I would first like to share a bit of my story, because each of our stories — where we come from, how we were raised — in many ways deeply influences how we lead: how we define our worthiness, where we get our passion, and the values that are the bedrock of why we do what we do.
I am the daughter of a flamenco dancer. I grew up in a very humble home surrounded by scantily clad men and women in leotards, with dynamic, passionate music and romance. Every dance was a story of hope and heartbreak, drama, and life in all its grit, grace and beauty.
I am a Latina Jew. My mom was a New Yorker who hated the concrete jungle and fell in love with the folklore and culture of Mexico. At 19, she spent the summer there taking flamenco with a man who was 62, four decades her senior, who would become my father.
I come from a mom who rebelled against the Dalton, East Coast, monied life she was born into and instead followed her heart to live the life she longed for — not the one she was born into.
She went from Madeline Eisner to Magdalena Fernandez. She was not defined by the life she was born into; she trail blazed her own authentic journey.
Not to romanticize it all — there were challenges — but my early influences were steeped in the arts: in the wealth of culture, story and movement, and in a woman who refused to be told who she would be.
When my parents divorced, my mom decided to get her PhD in Mexican folklore. She would take my brother and me through the pueblos of Mexico by herself, a single mom, to collect the equivalent of Grimm’s Fairy Tales from the campesinos — the humble, poor people who lived in the villages. I watched her record the most humble of folks, who offered us food and anything they had, and who all had a story to share. They taught me to see sacred dignity in every soul, no matter their circumstance.
I knew then, as a little girl, my dream: I wanted to collect stories like my mom. And my bicultural, bilingual life gave me a great understanding of the beauty and grace of the diverse peoples of a diverse and multicultural world — to learn from them and be enhanced and enchanted by them.
I went to Cal State Sacramento, got my degree in journalism and worked my way up from small markets across this country all the way to the national news in New York, where I’ve covered hurricanes, elections and war zones at the highest levels of network television, here and around the world.
It wasn’t all a straight line. Sometimes, when I got to these really lofty places, I didn’t feel I belonged. I didn’t have an Ivy League education or fancy contacts. Sometimes I felt insecure and wondered if I had what it took — if I was worthy to be there.
What saved me was story — the stories of others who rose to become titans in their fields. I loved biographies, especially about women, and especially in my field — women like Katharine Graham, the publisher of The Washington Post in its heyday. She wrote in her memoir about taking the helm after her husband’s death; she felt that taking the lead of the paper was like shutting her eyes and stepping off the edge. And then, to her surprise, she landed on her feet — the leap from fear to action. She wrote about seeing herself through the distorting mirrors of a carnival fun house — a distorted vision of her potential. But by taking that leap, she would emerge among the most revered leaders in journalism.
When she decided to publish the Pentagon Papers, the secret Vietnam War study, she was just two years on the job, and the stakes were high. The company had just gone public, and there was real pushback. So much was on the line, but what she showed was a leader who accepted real risk and trusted the paper’s mission over short-term financial safety. And that act of courage, in accordance with her values — upholding our First Amendment rights — is what she says gave her the confidence a year later to stand behind her coverage of the Watergate scandal.
She is a woman I think about a lot today, not just as it relates to journalism, but as an example for any woman wrestling with self-doubt, who can look to her and see someone who made one of the gutsiest calls in American publishing. I’ve learned so much from reading about the lives of these women.
As I mentioned, there were times I didn’t think I was enough — smart enough to be in some of these rarefied rooms. There weren’t many Latinas when I got into network news, and certainly not many whose parents were flamenco dancers or mariachi singers. My mom went from being a dancer to a ranchera singer while she taught Spanish at Cal State Northridge and Cal State Fullerton. What she taught me was that you can be anything your heart longs to be.
Whatever fears I had of failure or of being exposed for not knowing enough, I countered with hard work and the belief my mother infused in me: listen to your soul’s yearning, the calling of your heart. Honor that voice within, and don’t let anyone or anything derail what you are called to be.
I was called to be a storyteller.
I come from a family of storytellers. My dad, Jose Fernandez, told stories through dance. He sacrificed everything for his art. He would look at a painting of a bullfighter above our tiny kitchen table and weep every single time. He was a purist. His devotion to something bigger than money or title — his integrity and refusal to compromise his art — made a huge impact on me and on how I approach not just my work, but my life. There are values that can never be compromised. I am my father’s daughter.
I share a bit of my past — my story — because through our stories we understand what moves us, what drives us, what matters to us. It’s what shapes our values, our mission, our sense of conviction, and those influences manifest themselves in the workplace.
There is not one profile I do where you don’t feel my reverence for the people sitting with me. They are there because I believe their story is one that inspires us to see the best of who we are and what is possible. They are stories I believe must be shared for the greater good. I am on a mission to share examples of leadership that just blow me away and remind me of the grace of human beings at their best.
Giselle Fernandez – October 9, 2026