Event photography courtesy Palas Photography. 

A Fall 2026 Reflection on Indigenous Leadership, Joy and Filling My Cup

Fall has a way of asking us to slow down.

Unless you're a parent. Our bodies are craving the slow down but — we are packings kids lunches, looking for that sock and inhaling cups of coffee. (Hi, it's me Ali. I like the coffee. Dark roast and black. Please and thank you!)

The leaves change and I am reflecting on what the year has brought us and what I want to carry forward. This fall, that reflection has felt particularly important.

The weeks surrounding Orange Shirt Day and the National Day for Truth and Reconciliation carried so much at once. We honoured survivors, remembered children who never came home, and continued the work of truth and reconciliation. We also witnessed the heartbreaking loss of two Elders from Tsawwassen First Nation who died during a Truth and Reconciliation walk in Delta on September 30. What was meant to be a day of remembrance and reflection became a day of profound grief for their families and community.

There was also the situation involving Sooke Brewing Company, where one of its co-owners was photographed wearing a shirt questioning the evidence of residential school burial sites on the National Day for Truth and Reconciliation.

And then came Kamloops.

On the eve of Orange Shirt Day, a masked group appeared on Tk’emlúps te Secwépemc lands in a demonstration as an attempt to intimidate, provoke fear and create division. I don't usually give much space to hate.

But have you witnessed what's happening to our south neighbours? What the U.S.A.

Not because I don't see it. Not because I don't have an opinion. And certainly not because I don't feel anger. I simply don't want hate to become the loudest thing I contribute to the world. There is already enough noise. At the same time, Indigenous businesses, leaders, artists, organizations and communities continue to use their voices. They are speaking up, building businesses, creating opportunities, advocating for their communities and making space for the next generation. That is where I want to place my attention and truthfully, the only capacity I have as a human first, mother of two, wife, owner of 3 small businesses in Campbell River while also serving as Director, Community Services for the We Wai Kai Nation.

Choosing where my energy goes

This fall, I also had the privilege of participating in the Indigenous Women in Industry Summit in Vancouver. I am clapping for myself. I spoke at my first International conference along Indigenous women who celebrate their on excellency in their respective industries. The IWI brought together Indigenous women leaders from Canada, Aotearoa, Australia and other parts of the world to talk about entrepreneurship, leadership, innovation and economic development.

What stayed with me wasn't simply the scale of the gathering and it was the women.

Women I have admired since before my business opened. Women whose work has inspired me. Women who, in some cases, have inspired my own leadership journey—and who sat across from me and engaged with me as an equal.

There were intentional conversations. There was laughter. These women can also share the same fears that I have as a small business owner. There were conversations about business, community, culture, leadership and what it means to build something that lasts. With so much noise, I needed to take a moment because:

I needed to fill my cup.

Not because the work doesn't matter but because it matters so much to me.

Joy is part of the work

As Indigenous people, we often become very good at talking about what needs to be fixed.

We talk about inequity.

We talk about racism.

We talk about colonial systems.

I also talk about kidneys A LOT.

We talk about the barriers our communities continue to face.

We talk about what has been taken from us.

And we should.

Truth matters.

Accountability matters.

Advocacy matters.

But so does joy.

So does celebration.

So does telling the story of what Indigenous people are building.

So does celebrating the businesses opening their doors, the young people finding their voices, the entrepreneurs creating employment, the artists sharing their work, the families gathering together and the women stepping into leadership.

Just because we don't narrate those moments as loudly doesn't mean they aren't happening.

They are happening every day.

And I want to make more room for them.

Knowing what I can carry

This has also been a season of being honest with myself about capacity.

I live with invisible disabilities, and I have to be mindful of my energy in ways that aren't always visible to the people around me. I have to make choices about where I put my time, my attention and my voice.

That doesn't mean I care less.

It means I have learned that I cannot fight every battle.

I don't need to enter every argument.

I don't need to prove that I am angry in order to demonstrate that I care.

I don't need to respond to every piece of noise.

Sometimes leadership means knowing when to speak and sometimes it means knowing when to listen.

And sometimes it means stepping back, taking a breath and protecting enough energy to continue doing the work that matters.

For me, that means thinking about what I can contribute that creates something beyond the immediate moment.

How can I help create better programs?

How can I open doors for younger Indigenous women?

How can I mentor? How can I create employment?

How can I use my voice to celebrate Indigenous success?

Those questions feel more important to me than winning every argument.

Every time matters

We are also entering an important political season here in British Columbia, with the provincial election now underway and voting opportunities approaching. Advance voting takes place October 16–21, with final voting day on October 24.

For me, this is another opportunity to slow down and actually listen.

To think critically about the people and policies that will shape our communities.

To engage in politics without allowing politics to consume me.

Because our voices matter. Our votes matter. Our participation matters.

And Indigenous people have every reason to be engaged in the decisions that affect our families, our communities, our lands, our economies and our future.

What I want to carry forward

I'm carrying the women who reminded me that there is room for all of us at the table.

I'm carrying the young Indigenous women who are watching what we do.

I'm carrying the entrepreneurs who continue to build despite the barriers.

I'm carrying the people who choose kindness, connection and community when it would be easier to become consumed by anger.

And yes, I am still carrying my anger.

I still have opinions.

There are still things I believe need to change.

But I am learning that I don't have to give every ounce of myself to every battle in order to be a change agent.

Sometimes the most powerful thing we can do is preserve ourselves so that we can keep showing up to advocate, build and make room for joy.

This is the kind of leadership I want to model—not leadership that is endlessly exhausted, but leadership that understands that our energy is part of our responsibility.

I want to make space for joy without feeling guilty for it

-Ali.