Nicole Com­mis­siong

Every morn­ing be­fore I check my phone or be­gin the de­mands of the day, I pause and give thanks. Not ca­su­al­ly, but in­ten­tion­al­ly, be­cause I un­der­stand how quick­ly life can change.

I know this be­cause mine did.

I was born and raised in Mara­bel­la, in a com­mu­ni­ty where re­silience and com­pas­sion shaped every­day life. Watch­ing my moth­er and grand­moth­er care for chil­dren who were not bi­o­log­i­cal­ly theirs taught me ear­ly that suc­cess means lit­tle if you can­not serve oth­ers along the way. Long be­fore busi­ness, phil­an­thropy, or pub­lic recog­ni­tion en­tered my life, those lessons shaped the woman I would be­come.

To­day, peo­ple know me as a speak­er, phil­an­thropist, busi­ness ex­ec­u­tive, wife, moth­er, and grand­moth­er. Oth­ers know me through my ad­vo­ca­cy work sup­port­ing women, stu­dents, and un­der­served Caribbean com­mu­ni­ties at home and abroad. But re­cent­ly, I was in­tro­duced to an iden­ti­ty I nev­er ex­pect­ed: stroke sur­vivor.

Last year, I ex­pe­ri­enced a med­ical cri­sis that forced me to stop mov­ing at the ex­haust­ing pace I had nor­malised for years. Like many high-achiev­ing Caribbean women, I con­vinced my­self that burnout was sim­ply part of the as­sign­ment. We car­ry fam­i­lies, busi­ness­es, friend­ships, and com­mu­ni­ties while in­sist­ing we are “fine”—un­til the body says oth­er­wise.

The stroke changed me phys­i­cal­ly, emo­tion­al­ly, spir­i­tu­al­ly, and men­tal­ly. But it al­so gave me clar­i­ty. It re­mind­ed me that well­ness is not a lux­u­ry, rest is not weak­ness, and sur­vival is not the same as liv­ing well.

Around the world, con­ver­sa­tions about burnout, anx­i­ety, and men­tal health are grow­ing loud­er. Tech­nol­o­gy keeps us con­stant­ly con­nect­ed, yet many peo­ple feel dis­con­nect­ed from them­selves. We chase pro­duc­tiv­i­ty while sac­ri­fic­ing peace.

Here in the Caribbean, we cel­e­brate re­silience, but we must al­so con­front the un­healthy habits we have nor­malised. Hy­per­ten­sion, di­a­betes, stroke, stress-re­lat­ed ill­ness, and emo­tion­al ex­haus­tion are af­fect­ing our com­mu­ni­ties at alarm­ing rates. Too many peo­ple are suc­ceed­ing ex­ter­nal­ly while de­te­ri­o­rat­ing in­ter­nal­ly.

That is why this col­umn mat­ters to me.

“Liv­ing Well On Pur­pose” is about align­ment, not per­fec­tion. Over the com­ing months, I hope we can have hon­est con­ver­sa­tions about build­ing wealth with­out sac­ri­fic­ing well­ness, pur­su­ing mean­ing­ful work with­out los­ing our­selves, and ex­plor­ing lead­er­ship, moth­er­hood, mar­riage, faith, en­tre­pre­neur­ship, heal­ing, and per­son­al growth through a Caribbean lens.

Our peo­ple are glob­al peo­ple now. From Port-of-Spain to Toron­to, Kingston to Lon­don, La­gos to New York, Caribbean men and women are lead­ing com­pa­nies, build­ing busi­ness­es, and shap­ing com­mu­ni­ties world­wide. Yet many of us still car­ry in­her­it­ed be­liefs that tell us we must suf­fer to suc­ceed.

I no longer be­lieve that.

I be­lieve wealth should in­clude peace of mind. Well­ness should in­clude emo­tion­al and spir­i­tu­al health, not just phys­i­cal ap­pear­ance. Mean­ing­ful work should cre­ate im­pact with­out de­stroy­ing the per­son do­ing it.

Some of the most mean­ing­ful mo­ments of my life have hap­pened qui­et­ly—men­tor­ing a young woman, help­ing a stu­dent ac­cess op­por­tu­ni­ties, sup­port­ing fam­i­lies in cri­sis, or hear­ing an­oth­er sur­vivor say, “Your sto­ry helped me feel less alone.” That, to me, is lega­cy.

The goal is not sim­ply sur­vival. It is growth, re­silience, and liv­ing well on pur­pose.