The Woman Who Stopped Playing Small

By Kerry Romano Zall, Founder of Corporate Hippie Connection

The Builder Was There Before I Knew Her Name

I think the entrepreneur in me started much earlier than I realized.

I was the youngest of five, and my father was a businessman. He was Sicilian, my mother was Irish, and my dad worked hard for everything he had. He owned real estate, knew how to negotiate, knew how to sell, and knew how to make things happen.

But what I remember most is that he never treated me like I was too young to be part of his world. I was his little companion.

I loved going to garage sales with him. One day, I saw a wicker doll playset that I desperately wanted. It was five dollars. I climbed back into the truck and told my dad about it. He handed me three dollars and said, "Go offer them three."

I remember being nervous walking up to the woman. I didn't know why I was nervous. I just knew I'd never done anything like that before. I held out the three dollars and asked if she would take it.

She said yes.

I ran back to the truck with the biggest smile on my face.

My dad looked at me and said, "How do you feel right now?"

"I feel so good. I love this. Thank you so much, Daddy."

And he said, "You just negotiated your first deal."

I didn't know it then, but he was planting something in me.

By the time I was twelve, my dad was taking me into a warehouse in San Francisco and telling me to pick out products I wanted to sell. I wasn't allowed to have pierced ears yet, so naturally I chose magnet earrings. I picked out necklaces and other gold-plated jewelry, and then we'd go to the flea market where I'd stand behind my little table shouting, "Two for a dollar! Two for a dollar!"

I sold out.

On the drive home, I counted the money and realized I'd made $750. I wanted to give my dad back the $300 he'd loaned me.

He wouldn't take it. "Roll it over. We're going to reinvest."

So we went back to the warehouse. The next time, I picked out Japanese vases and started selling products for $27.

By thirteen, I had $12,800 in my bank account.

Looking back, I don't think my father was simply teaching me how to sell. He was teaching me how to believe that I could figure things out.

He taught me everything. I remember waking up in the middle of the night because a water heater had gone out in one of his apartment buildings. He'd grab his toolbox. I'd grab mine. He taught me drywall, painting, plumbing, framing and concrete. Every trade he knew, he taught me.

I think he saw a little bit of himself in me.

And somewhere inside that little girl was a woman who would spend her life building things.

The builder was there. I just didn't know her name yet.

I Learned How to Build Before I Learned What I Was Building

I eventually took that instinct into corporate America.

My career wasn't simply about selling something and moving on. I became fascinated with the people behind the transactions. I could sit across from an engineer, an entrepreneur or an executive and somehow sense what was really happening beneath the conversation.

I have always believed I have a gift for reading energy. I also read body language. I notice how someone sits, how they stand, what their hands are doing, the little changes in someone's expression. Sometimes I know something is wrong before the person has said a word.

There was a customer once who was having a difficult time at home. His wife was upset with him because he wasn't eating well, wasn't present with his family and was missing his kids' soccer practices. He opened up to me, and I asked him if he was open to some advice.

I told him to go home, walk up behind his wife and wrap his arms around her. Touch her. Put his hand on her leg. Play with her hair. Let her feel that he was there.

He called me the next day. He said, "I don't know what you did or what I did, but she's so happy. I can't believe such a little gesture changed everything."

That was always my favorite part of business. The relationship.

I think people sometimes bought from me because they felt better after talking to me. They came in with a business problem and somehow left with a little more clarity about their life. I had been a life coach for years, and that part of me never stayed outside the boardroom.

I remember walking into a conference room at a major company, presenting a very large equipment purchase. The founder happened to walk past, stopped and watched me. After everyone left, he came back into the room.

He told me he'd watched how I interacted with everyone and that I'd immediately identified the decision maker. I didn't sit with the engineers who were talking. I went straight to the person who could actually sign the purchase order. I looked him in the eyes. I connected with him.

I walked out with the signed purchase order.

The founder told me, essentially, you have an instinct.

I knew that. I just didn't have language for it yet.

When I Knew I Couldn't Put My Name On It

I eventually built companies from the ground up. I remember being handed a cardboard box and essentially no infrastructure and turning that company into a multimillion-dollar business.

Then venture capital came in.

And the definition of success changed.

Suddenly, quality wasn't the priority it had been. The focus became cheaper ingredients and lower costs. I had spent years flying to farms, looking at ingredients, caring about fair trade, caring about the people producing them and caring about what ultimately went into a product.

I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't put my name on something I didn't believe in.

That was the moment I knew I was done.

Not done with entrepreneurs. Not done with creators. Not done with building. I was done building for something that no longer aligned with me.

Even after I left, entrepreneurs continued reaching out because they wanted help bringing their ideas to life. I would take companies from concept to turnkey, source ingredients, find the right partners and connect the pieces.

And I realized something. I didn't love manufacturing. I loved the visionaries. I loved the people who had an idea and wanted to make it real.

That distinction would eventually become everything.

The Exhale

When I finally decided I was leaving corporate America, I expected fear.

Instead, I felt relief. My nervous system exhaled.

I had a man sitting across from me who I thought might not support the decision, because we had a very good lifestyle and I was making very good money. But he supported me wholeheartedly.

That support allowed me to expand.

I felt like that little girl trying out for cheerleading, putting my hands on my hips and saying, "Ready? Okay!"

I had the vision. I didn't have the blueprint.

So I did what I had always done. I started.

I registered Corporate Hippie Connection. A friend of a friend helped with the logo and color palette. And when I saw that logo for the first time, something clicked. It looked exactly like what I had been trying to explain.

I knew CHC was going to become something bigger than a company. I could feel that it was going to be a lifestyle brand, a community, a media company.

I just couldn't see the entire architecture yet. But when I closed my eyes, I could see pieces of it. I could see the original series. I could see media. I could see a community. I could see something on big platforms.

I had no idea how any of it would happen. I simply knew it would.

Then the World Stopped

And then 2020 happened.

We had been operating an Airbnb on the property. Suddenly people couldn't travel. My son came home from Los Angeles. My videographer from Peru was stuck here. My lifestyle manager was here. My former nanny, who was eighty, came back from the Bay Area because we didn't want her getting sick.

At one point, there were nine people living on the property.

We gathered. We had bonfires. Our neighbors planted gardens. I put my hands into the soil. I started documenting all of it.

We called that chapter The Big Time Out.

And in the middle of all that uncertainty, something extraordinary was happening. I was becoming myself. I was getting out of the corporate environment and back onto the land. I was gardening. I was connecting with nature. I was learning how to slow down.

Major networks began following what we were doing, because traditional production had essentially stopped.

That was one of those moments when I thought: we might actually have something here.

But Then I Lost Myself

When the pandemic ended, something unexpected happened. I was disconnected.

I remember sitting on my bed feeling like plastic wrap had been wrapped around me. My mind was telling me to get up, answer the emails, return the texts, handle everything.

My body couldn't.

Things piled up. My energy disappeared. I remember standing at the sink with the water running and not knowing how long I'd been standing there.

Nobody really knew how disconnected I was.

I looked like a ragamuffin. My hair wasn't done. I wasn't putting outfits together. I wasn't wearing jewelry. I wasn't feeling like myself. I was still going to yoga. But I was not connected to my own source energy.

That period became one of the deepest growth spurts of my life.

India. Travel. The land. Women's circles. Ceremonies. Prayer. Sound healing. Cacao. Community.

Mother Gaia broke me open.

I don't look back at that period and think, I wish it hadn't happened. I needed everything I went through to become the woman I am today.

There wasn't one giant moment. There were blinks. Signs. Little moments. One thing after another.

And slowly, I came back to myself.

The Moment I Stopped Editing Myself

By the end of 2025 and into 2026, something shifted.

My team started telling me, "This is a founder-led company. You need to be in the front. People want to hear from you."

They kept pushing me. And every shoot felt like another layer coming off.

The farm. The herbs. The spirituality. The business brain. The ambition. The beauty. The intuition. The ridiculous number of ideas. The laughter. The mess. The imperfect, very human Kerry.

I realized I didn't have to separate any of those things anymore. I could be all of them.

That was the moment I understood what CHC had really given me. It wasn't just a company I had built. It was a place where the woman I had been becoming finally had somewhere to live.

I didn't have to choose between being ambitious and having my feet in the earth. I didn't have to become someone else to be taken seriously. I didn't have to shrink.

Why The Oracle Exists

That realization became even bigger when I created Corporate Hippie Oracle.

I wanted to give people a portal. Not just another magazine. Not another place to consume information. I wanted someone to step inside and feel something.

I imagine lush velvet couches, pillows on the floor, a tea ceremony happening in one room. Another room has people networking, but not in the transactional sense. They're connecting because they actually have something to offer each other.

I wanted to create a place where people could escape the negativity and remember that there is another way to live.

And I wanted to give people something I couldn't find elsewhere: a platform without pay to play.

I get asked to be on magazine covers. I know how often those opportunities are transactional. That isn't what I wanted for CHC.

I wanted to handpick people because I believe they deserve to be seen. I wanted to give someone the next microphone. The next opportunity. The next connection. The next step.

That's why The Builder exists. That's why The Oracle exists. I want people to feel seen.

What Building This Actually Looks Like

People see the finished cover. They don't see the conversations, NDAs, media releases, agents, publicists, creative directors, teams talking to teams, scheduling, wardrobe, props, locations and all the moving pieces that have to come together months in advance.

One of our recent shoots involved four locations. We needed three more shots before the light disappeared. One required cactuses.

Aimee spotted a ranch house covered in them, backed the car up and said, "You get dressed. I'm going to ask permission."

So there I was, changing clothes in the back of the car on a dirt road while Aimee walked up to a complete stranger and asked if we could shoot on her property. The woman recognized her, because Aimee had photographed her son. "Of course you can!"

Meanwhile, I was still getting dressed behind the car. Then another car pulled up.

It turned out to be my friend's daughter. We looked at each other. She smirked. I smirked. And I went onto the property and got the shot.

This is what building CHC actually looks like. It's glamorous and completely unglamorous. It's agents and celebrities and publicists and beautiful magazine covers. And it's me getting dressed on a dirt road because we're running out of daylight.

ApotheKerry, and Not Waiting Until You Know Everything

ApotheKerry came through a completely different door.

The original Corporate Hippie Connection show had started and stopped during the pandemic, and eventually I realized the magazine needed to happen before the series could evolve into what I was really envisioning.

But I wasn't going to wait around doing nothing.

I grow herbs. I was learning. I was experimenting. And I thought, why not share the process?

I took my name, Kerry, and added it to apothecary. ApotheKerry.

I didn't have everything figured out when I started. I mixed up benefits. I got in my head. I filmed outside and got rained on. Then I moved inside to the Moroccan room on the farm, and everything changed. I felt more comfortable. More connected. More aligned.

Now we're in Season Three, filming weekly. And that's the whole point. You don't have to know everything before you start.

What I Am Really Building

People sometimes think I'm building a media company. That's part of it.

But if I take the brakes off completely, I see a global conscious living movement and cultural ecosystem.

A digital world. A physical world. Media. Commerce. Travel. Community. Real-life experiences. All connected.

I want someone to eventually say, "I'm a Corporate Hippie," and people immediately understand what that means. I'm ambitious. I'm conscious. I'm successful. I'm connected to nature. I care about my health. I want beautiful things. I want freedom. And I refuse to trade my soul for success.

But the media isn't the destination. It's the doorway.

Someone sees a little piece of CHC and thinks, wait, what is this? They step inside. They discover the philosophy. Then the people. Then the community. Then the experiences. Then the travel. Then the relationships.

Then they realize they're part of something.

The Things I Will Never Trade

If CHC becomes everything I can see it becoming, there are still things I will never compromise.

Integrity. Brands approach me constantly. They want an ambassador. They want a reel. They want access to my audience. If I don't believe in the product, I'm not doing it. I would rather walk away from the money than put my name behind something I don't believe in.

And there is another non-negotiable. I will not give up my time with myself.

My gratitude water. My morning mantra. Claiming my day. My quiet time. My connection to myself.

Because if I'm not good, how am I supposed to give to everyone else?

The bigger this becomes, the more important that becomes. I'm learning how to receive at the same level I create. I'm learning that not every download requires immediate execution. Not every opportunity deserves access to me. Not every idea needs to become a project.

Sometimes the most powerful thing I can say is: this is working. Let it work.

The Voice I No Longer Give Authority To

There are voices I don't negotiate with anymore.

The voice that says, that's not how it's done. The voice that says, be realistic. The voice that says, who do you think you are? The voice that makes me second-guess an idea because people don't immediately understand it. The voice of comparison. The voice of fear disguised as practicality.

And especially the voice that tells me to shrink so other people can feel comfortable.

I don't give those voices authority anymore.

I've proven to myself that I can build. Success taught me that my instincts aren't crazy. My weird ideas aren't necessarily weird. I don't have to follow someone else's blueprint. I don't have to do everything myself. I can grow without abandoning myself.

And perhaps most importantly, I can trust myself.

The Best Thing I've Built

People might think the best thing I've built is the magazine. Or the platform. Or the shows. Or the products. Or the business.

It's none of those.

The best thing I've built is belief.

It's an ecosystem of people who believe in one another. It's the person who found someone through CHC they never would have met. It's the woman who sees another woman taking up space and thinks, maybe I can too. It's the entrepreneur who gets the next opportunity. It's the creator who finally gets seen. It's the person who walks into the Oracle and feels like they belong.

Somewhere along the way, I realized we weren't just building a business. We were building a place where people could come home to themselves.

I Am Not Playing Small Anymore

If you ask me what would make me cry five years from now, I can see it. I'm walking across a stage. There's a spotlight. And I'm holding a gold statue.

I don't know which award it is yet. But I've always seen the gold.

And what would make me emotional isn't the statue. It's everything it represents. Every crazy idea. Every person who believed. Every person who said yes. Every late night. Every pivot. Every failure that wasn't really a failure. Every time I questioned myself and kept going.

For me, not playing small isn't about becoming louder, richer, more visible or more successful. Those things may come, and I will happily receive them. But that's not the point.

I'm no longer negotiating with the size of my own knowing.

I know what I carry now. I know I can build. I know I can lead. I know I can create. I know I can bring people together. I know my ideas have value. I know my voice has a place in the room. I know I don't have to become someone else to be taken seriously.

And I am no longer making myself smaller so other people can feel comfortable around my light.

And If You're Reading This

For women, that's where this becomes bigger than me.

Because if a woman who has been playing small for twenty years reads my story and closes it, I don't want her simply thinking, wow, Kerry built something amazing.

I want her to look in the mirror. I want her to see herself differently. I want her to start the thing. I want her to believe in herself again.

Maybe she's been waiting to be chosen. Maybe she's afraid she's too old. Maybe she's been told she's too much. Maybe she's spent twenty years living the life she was taught to want instead of asking what she actually wants.

I want her to ask:

• Is this life I'm living actually mine?
• What would I choose if I stopped worrying about what everyone else expected of me?
• Where have I been shrinking myself?
• What am I tolerating that my future self wouldn't?
• What have I stopped doing simply because I got too busy?
• What does my body already know that my mind keeps arguing with?

And then I want her to remember something I had to learn for myself.

It isn't too late. You're not behind. You're right on time.

I didn't become this woman by following someone else's blueprint. I became her by finally giving myself permission to be all of me.

The little girl with the three dollars. The woman who built multimillion-dollar companies. The entrepreneur. The coach. The farm girl. The woman in the muumuu. The visionary. The businesswoman. The woman who talks to her chickens. The woman who can walk into a room and read the energy. The woman who wants millions and also wants more time barefoot in her garden. The woman who wants beautiful things and wants to give generously. The woman who wants to build something extraordinary without trading her soul for it.

All of her.

That is Corporate Hippie Connection.

And maybe that's the real story. I didn't build CHC so people could become more like me. I built it so they could become more like themselves.

And if another woman sees me taking up the space my life has prepared me for and realizes she doesn't have to ask permission either, then everything I've built becomes bigger than the business.

My expansion is not the destination. It's the invitation.

---

This was the cover story of the September 2026 issue of The Oracle, condensed from the original. Read the full issue here, or come inside the community.