02/27/2026
IN A BOOT. STILL STANDING
Some days I wake up
and wonder how I got here —
how I became the woman
with contracts in one hand
and someone else’s future in the other.
I wear heels in my mind
but sometimes a boot on my foot.
I show houses with stitches healing,
cough through calls,
wipe my eyes before walking into inspections
so no one sees the weight I carry.
Being a Realtor sounds pretty
when you say it out loud.
“Flexible schedule.”
“Helping dreams come true.”
“Be your own boss.”
No one tells you about the nights
you stare at deadlines at 11:47 p.m.,
reading one sentence ten times
because if you miss a word
it could cost thousands.
No one talks about
how you can do everything right
and still be questioned.
How you protect people
who aren’t even sure
you’re protecting them.
How you sit in your car
after a showing
and take one deep breath
before driving home
because you cannot carry
another person’s anxiety
into your kitchen.
I hold earnest money like it’s fragile glass.
I hold timelines like they’re ticking clocks.
I hold marriages under stress.
I hold first-time buyers
who are terrified.
I hold sellers
who are grieving a home
they thought they’d never leave.
And I hold myself together.
Financially, it is feast or famine.
You celebrate a closing
then quietly calculate
how long it must stretch.
Emotionally, it is everything at once —
gratitude, pressure, fear, hope,
loyalty, doubt, exhaustion.
There are days I feel powerful —
sharp, strategic, steady.
And there are mornings like this one
where I sit with tissues
and think,
How am I still doing this?
I show up sick.
I show up in pain.
I show up when my own world feels heavy.
Because someone else’s world
is waiting on me.
Strength in this job
isn’t loud.
It’s quiet.
It’s reading a contract
while your heart is bruised.
It’s responding calmly
when you want to scream.
It’s protecting a seller
who questions you.
It’s answering the 19th anxious text
with grace.
It’s knowing
if you make one wrong move
you could be fined, sued, blamed —
and still walking forward anyway.
It’s strange sometimes —
that I chose this life.
That I stay in it.
Because behind the sold signs
and the congratulations
is something few people see:
It’s lonely.
Every decision
rests on me.
Every signature
passes through me.
Every risk
feels personal.
If I get it wrong,
there is no one else to absorb it.
No safety net of “just a job.”
It is my name.
My license.
My responsibility.
People see confidence.
They see professionalism.
They see composure.
They don’t see the woman
in the boot,
with the cough,
with the spreadsheets open at midnight,
praying she didn’t miss a clause.
They don’t see how alone it can feel
to be the steady one
for everyone else.
But here I am.
Still standing.
Still learning.
Still carrying keys
and contracts
and hope.
Still soft enough to care deeply.
Still strong enough to endure.
And somewhere in the middle of the chaos,
between counters and closing statements,
between doubt and determination,
I remember the name I chose.
NW Dream Chasers.
Not because dreams are easy.
Not because chasing is glamorous.
But because dreams require pursuit —
and pursuit requires courage.
I don’t just unlock doors.
I walk beside people
while they leap.
I don’t just negotiate numbers.
I stand guard over futures.
In the Pacific Northwest rain,
in boots or heels,
in exhaustion or certainty,
I keep chasing.
Not perfection.
Not applause.
But stability for families.
Protection in contracts.
Keys placed gently
into shaking hands.
And maybe that’s why I’m still here —
even on the hardest mornings.
Because dream chasers
don’t quit when it’s heavy.
We steady ourselves.
We breathe.
We sign.
We protect.
We close.
And we keep going.
In a boot.
With a cough.
With tears I don’t show.
Still standing.
Warmly,
Roxsandra Perrault
