Karen Barnett

I met Julie at a tough-ish point in my life. I was trying desperately to change career tracks and find meaningful work after being home with young kids and moving several times. I was in a new city, a new country, and trying to break into a new field. I'd been rejected for multiple jobs and had finally taken an unpaid internship (in my 30s, with two law degrees). My confidence was low and I felt invisible and out of place. I had only limited interactions with Julie, but a few weeks into the job I was giving her some kind of update when she suddenly cocked her head to one side and looked at me quizzically. I trailed off, thinking I had messed something up. She pulled me into her office (literally) and asked me what my story was. And then what the hell I was doing in this role -- and told me not to give her a bullshit answer. She listened. Really listened. She told me I was brilliant and kind and was absolutely going to land on my feet. And then she told me I was lucky because she thought I was great and she was Julie Fucking Mancini. Over the next few months she made it her mission to introduce me to as many people as possible, raving about me as she did so while I squirmed uncomfortably. She told me working moms had to stick together to help claw our way back in. She made me feel seen and heard and believed in at a point when I doubted myself. And she made a slightly painful chapter in my life a lot more fun and funny.

I ran into Julie at Taste Portland last year. It was so good to see her and hear her laugh again. I'm grateful I got to tell her how much her confidence in me had meant a decade earlier. She asked what I was doing now, and when I told her I was in my dream job she said, I fucking told you so.

It's amazing to see how many other people had similar Julie moments in their lives. She seems to have had a magical way of noticing and lifting people up when they needed it. My sincere condolences to her family and close friends. May her memory be a blessing to all.