An Inspired Chat with Monique Sadarangani

Monique Sadarangani shared their story and experiences with us recently and you can find our conversation below.

Good morning Monique, it’s such a great way to kick off the day – I think our readers will love hearing your stories, experiences and about how you think about life and work. Let’s jump right in? What are you most proud of building — that nobody sees?
What I’m most proud of building that nobody sees is the foundation of trust, resilience, and possibility that underpins everything I do. As a lawyer, it’s the quiet hours of preparation and advocacy that ensure my clients feel seen and protected. As a coach, it’s the safe space I create for others to rediscover their voice and potential, even when the world isn’t watching. And as a travel agency owner, it’s the meticulous planning behind the scenes—researching, curating, and aligning every detail so that clients experience joy and wonder without ever knowing the countless moving parts.

What ties it all together is the unseen commitment—the late nights, the internal battles, the dedication to values—that allows the visible results to shine. The true work isn’t always glamorous or public, but it’s what gives meaning and authenticity to the successes people do see.

Can you briefly introduce yourself and share what makes you or your brand unique?
My name is Monique M. Sadarangani, and I wear a few different hats that are all connected by a single thread: helping people create a life they love. I’m an estate planning attorney, an empowerment coach, and the founder of a travel agency that designs experiences meant to awaken joy and curiosity.

What makes my journey unique is the way these seemingly different paths intersect. In estate planning, I help families find peace of mind by protecting their legacies and making sure their loved ones are cared for. As a coach, I guide others to step into their own power and rewrite their stories with confidence. Through travel, I open doors to possibility, reminding people that adventure isn’t just about the destination—it’s about transformation.

Each of these roles is deeply personal to me because they stem from my own story of resilience, reinvention, and a desire to live fully and authentically. Right now, I’m especially excited about weaving these worlds together in new ways—helping clients not just plan for the future or take a trip, but discover freedom, courage, and joy along the way.

Okay, so here’s a deep one: What part of you has served its purpose and must now be released?
The part of me that I’m ready to release is the version of myself that felt I had to constantly prove my worth through achievement. For a long time, I believed that success only came from pushing harder, doing more, and wearing busyness like a badge of honor. That mindset served a purpose—it helped me build my career, my businesses, and my reputation. But it also came at the cost of peace, balance, and presence.

Now, I’m learning to let go of that old drive for external validation and step into a place of alignment instead. I’m choosing to trust that I don’t need to prove anything—that my value is inherent, and the impact I make comes not just from what I do, but from who I am. Releasing that part of me has opened space for more creativity, more connection, and more joy, both in my personal life and in the ways I serve others.

What have been the defining wounds of your life—and how have you healed them?
The two defining wounds that shaped me were (1) a deep fear of not belonging and (2) a habit of measuring my worth by productivity and perfection. Both ran like quiet currents under everything I did — how I worked, how I loved, how I showed up for clients and friends.

Belonging felt fragile early on. I learned to perform, to anticipate other people’s needs, and to smooth myself down so I could fit. That made me endlessly adaptable — a useful skill in law, coaching, and travel — but it also meant I lost track of who I was when I wasn’t “useful.” The second wound — perfectionism — grew out of that. If I could be flawless, maybe I wouldn’t be rejected. So I over-prepared, overdelivered, and exhausted myself trying to control outcomes.

How I healed them is practical, steady, and ongoing — not a single dramatic moment, but a series of small courageous choices.

I named the wounds.
Giving them language — “fear of not belonging,” “perfectionism” — pulled them out of the dark. Naming makes them manageable. Once I could say them aloud (to myself, then to a therapist and trusted friends), they stopped running the show.

I did the inner work (therapy + coaching).
Professional therapy helped me unpack childhood patterns and attachment habits. As a coach, I also sit in the client seat regularly — it keeps my tools sharp and my self-awareness honest. Therapy taught me why I react the way I do. Coaching taught me strategies to choose different responses.

I practiced boundary holiness.
Setting clear boundaries at work and in relationships was revolutionary. Saying “no” to a project that drained me and “yes” to time that refueled me wasn’t selfish — it was survival. Boundaries taught me how to belong to myself first.

I built rituals that reconnect me to my body and values.
Daily movement, deliberate pauses between meetings, journaling, and a “no-work” dinners have been anchoring practices. Travel became not just a business but a medicine: quiet mornings in new places helped me remember curiosity and loosen the grip of performance.

I learned to reframe failure and rest as evidence of courage, not weakness.
Instead of seeing rest as lost productivity, I began to treat rest as a professional competency — essential to better judgment, creativity, and care for others. Allowing myself to be imperfect opened more authentic relationships and better work.

I ritualized legacy work.
As an estate planning attorney, I saw how the absence of clear plans creates chaos for families. Helping others plan for legacy and care reframed mortality and control for me. It taught me to create systems that honor love instead of trying to control every outcome.

I asked for support and accepted it.
Pride kept me trying to do everything alone for too long. Asking for help — a business mentor, a virtual assistant, friends who call me in hard moments — taught me interdependence feels like belonging, not weakness.

The result isn’t perfection — I still feel old patterns tug sometimes — but the tug no longer determines my direction. Healing, for me, has been about building structures (therapy, boundaries, rituals, supportive people, and the legal/financial scaffolding I help others build) that let me show up as myself: less performing, more present, more courageous in love and work.

Next, maybe we can discuss some of your foundational philosophies and views? Is the public version of you the real you?
The public Monique is a real, honest version of me — shaped, curated, and protected. What people see (my work as an estate-planning attorney, the coach who asks hard questions, the travel agency owner who designs transformative trips) comes from a genuine place: my values, my training, and the lessons I’ve lived. But it’s also a version I choose to show because not every interior truth is useful, safe, or kind to share publicly.

I treat the public self like a well-lit room in my house — I welcome people in, and I make sure what’s there represents who I am and what I want to offer. Behind the door are quieter rooms: private tender work, unfinished learning, fears I’m still healing. Those parts are no less real; I simply protect them so I can serve with clarity and sustainability.

Why that balance matters: as an estate-planner I protect people’s futures; as a coach I model growth; as a travel curator I create space for wonder. If I exposed every jagged edge, I’d risk burning out my capacity to hold others. If I hid everything, I’d be inauthentic. The sweet spot is being honest about my humanity while stewarding vulnerability thoughtfully.

Thank you so much for all of your openness so far. Maybe we can close with a future oriented question. If immortality were real, what would you build?
If immortality were real, I would devote my endless time to building something that benefits humanity at its deepest levels. Beyond my work as an estate planning attorney, coach, and travel curator, my dream is to create a nonprofit that brings all of these pieces together into a true healing space — one that serves children, families, and animals while honoring the sustainability of the earth.

I imagine a sanctuary where people can come to feel safe, to learn, to heal, and to grow. A place where families can receive guidance and peace of mind about their legacies, where individuals can discover their inner strength through coaching, and where travel and cultural immersion become tools for awakening curiosity and compassion. This space would also nurture animals, honor our planet, and teach future generations how interconnected we all are.

Immortality would give me limitless time to build and expand this vision — to create structures that serve people long after their immediate needs are met. But even without it, I’m planting seeds now. For me, the meaning of forever isn’t living endlessly — it’s creating systems, spaces, and communities that ripple outward with love, healing, and possibility.

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