Since graduating, I’ve had time to really sit with everything—what I’ve accomplished and, more importantly, who helped me get there. It’s never just been about me. I’ve always felt a little uncomfortable with awards or recognitions that put one name on a pedestal. Behind that name is a whole village—people who showed up with support, advice, encouragement, and love.  I don’t believe any of us truly does it alone. So when my name is attached to something, I feel responsible to share about the mentors and heroes who inspire me. 

I met Robert Robbins in August of 2024, and from our very first conversation, I knew he was someone different. As the Creative Director at City Church Chicago, he didn’t ease into small talk—we dove straight into creativity. What stood out wasn’t just what he said, but how he said it. When he invited me to collaborate on a project, he didn’t ask—he simply said, “See you next week.” I hadn’t agreed to anything, but something about the way he said it stuck with me. It wasn’t pressure; it was purpose. I showed up the next week because I wanted to. Robert wasn’t just tossing ideas around—he was building something real, and he meant every word. That kind of conviction and follow-through is rare. He walks the talk and talks the walk, and even now, that moment reminds me of how powerful it is to lead with both vision and trust. 

Under Robert’s mentorship, I’ve been stretched and challenged as a designer in ways I never expected. And to be fair—he warned me. As our friendship grew, he told me plainly, “I’m treating you as if you’re at an agency.” He didn’t sugarcoat it because he believed I could handle the weight. That fired me up—"give it all you've got" kind of energy. But I’ll be honest, I had no idea what I was stepping into. What followed was a series of tough lessons—the kind you don’t forget. It felt like having a hard older brother who calls you out, not to break you down, but to build you up. The conversations weren’t always easy. The critiques were honest, sometimes sharp, and always meant to make me better. Those moments, as uncomfortable as they were at times, prepared me for the real-world projects I would take on after college—projects with pressure, expectations, and complexity. There are so many things I’ve learned from Robert, but one lesson has stuck with me more than any other: defend your decisions. It sounds simple. But as a designer, this is one of the hardest things to do—especially early on. When someone questions your choices, your process, or your outcome—especially someone with no design background—it’s tempting to just nod and adjust. To comply. To avoid the friction. I did that once. I folded under the pressure, and Robert let me have it. Not because he was angry, but because he saw me shortchange my own voice, my own expertise. He didn’t let it slide. That moment changed something in me. If you don’t believe in your own work, why should anyone else? It was a gut check, but also a wake-up call. He helped me see that being a designer means being an educator too. We don’t just create—we explain, we guide, we advocate for ideas rooted in intention. Our job is to carry people with us, not just respond to requests. That lesson couldn’t have come at a better time. Not long after, I was trusted to art direct three different projects in my last semester of college—each with its own team, vision, and challenges. I carried Robert’s voice with me through all of it. His mentorship gave me more than skill—it gave me clarity, confidence, and the conviction to lead with integrity. I’ll always be grateful for that.