Five Feet Tall on Everest: What Being Underestimated Taught Me About Leading Women-Owned Businesses Through Crisis

I am five feet tall.

I am afraid of heights.

On May 13, 2022, I stood on the summit of Mount Everest.

It’s not every day that these three facts belong in the same sentence. That's rather the point.

Everest wasn't where this started. It was where it ended.

In October 2017, I stood at the base of Carstensz Pyramid in Indonesia, the first of what would become a four-and-a-half-year climb toward completing both the Messner and Bass versions of the Seven Summits Challenge - the highest peak on every continent, counted two different ways because two male mountaineers couldn’t even agree on where one continent ends and another begins.

When I stepped off Everest in 2022, I became one of fewer than 130 Canadians to summit it, one of fewer than 30 Canadians to complete the Seven Summits at all, and the first Portuguese person to complete both versions of the challenge. This accomplishment is an elite club of about 500 worldwide. Somewhere in that same window, I also sold the language services company I had spent two decades building.

I mention the business and the mountain in the same breath on purpose, because they taught me the same lesson from two completely different altitudes.

The Room I Wasn't Built For

Mountaineering, like most extreme sports, is built around a default body: tall, long-limbed, predominantly male. The gear, the pacing, the assumptions guides make about who can carry what and how fast- none of it was designed with a five-foot-nothing woman in mind.

I spent every expedition making calculations that the rest of my team didn't have to do: how to close a stride gap, how to manage a pack built for bigger frames, how to out-plan what I couldn't out-muscle and how to choose the best one-piece expedition suit that was not made for a woman’s body to fit me.

I'd already been doing that math for years, just in a different environment. I founded Language Marketplace in 2000 as a single mother to two young daughters, working full-time as a staff interpreter and freelancing on the side to keep the lights on. I ran the business out of the basement apartment of the house I owned, with no formal business plan, just with the sheer will to do it and the confidence in my knowledge of what I was offering.

When I walked into banks, corporate clients, and industry conferences that were built around a different kind of founder, I felt the doubts and observed the looks many times. Not about being tall or short this time, but because I was a woman, a single mother, someone who'd built her expertise on the floor of the industry rather than in an MBA program.

Those doubts in those rooms wore business attire instead of a parka, but they asked the same underlying question the mountains did, especially Everest: what makes you think you belong here?

The First Attempt

I didn't summit Everest on my first try. I turned back. That decision gets talked about, when it's talked about at all, as either heroic prudence or quiet failure. It was neither. It was that I read the facts: my health at that time and safety considerations of not putting others in danger. A decision I had to make in a moment when every voice in my head and around me had an opinion about what a woman my size should or shouldn't be attempting at 8,000 metres. Turning back wasn't the doubt winning. It was refusing to let the doubt make the decision for me, in either direction.

I wasn't quitting because I was afraid, and I wasn't pushing on to prove a point to anyone. I was reading the circumstances, not the room.

I've made that same call more times than I can count in business. There's a specific kind of crisis moment every founder eventually faces, such as a funding gap, a key client walking, a hire that isn't working out, a board member second-guessing a decision you've already made, where the loudest thing in the room isn't the data.

It's doubt, and for women running businesses, that doubt rarely announces itself honestly. It shows up dressed as concern. “Are you sure you're ready to scale that fast?” “Have you thought about what happens if this doesn't work?” Questions that sound careful but are really asking the same thing the mountain asked me at 8,000 metres: what makes you think you belong here?

What Actually Gets You Back Up

One year after that first attempt, I stood on the summit of Everest. What changed wasn't my size, my fear of heights, or the mountain. What changed was that I'd learned to trust my own preparation and my own read of the situation over the room's fear of it - whether that room was a base camp tent or at a high-stake client’s office.

That's the same instinct that grew Language Marketplace, debt-free, into one of Canada's largest privately owned translation and interpretation companies - more than $3.5 million in annual revenue, a staff of 24, and a network of over 1,500 freelancers, built without ever taking on outside capital or debt. It's the instinct that earned Canada's Top Female Entrepreneur recognition in 2012 and a place on the Profit 500 list the following year. And it's the same instinct behind the President's Award I received from Women Business Enterprises Canada Council for public policy work benefiting fellow WBEs, because once I'd learned to trust my own read of the room, the next job was making sure other women didn't have to learn it alone.

Why This Is Where I've Chosen to Focus

As a fractional executive and executive coach, I've chosen to build my practice specifically around women-owned businesses. Not as a diversity initiative, and not because I believe women need a gentler version of executive support. It's because I've already done the thing that matters in a crisis: performed under extreme, no-do-over conditions while being the exception to what the room expected, both on a mountain with no rescue helicopter at 8,000 metres, and in a boardroom with no venture-backed safety net.

Most of the leadership advice available to a woman founder was written by, and for, someone who never had to prove they belonged in the room in the first place. That gap shows up in small but costly ways: coaches who mistake a founder's caution for lack of confidence, advisors who can't tell the difference between a real risk and an inherited one, board members who read decisiveness in a woman as recklessness when they'd read the identical call in a man as strength.

A fractional executive who has actually stood in that gap, who has done her own math when the gear wasn't built for her, brings something no amount of theory can substitute: the ability to tell you, honestly, whether the doubt in the room is data or noise.

The Real Summit

Five feet tall. Afraid of heights. Standing on top of the world. I still think about how absurd that sounds, and I've come to believe the absurdity is the whole lesson. Being underestimated was never a verdict on what I could do, it was just the starting position I happened to be climbing from. The women building businesses today are climbing from that same starting position, in rooms that weren't built with them in mind either. My job now isn't to pretend the room is fair. It's to help them read it clearly enough to get to the top of it anyway.