists. Now those relationships have become an important part of my life and in mining. They are the people who check in when I travel, ask if I made it home, and look out for each other in ways that are both simple and significant. That is something I want to help continue building for others.

I believe women in mining often have more influence than they realize. They shape culture and set the tone long before they recognize the impact they are having. The power we have is often only limited because we believe that it is. If you can show up, do good work, and be authentically yourself, that influence reaches much further than any formal title or structure.

That idea connects directly to how I think about recruitment, retention, and the future of mining. Belonging is the beginning and ending of everything. If people do not feel like they belong, they will not stay, they will not perform at their best, and they will not have what they need to succeed. Whether we are talking about women, younger generations, or anyone entering the industry from a different background, belonging and psychological safety are foundational.

We also have to tell a better story about what mining actually is. Too often we describe ourselves as old, conventional, or slow-moving, when the reality is that people in this industry are solving complex problems and doing meaningful work. Mining is more than breaking big rocks into little rocks. People need to understand how they contribute to the world around them and why their work matters.

That larger responsibility is part of why I became more involved with organizations like SME and AEMA. I never necessarily imagined myself as someone who would spend so much time volunteering with industry groups, but advocacy has given me a broader perspective on mining. Sometimes that perspective is challenging, and I do not always love everything I see, but understanding the industry from more angles makes me better. I care about contributing to something larger than just myself or my own company.

Student outreach has become another important piece of that. I think I inherited that from my dad because he always believed you had to pay attention to the people entering the industry. If we are not building the future pipeline, we are only focused on what already exists. Whether someone is coming from a traditional mining program, changing careers from another field, or simply trying to figure out where they belong, there is value in taking the time to help them.

Working with students is not just about teaching them. We learn from them too. Every conversation is a reminder of what the next generation values, what they are looking for, and where the industry needs to go. After nearly twenty years, I am far enough into my career to recognize that I need those conversations as much as they do. Without understanding where people are headed, we do not really know what destination we are building toward.

OreAtory: Elevating Mining Minds became another extension of the same idea. Starting a podcast was something I resisted because I thought I needed a different format or a more polished version of what a platform should look like. Eventually I realized that what I actually love is having conversations. I love origin stories. I love understanding how people found mining, what excites them, what they have learned, and how they are trying to make the industry better.

In many ways, the podcast reflects the same thing I discovered in that convention center food court years ago. People need places where they can talk through their experiences and recognize the value in their own stories. Sometimes you have to say something out loud before you understand what it means.

I did not set out to build a life in mining, but I found the people, and the people are why I stayed. The relationships, the stories, the responsibility to leave things better, and the opportunity to help others find where they belong have become the work itself. Somewhere along the way, the accidental path became exactly where I was supposed to be.

Going through that same process myself has reminded me that I am doing the right things and I am in the right place for this point in my life and career. The path was not linear, and it certainly was not planned. It has included uncertainty, rebuilding, leadership, motherhood, losing my dad, and learning how to honour what came before me while still creating something that belongs to the future.