From Crisis Lines to Career Pivots:How I Did the Next Right Thing
- Oct 1
- 4 min read
By Lindsey Fredman
I haven't always chosen the easy path. Some of the most defining moments in my life came when I was faced with the choice to quit — permanently — or keep going.
In college, I experienced with sexual assault and came close to the ultimate tap out. Instead, I called the rape crisis center in Mobile, Alabama. The people there listened, believed me, and reminded me I wasn't alone. That phone call changed my life. I trained to become a rape crisis counselor and spent the next seven years on call for survivors, including responding to victims at the New Orleans convention center after Hurricane Katrina. Those years taught me that in someone's darkest moment, what matters most is having one person who will simply show up. I believe people in any relationship have three basic needs: to feel valued, heard, and respected. I’ve continued to approach all relationships in my life with that mantra since.
Motherhood brought new challenges. My second child was born and both his lungs collapsed. My husband had just started a new job, so I handled most of it on my own. I was terrified, exhausted, and struggling — not just as a mother, but as a wife, too. That season stretched on for years, leaving me worn thin and questioning my own strength, sanity, and identity outside of being a mom or a wife.
When my third child was 11 months old, we learned he needed brain surgery. It was during COVID, so I was there alone with my thoughts as my husband and I couldn't be in the hospital together. I'll never forget sitting in the waiting room when another mom told me her 14-month-old had been battling lung cancer since infancy. She asked how I could be so calm, and I wondered how she was still functioning at all. Not one to stay silent (and being musically minded), the only answer that came to me was the lyrics from Frozen 2: "When you’re lost and alone, and you don’t know what to do, just do the next right thing."
In that moment, the next right thing for me was trusting the nation's best pediatric neurosurgeon to operate on my child. He made it through surgery beautifully, and today he's a healthy, spirited little boy. But that day, I realized something else: I didn't need to spend the rest of my life doing something I hated or working for people who didn't make me feel valued, heard, or respected. I wanted to be in a position where I could take care of people the way I wished I had been by my leadership. So I started applying for new jobs and landed my dream role leading an Academy and taking care of my team.
Through that job, I have learned that — like most adults — I don't actually know as much as I thought I did. Life is just a series of choices, and all you can do is make the next best move with the information you have at the time. That mindset gave me the confidence to start Main Street Collective, an online marketplace for Mississippi makers. I didn't know 100% how I was going to do it. Honestly, I didn't even know 50%. But I believed I could figure it out if I just kept trying to do the next right thing. Its good to know what the top of the staircase looks like, but more importantly, focus on the next step in front of you.
Main Street Collective was gaining momentum when my business partner had to step away suddenly. Overnight, I was running the entire platform alone, while raising three kids, working full-time, and supporting our vendors. I cried in the shower that night, then remembered: in this moment, what is the next right thing. I brought in help, improved our systems, partnered with an AI company, and kept going.
Today, Main Street Collective supports 40 Mississippi artisans and makers, helping them reach customers they never could have found on their own. We've created a community where authentic, handmade products thrive, and where small business owners can focus on their craft, while we focus on the tech.
I haven't always had perfect finances. I've made weird, nontraditional choices that didn't make sense to anyone but me. Every time I thought I was nailing parenting, my kids changed the rules. I've eaten crow more times than I can count. But I've learned that resilience isn't about having it all together — it's about feeling the weight of the moment and taking one step forward anyway.
From that crisis line call in college, to NICU days with my newborn, to the hospital waiting room before my son's brain surgery, to leading a military academy and building a business — the through-line is the same: I keep going because there's always someone counting on me to show up, even if all I can offer in that moment is my best attempt at the next right thing.
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