In the news
Sometimes the most important decisions don't happen in boardrooms or during careful deliberation over pros and cons lists. Sometimes they happen in the space between exhaustion and clarity, when your body finally overrules your mind's insistence that you should keep pushing through. For me, it happened in temporary accommodation in the UK, jet-lagged and emotionally drained, 24 hours after our overnight flight from India on a pretty much empty airplane. The Moment Everything Became Clear Writing this blog I can remember it so clearly: December 10th, 2020. We'd just completed a gruelling relocation from Bangalore to the UK with three children, including a one-year-old. We were in quarantine, living out of suitcases while our belongings made their way by ship. The previous day had been one of those travel marathons that parents of young children know all too well - the kind that leaves you questioning your life choices somewhere over the Arabian Sea. And there I was, sitting in front of my laptop, about to interview for a senior role in London that I'd been encouraged to pursue. A good redundancy package was on the table, but I was still in the headspace of feeling obliged to explore the alternative. This is what responsible people do, right? You don't just walk away from a decade-long career without exploring every option, especially when you're the primary earner supporting a family. But as the interview began, something became crystal clear: my heart wasn't in it. Not even a little bit. I could hear myself going through the motions, giving the "right" answers, but there was a disconnect between my words and everything I was feeling. The interviewers were fine, the role was perfectly respectable, but I felt like I was watching myself from the outside, wondering what on earth I was doing. At one point I said something like “you know, I could understand entirely why you’d want someone who’s been based in the UK for a while to do this role, rather than me” and the interviewers saying “what on earth are you saying?!?”. Two hours later, I sent the email to say I wanted to accept the redundancy package. When Everything Becomes Clear It wasn't a dramatic moment of revelation. There were no lightning bolts or sudden epiphanies. It was quieter than that - more like finally admitting something I'd known for months but hadn't been ready to acknowledge. I was exhausted. Properly, bone-deep exhausted. Not just from the move or the jet lag, but from years of pushing through. Emergency births, family crises, corporate restructures, navigating pregnancy in a male-dominated environment (twice), managing teams across time zones while homeschooling during lockdown. The carpal tunnel, the brain fog, the high blood pressure - my body had been trying to tell me something for a long time. Being back in the UK, finally "home," created just enough safety and space for me to stop running and actually feel the full weight of everything we'd been through. The thought of jumping straight into another demanding role in January, of more interviews and onboarding and proving myself all over again, felt impossible. I didn't really have a choice anymore. The choice had been made for me by the accumulation of everything my body and soul had been quietly saying for months. The Gift of Breathing Space What happened next surprised me. Rather than pushing me toward a quick decision, the Bank was incredibly supportive. I think even they recognised what I’d been through and that my behaviour was slightly out of character. They encouraged me to take some time off to focus on my health rather than accept the redundancy immediately. And that breathing space was everything. For the first time in years, I had permission to not be "on." To not be solving, managing, performing or proving anything to anyone. We could focus on settling back into the UK, on helping our children - for whom Britain was essentially a foreign country they'd only visited on holiday - begin to understand their homeland. We were able to have Christmas with some of our extended family for the first time in years, in line with Covid restrictions. I could walk familiar streets, breathe familiar air, begin to remember parts of myself that had been dormant during our international adventures. But most importantly, I had space to think. To really think, without the pressure of immediate decisions or the noise of constant demands. To sit with the enormity of everything we'd experienced - not just the recent years, but the entire decade of relocations, career building, family growing, crisis managing. And it wasn’t me saying that it had all been awful, quite the opposite, we’d had some amazing times and opportunities that a lot of people dream of. It just wasn’t what I wanted to continue doing now. Processing in the Vacuum It was the strangest thing - so much happening while feeling like nothing was happening at all. We were all living through this weird Covid-induced suspension of normal life, where the whole world seemed to be holding its breath. Schools were closed, social life was limited, the usual rush and busyness was stripped away. In that stillness, I began to process not just the decision to leave my corporate role, but everything that had led to it. The therapy sessions that had taught me to listen to my body again. The gradual recognition that wanting something different wasn't failure. The courage it had taken to ask for what I needed, even when it might inconvenience others. I started to see the pattern of how I'd been living: always managing the next crisis, always focused on external expectations, always pushing through regardless of the cost to my wellbeing. It had served me well for a time - had gotten me through incredible challenges and built a successful career. But it was no longer sustainable. The redundancy wasn't just buying me time. It was buying me the freedom to rediscover who I was when I wasn't performing a role. What I Learned About Enough During those early months of 2021, I learned something fundamental about the word "enough." I'd had enough of pushing through pain. Enough of prioritizing everyone else's needs above my own wellbeing. Enough of believing that rest was something you earned rather than something you needed. But I also realized I'd done enough. I'd proven myself professionally. I'd navigated challenges that would have broken many people. I'd built something meaningful in my corporate career, and it was complete. There's a difference between giving up and being finished. I wasn't giving up - I was graduation from a chapter of life that had taught me everything it had to teach. I knew, and still know, what I’m capable of. The Permission You Don't Think You Need If you're reading this and something feels familiar, I want you to know: you don't need permission to be tired. You don't need to justify wanting something different. You don't need to have all the next steps figured out before you're allowed to admit that your current path isn't working anymore. Sometimes the most courageous thing you can do is stop trying to make something work that's no longer right for you, even if it looks perfect on paper. Sometimes your body knows before your mind does. And sometimes, the decision that feels scary is actually the one that's been waiting patiently for you to be ready to hear it. The redundancy package wasn't just about money or career transition. It was about permission - permission to trust that I could figure out what came next without having to have it all planned out first. Permission to believe that there might be something better waiting, even if I couldn't see it yet. Permission to finally put my own wellbeing at the centre of my decision-making, without apology. What's Waiting on the Other Side I couldn't have known then what would emerge from that space - the coaching practice that now fills me with purpose, the consulting work I do with brilliant colleagues and clients, the deeper relationships with my children, the sense of alignment between my values and my work that I'd been craving without realizing it. But I didn't need to know. I just needed to trust that something would emerge, and that whatever it was would be built on a foundation of honesty about what I actually wanted, rather than what I thought I should want. The most important decisions aren't always the ones we make with our heads. Sometimes they're the ones our bodies and souls make for us, when we finally get quiet enough to listen. Ready to explore what might be waiting on the other side of your own transition? Download my free workbook "Own What's Next" - a gentle guide to help you reflect, reset, and move forward with confidence, even when you don't have all the answers yet.
I was recently asked whether there was a specific moment when I knew I wanted to do things differently. With all the adventures I've had, it took me a while to pinpoint the most powerful one, but my mind took me back to 2020 - sitting alone in my home office in Bangalore during the first year of the Covid pandemic. I realized I needed to talk to someone about how I was feeling, but for the first time in my career, I was stumped about who to call. Despite having great relationships with colleagues around the world, this felt different. More personal. More frightening. Here's why: By every external measure, I was succeeding. International banking career spanning three countries. Teams of 1,500 people. A decade of navigating complex relocations while building a family. But I felt exhausted, disconnected, and increasingly lost. And there's an unspoken rule about this situation - when you have everything that looks like success, you're not supposed to feel this way. The Path That Led Me Here My international journey began in 2014 when we relocated from the UK to Dubai. Our daughter was four, and in a twist of perfect timing, I discovered I was pregnant with our second child on the same day I got the job offer in the UAE. Despite friends and family suggesting we reconsider given I was pregnant and our daughter was due to start school that September, we took the leap. What followed was a masterclass in resilience I never signed up for. A traumatic birth in Dubai where my son nearly didn't make it, followed by two weeks in NICU. But we had great support from my employer and we stayed, and my career flourished over the next few years as I continued to work on an important strategic, global programme for the Bank. In 2019, another opportunity called - this time to India, leading a team of 1,500 people across 5 locations. The role was demanding, the Bangalore traffic brutal, but the people and the work were incredible. Then, at 39, I discovered I was pregnant again. Navigating pregnancy as a "high-risk" case in India's medical system while managing a massive team taught me new levels of determination as I had to advocate for myself in a male dominated environment. Never the less, I eventually found a wonderful female doctor who listened to me and respected me as a third-time mother-to-be with a full time, demanding job. When my youngest son was born in December 2019 - another emergency, another NICU stay - I thought I'd weathered the storm. I was wrong. When Everything Shifted At 11 weeks postpartum, I had to leave my baby and fly to the US because my father, battling Parkinson's, had been hospitalized. The trip was gut-wrenching but necessary. As I connected through Qatar, I noticed people wearing masks but didn't think much of it. Within days of my return to India, the world shut down. Covid had arrived, borders closed, schools moved to online teaching, and it became clear that I wouldn’t be taking my new baby to meet his relatives that year. I spent my maternity leave in lockdown with my husband, two children and a newborn, and like most people felt very torn about the seemingly blissful time together as family vs the uncertainty and prolonged lack of “freedom”. After a few months, I returned to work and joined my teams in working remotely, juggling home schooling and well-being. I also found that a huge organisational restructure had been announced, starting at the most senior levels, meaning it was likely my role would be impacted in some way. That's when something fundamental began to shift inside me. I found myself increasingly feeling the pull of “home” in the UK. Of seeing my family and being near them after so many years overseas. In my spare time, I started watching a British programme called “Escape to the Country” where people relocate to idyllic country locations, dreaming of houses and lifestyles that looked nothing like our successful expat life. I devoured Country Living magazines I'd saved over the years, started listening to podcasts on my daily walks about people who'd left corporate careers to build something different – buying farms, beekeeping, starting their own businesses that had sustainability and community at their core. And Fearne Cotton's Happy Place became a regular listen for me, with its messages about self-acceptance, creating calm, listening to your body and finding healthier ways to live. Despite regular exercise and good nutrition, my health was deteriorating. High blood pressure, chronic fatigue, Carpal Tunnel syndrome in both hands, complications from my three C-sections. My body was keeping score even when my mind insisted everything was fine. The pull toward "home" wasn't just homesickness - it was something deeper. A craving to reconnect with familiar surroundings, with childhood memories, with some essential part of myself I'd lost along the way. The Weight of Responsibility But this terrified me. As the sole earner supporting my family, it wasn't just my life that would be disrupted. We had a comfortable life that we and the children had loved. How could I admit I wanted something different? It felt like failure, like I couldn't "hack it" - the opposite of everything I was known for. I felt exhausted, lost, and if I'm honest, a bit ashamed. Most people at my level seemed to be coping fine. Not many were talking about feeling this way when you're supposed to be thriving. So after some deliberation, I took the first step of finding a therapist in India that I could talk openly with, help me to create a structure and environment where I could be myself (whoever that was!) – and actually, she had an incredible impact. She didn't try to fix my situation or give me strategies to cope better. Instead, she taught me something revolutionary: how to listen to myself again. I had to literally learn how to tune into my body's signals after years of overriding them. The detachment I felt - probably a combination of nervous system dysregulation, birth trauma, and accumulated stress - wasn't something I could rationalize my way out of. For someone whose identity was built on solving problems through experience and determination, this was humbling. The Moment of Truth As I worked with my therapist and put a better routine in place, as we discussed things openly and honestly, I stopped dismissing the pull of home. I found the courage to admit it was what I really wanted, that there was nothing wrong with this, that it wasn’t failure and that I was allowed to put my needs and wants first, even if that mean it risked impacting other people who relied on me. I was able to have a coherent discussion with my husband about what I really wanted and to ask for his help (not something I’m great at doing!) and then with his support, I had a discussion with my managers and made the request to relocate back to the UK once travel was possible again. Bearing in mind my baby didn’t have a passport a this point because Covid had closed everything down, this was also consideration that required careful planning and managing uncertainty. And again, despite my fear of being seen as weak or less than capable, my managers and the organisation were incredibly sympathetic and supportive. They actually were glad that I was being honest and asking for their help, which they were happy to give. So over the next few months, we prepared for our planned December move back to the UK, and I thought I had it figured out. I'd would continue to perform my current role from the UK until we had agreed a new one, but the priority was the relocation and getting back to the UK and resettling so that everyone would be happy. Then, a week before our move, everything changed. My role was put at risk, and I was presented with the option of a redundancy package. Until that moment, leaving the organization hadn't even occurred to me. I had a shortlist of three potential UK roles, though none particularly excited me - they were either roles I'd done before or lacked the people focus I craved. But looking at that package, something clicked. I'd been with the bank for over a decade, working on incredible transformations, leading teams through complex challenges. I'd achieved everything I'd set out to achieve. But I was tired. Exhausted. Slightly disillusioned at the thought of another restructure that would probably be restructured again in two years. I realized I wanted the next decade of my life to look different. I wanted to learn more, grow in new ways, challenge myself differently. Spend more time with my family. Discover what else I was capable of. That redundancy package wasn't just about money - it was permission to finally trust what I'd been feeling. The Decision to Back Myself That was when I decided to back myself. Not the version that looked good on paper or met everyone else's expectations of success, but the version that had been quietly asking for something different. I had no clear plan, no guarantees - just an intuitive knowing that this was the right next step. What I Learned About Trust Here's what I discovered: trusting yourself isn't about having all the answers. It's about finally listening to the questions your soul has been asking. It's not about rejecting external input or ignoring practical considerations. It's about remembering that you have an internal compass that deserves as much respect as any external metric. For years, I'd been asking "Am I doing this right?" – learning to seek validation from performance reviews, salary increases, professional achievements. But the real question at this point was "What feels right for me?" That shift from external to internal authority changed everything. Why This Matters If you're reading this and something resonates, please know that it’s OK to feel this way. I’d go as far as saying you probably SHOULD feel this way at some point in your life. So many of us have been trained to look everywhere except within for guidance about our lives. We've learned to trust systems, structures, and other people's definitions of success more than our own inner knowing. But here's what I want you to know: you haven't failed if you're successful on paper but feel lost inside. You're not weak if you're tired of pushing through. You're not ungrateful if you want something different. You're human. And humans aren't designed to thrive when we're completely disconnected from our own inner wisdom. The courage to trust yourself again isn't necessarily about making dramatic life changes (though it might lead there). It's about remembering that your inner voice - the one that knows when you need rest, when something doesn't feel right, when it's time for change - is worthy of your attention and respect. You are not broken or incapable. You are not a failure. You're someone who has been conditioned to look outside yourself for validation and direction, and now you're ready to remember this: that everything you need to know about what's right for your life already lives within you, somewhere, deep down. The question isn't whether you can trust yourself. The question is: are you ready to start listening? Ready to start listening to yourself again? Let's talk. Book a Free Discovery Call
Let's Talk
The first step in therapy is talking. Let's find a time where we can meet and talk about what's on your mind.