How to promote yourself when you hate doing it

Daisy Goreham • November 3, 2025

It's that time of year again.


Performance reviews are looming. Your manager has sent the calendar invite with that subject line: "Year-End Review Discussion." And somewhere in your inbox is a self-assessment template with cheerful instructions to "highlight your key achievements and contributions."

You stare at the blank document. Your mind goes blank too.


Not because you haven't achieved anything - you have. You've achieved a lot, actually. But the thought of writing it all down, of claiming it, makes your skin crawl.


You don't want to sound arrogant. You don't want to be "that person" who can't stop talking about themselves. You don't want to take credit away from your team. And honestly? You'd rather do literally anything else than sit here singing your own praises.


So you write something vague and modest. You use a lot of passive voice. You mention the team seventeen times. You hit submit and hope someone notices your contributions without you having to spell them out.


The problem is - they won't.


If you don't tell your story, someone else will


And they'll tell a version that undersells you.


Because whilst you're busy being humble and uncomfortable, someone else in your organisation is confidently listing their achievements. They're speaking up in meetings and they're making sure the right people know what they're working on.


They might not be better than you. They might not have achieved more than you. But you can bet they're going to talk about it.

And that matters because your work can't actually speak for itself.  It just sits there being excellent whilst someone else gets the credit, the promotion or the opportunity you deserved.


So as a leader (or an aspiring one) you need to work out how to do this without wanting to crawl under your desk.


Stop thinking of it as bragging. Start thinking of it as evidence.


The first thing you need to do is reframe what self-promotion actually is.


It's not showing off. It's not being big-headed. It's not taking up too much space.


It's stating facts.


You did the work. You got results. That's not ego - that's just what happened.


You ARE amazing. The trick is showing people why - with specific examples they can't dismiss or forget.


Try this:

Instead of: "I'm great at stakeholder management."

Say: "I brought together three departments that hadn't worked together before. We streamlined the approval process and saved 40 staff hours a month."

See the difference? You're not telling people you're brilliant. You're showing them what you did and what changed as a result.

That's evidence, not ego.


Draft it in third person first


Another way of writing about yourself that can help remove the "ick" factor completely: write your performance review like you're writing about someone else.


Pretend you're their biggest advocate. What would you say about their contributions? What would you want their manager to know?

"She led the restructure of the client onboarding process, reducing onboarding times by three weeks and improving client satisfaction scores by 15%. This also directly enabled a major deal worth £700,000"


Much easier to write than "I led..." isn't it?


Once you've got it all down in third person, go back and change it to first person. You'll find the cringe factor has disappeared - because you've already separated yourself from the discomfort of self-promotion. You were just stating facts about someone who happens to be you.


Turn your wins into mini case studies


This isn't just about making yourself look good. It's about positioning yourself as someone who's done important work and wants to share what you've learnt for the benefit of the organisation.


Here's the structure:

What was the situation? Set the scene. What problem existed? What was at stake?

What did you do? This is where you state your actual contribution. Not what "the team" did - what you did.

What changed as a result? Numbers are great - if you have them, always include them. But you can further demonstrate the impact by including qualitative outcomes: morale improved, relationships strengthened, a disaster was averted.

What did you learn? This is the piece that links self-promotion to organisational value. What would you do differently? What could others learn from this? How can you help other business areas or teams adopt your approach?

Pick 2-3 examples like this and you've got a toolkit you can use in performance reviews, LinkedIn updates, interviews, internal presentations - anywhere you need to communicate your value whilst also contributing something useful to the broader organisation.

You're not just talking about yourself. You're sharing insights that could help others avoid mistakes or replicate success.


If you led a team, say so. That IS your achievement.


This is where a lot of people get stuck, especially women and anyone who's been socialised to prioritise collaboration over individual recognition.

"But I didn't do it alone. My team was amazing. I can't take credit for their work."


You're right - you can't. But you can take credit for your work, which was leading them.


As a leader, facilitating others' success is literally your job. Building the culture where good work happens? That's you. Removing obstacles? You. Making sure the right people were in the right roles? Also you.


You don't have to choose between giving credit and taking it.


"I led a team that delivered X" is not erasing anyone. It's stating what you actually did. Your team members have their own achievements to talk about. You're allowed to have yours.


And honestly? If you led well, your team probably wants you to get recognition for it. They know what you contributed.


Don't wait for perfect to share your wins


If you're a high achiever - and let's be honest, you probably are if you're reading this - you might be waiting for the "perfect" achievement to share.


The flawless project. The undeniable success. The thing with no rough edges or learning curves.


Stop waiting.


That project that had bumps along the way? The initiative that didn't go exactly to plan but taught you something valuable? The situation you navigated imperfectly but effectively?


Those count too.


Growth is an achievement. Navigating complexity is an achievement. Learning from something that didn't work is an achievement.

You don't need perfect outcomes to prove your value. Real work is messy and real leadership involves course corrections. If you only talk about perfect outcomes, you're not being authentic - you're performing.


Name the invisible work


This is the big one, especially for women and especially for leaders.


The things you picked up and did because no-one else would or could (yes, I see you). 


The culture you built. The crisis you managed when everyone was watching but not helping, as usual. The team you held together during chaos. The person you mentored. The conflict you mediated. The morale you salvaged. The broken processes or backlogs that you fixed.

None of that shows up in a quarterly report. But it matters.


Some of your biggest contributions are the disasters that never happened because of you: The team member who didn't resign, the project that didn't derail, the client who went from angry and frustrated to being your biggest fan.


Just because it doesn't come with a metric doesn't mean it wasn't critical.


If you don't name this work, it becomes invisible. Other people don't see it unless you show them. They don't factor it into decisions about promotions or opportunities.


You have to make it visible. Even - especially - when it feels awkward to do so.


Know your metrics and position any shortfalls


This is where you get strategic and where you head off your manager at the pass.


Most performance reviews are based on specific metrics or objectives. You know what they are. So look at them honestly before your review.

Did you hit everything? Great. Lead with that.


Didn't hit something? Don't wait for your manager to point it out and use it as a reason you're "not quite" a top performer this year.

Get ahead of it. Acknowledge it. And then explain what other benefits were delivered instead.


"We didn't hit the 20% cost reduction target - we achieved 15%. However, we did this whilst maintaining service quality and avoiding the team attrition that happened in other departments during their cost-cutting initiatives. We also identified three process improvements that will deliver sustainable savings over the next two years rather than one-off cuts."


You're not making excuses, you're providing context. You're showing that you understand the bigger picture and made conscious trade-offs.

This is especially important if you're a woman or from an underrepresented group - because research shows managers are more likely to use minor shortfalls as justification for lower ratings, even when overall performance is strong.


Don't give them the opportunity. Control the narrative.


Show how you made your boss look good


Your boss has objectives and metrics they're measured on too. They have a reputation to maintain with their boss.


And chances are, you've contributed to making them look good this year.


Did you deliver cost savings that fed into their budget targets? Did you reengineer processes that enhanced client experiences - making their team look innovative and customer-focused? Did you build tools or frameworks that simplified things and reduced errors - making their operation look efficient and well-managed?


Did you streamline things to work globally, making them look like a strategic thinker? Did you get clean audits or close all audit points, making their governance look tight? Did you fix serious problems or regulatory breaches before they became their problem?


Name it.


Not in a sycophantic way - in a "here's how my work contributed to our collective success" way.


"The compliance framework I implemented resulted in zero audit findings this year, which I know was important for the division's regulatory standing."


"The client feedback system I designed gave us the data we needed to demonstrate improved satisfaction scores in our board report."

This does two things: it shows you understand how your work connects to broader organisational goals, and it makes it much harder for your boss to downplay your contributions. Because doing so would mean downplaying their own success.


Watch your language


Pay attention to the words you use when you talk about your achievements.


Are you saying things like:

  • "I was lucky..."
  • "It was really a team effort..."
  • "I just happened to be in the right place..."
  • "It wasn't a big deal..."


Pause.


Luck didn't write the strategy. The team didn't lead itself. You didn't stumble into success by accident.


You can acknowledge others without erasing yourself. You can be grateful for circumstances without attributing everything to chance.

Try replacing "I was lucky" with "I was ready when the opportunity came."  Replace "it was just a team effort" with "I led a team that achieved X."


Notice the difference? You're still being truthful, you're just not minimising your role.


This isn't about angling for something. It's about telling the truth.


One of the biggest blocks people have around self-promotion is this fear: "If I talk about my achievements, people will think I'm angling for something. They'll think I'm demanding or high maintenance."


Let's untangle this.


There's a difference between advocating for yourself and being demanding. There's a difference between stating your contributions and fishing for compliments.


You're allowed to make your impact known without having an ulterior motive. Sometimes the goal is simply accurate representation of what happened.


If people interpret your factual account of reality as "strategic positioning," that says more about them than it does about you.


You're not being high maintenance. You're not being pushy. You're simply refusing to disappear.


What happens when you actually do this


You stop waiting for someone to notice. You stop hoping your good work will magically translate into recognition. You stop feeling invisible and resentful.


You start having different conversations. Better negotiations. Clearer career trajectories.


You realise that the discomfort of self-promotion is temporary, but the cost of staying silent compounds over time.


And sometimes - often, actually - you discover that the people around you weren't judging you for speaking up. They were just waiting to hear the full story.


There's something else too: when you speak up confidently about yourself, people actually love it. They get a thrill from it. There's something energising about watching someone own their success without apology.


And you're likely to inspire other people to speak up for themselves too, particularly other women. Your confidence gives them permission. Your clarity shows them it's possible.


Your impact matters. Make sure people know about it.


The promotion, the pay rise, the next opportunity - none of it happens by accident.


It starts when you stop downplaying what you've done and start communicating it clearly.


Not because you're arrogant or you're trying to take credit from others. Not because you're angling for something.


Because you worked hard and you got results. That deserves to be acknowledged - by others and by you.


So when that performance review comes around, or when someone asks what you've been working on, or when you update your LinkedIn profile:

Tell the truth. State the facts. Share the evidence.


Your story matters. Tell it like you mean it.


If you're finding it harder than it should be to advocate for yourself - even when you know you should - let's talk. I work with high-achieving women who are brilliant at their jobs but struggling to own it.


Book a free discovery call here

The Messy Middle: Why the Hardest Part of Change Comes After the Big Decision

By Daisy Goreham • December 11, 2025
We talk a lot about the courage it takes to leave a job, change careers, move country - those big, bold decisions that reshape a life. But we talk less about what happens after. The messy middle: the bit between what you walked away from and whatever comes next. This is the part that catches most people off guard. When clarity takes longer than expected You've made the leap. You've left the role that was draining you, the environment that wasn't working, the version of success that didn't fit anymore. And now everyone's waiting to see what you do next. Including you. The thing is, because it takes so much courage to make this first decision, we put huge amounts of pressure on the next thing to be perfect. To justify the leap, to validate the pain. To prove - to ourselves and everyone else - that we weren't wrong to leave. So when clarity doesn't arrive immediately, when the path isn't obvious, when the fear gets louder instead of quieter... you start questioning everything. "Have I made a massive mistake?" "Why don't I know what to do next?" "Should I just go back to what I know?" The brave thing you did suddenly feels like it might actually be a failure. Your body needs time you don't want to give it Walking away from a job that hasn't been serving you takes enormous emotional strength. Especially if you've been working at an unsustainable pace for years. Burnout convinces you that changing the external situation will fix the internal one overnight. But that's not how bodies work. That's not how nervous systems work. If you've been operating in hyper-alert performance mode for 3, 5, 10, 15 years, your system needs time to come back down to neutral before it can even think about what "better" looks like. And that time - the recovery, the decompression - feels like nothing is happening. Except everything is happening. Your body is learning it's safe to stop running. Your mind is processing years of accumulated stress. Your nervous system is recalibrating. Your sense of self is trying to figure out who you are when you're not defined by your job title. It isn't wasted time, but wow, it can really feel like it when you're in it. The silence is deafening When you leave a demanding job, you take out more than the work. Suddenly, you’re in a world with less pace, less constant urgency. There’s no immediate perceived validation, visibility, status. The instant access to a busy network. The sense of purpose that comes from solving problems all day. It's like stepping off a treadmill that was running at full speed or sitting on a completely empty train. Suddenly the room is silent. And silence can feel terrifying when you've lived in noise for years. This is when people tend to panic. When they rush to fill the gap with "the same thing, somewhere else." Not because they want it, but because the uncertainty feels unbearable and the realisation that it make take longer than a month sets in. Why this bit is so hard Because it IS hard. The stakes feel high. Money worries become real. Family responsibilities weigh heavily. The loss of structure feels destabilising. Old coping mechanisms don't work anymore. And you expect yourself to know exactly what to do next, even though you've never done this before. We forget that confidence comes from competence, and competence comes from practice. Not pressure. You're not supposed to have it all figured out right now. You're in the middle. That's the whole point. Let go of the pressure and give yourself time As I write this, it's nearly the end of the year. It’s easy to think everyone's doing their reflections, setting their intentions, planning their fresh starts for January. (You and I both know this isn’t the case!). And if you're in the messy middle right now, you might start to put extra pressure on yourself to hit the ground running in the New Year with a high speed plan and bucketloads of energy. The problem is, this will just lead to more overwhelm, procrastination and self-criticism. Not a nice thought loop. Time is a construct And your timeline doesn't have to match everyone else's. You don't have to have your "2025 vision" sorted by 1st January. You don't have to bounce back quickly to prove you're resilient. You don't have to perform certainty when you're still figuring things out. Remember, some of this is what you’ve chosen to move away from. The messy middle has its own timeline. Trying to rush through it because it's "supposed to be" resolution season will only make it harder. Stop expecting yourself to sprint The messy middle isn't a problem to solve as quickly as possible. It's a necessary stage that deserves time and space. You made a brave decision based on what you knew at the time. You don't have to have the next ten steps mapped out to trust that you made the right choice. Your brain will tell you all sorts of catastrophic stories about what this means. Most of them aren't true. What's actually happening right now? What do you actually need to do today? Probably a lot less than you think. If you're exhausted, you're exhausted. Pushing through worked in your old life because the structure held you up. Now you need to recover before you can build anything new. Rest isn't the same as giving up. And here's what happens when you actually allow that space and time instead of fighting it: you start to listen to yourself again. All those years of noise, of constant urgency, of other people's priorities drowning out your own voice - they start to quiet down. And in that uncomfortable silence, you begin to process what actually happened. What you endured. What you sacrificed. What you want now. It's not comfortable. Sitting in the discomfort rarely is. But it's where the real work happens. Where you separate who you actually are from who you've been performing as. Where you figure out what you actually want instead of what you think you should want. You can't rush that. And you shouldn't try to. You don't need a grand plan. You need one small thing that feels interesting or possible or slightly less heavy. Start there. And talk to people who've actually done this. Not people who'll tell you to "just get another job" or "give it time and you'll be fine." People who understand what transition feels like and won't judge you for struggling with it. What's waiting on the other side Big, meaningful change takes time. It's a slow, intentional unravelling of what's not yours anymore and the deliberate, thoughtful rebuilding of what could be. It feels uncomfortable. It feels uncertain. It feels like walking through fog. But the version of you that emerges from this doesn't just have a new job or a new life. You have a new sense of self. Deeper confidence. Clearer purpose. A career and life that fit you instead of draining you. You will get there. Just don't expect yourself to have it all figured out whilst you're still in the middle of it. Rest. Recover. Reflect. Rebuild. The version of you who made the brave decision to leave is the same version who will lead you out the other side. If you’re in that uncomfortable in-between right now, struggling more than you expected, it doesn’t mean you’ve made a mistake. It means you’re doing the work. Keep going my friend. Book a free discovery call

The People Who See You: Building Community Beyond the Corporate Circle

By Daisy Goreham • September 22, 2025
Whilst I was drafting this month’s blog post, I came across an article about Victoria Beckham and something called the "liking gap" - the disparity between how much we think others like us versus how much they actually do. Whilst it uses the legendary VB as an illustrative example, it highlights the reality that most of us (especially women) drastically underestimate how much others enjoy our company, spending mental energy on worries that exist primarily in our heads. Victoria Beckham, who now has her own documentary coming out on Netflix next month, is someone who spent years consumed with what the world thought of her, with the article describing her as suffering from "excruciating self-obsession fuelled by insecurity." And honestly, I saw a bit of myself in that description because I've been there too. We probably all have. But this is the thing isn’t it? We are conditioned to seek external validation and approval from others, it’s going to happen when you work in organisations that give us common values and behavioural standards, and define the cultures we exist in day to day. Couple that with the constant presence of social media, news, TV and Film, and it’s no surprise that we might be left feeling overwhelmed, undervalued and simply not good enough. Because we are being told that, directly or indirectly, day in and day out, from all angles. So again, the question for me is, how many of us spend years looking to the wrong people for validation? When Your Network Isn't Your Community Remember that moment I wrote about in my past blogs - sitting in my home office in Bangalore in 2020, needing to talk to someone but not knowing who to call? Despite having great relationships with colleagues worldwide, what I was feeling seemed too personal, too frightening, even shameful, to share with my professional network. It took me some time and some courage to realise something fundamental: there's a difference between having people who know your achievements and having people who actually see you. Your colleagues might celebrate your promotion, but will they support you when you admit you're questioning everything? Your industry contacts might endorse your skills on LinkedIn, but will they listen when you say you're exhausted despite looking successful on paper? I learned this the hard way in the years that followed leaving HSBC. After taking some much-needed time off, I took on a consulting role at a US investment bank, establishing a brand new function and building a team. And while I enjoyed parts of it and the money was excellent, it crystallised something important: I realised I didn't want my future or job security to be reliant on a large organization or, frankly, middle-aged white men making decisions about my career. I didn’t want to spend all of my time working in organisations that leave people feeling exhausted and fearful, pretending to be different versions of themselves to be “approved” of by the organisation and it’s performance management standards. I wanted a different kind of security - one built on my own skills, relationships and choices. And one that actually had a positive purpose to it, helping people rather than making them feel not good enough. Trying to make change requires you to do things differently. It means starting to surround yourself with different people and connections that are part of the world or space you want to be in. Who have done it before you or are working alongside you. And as I started to make changes, my network understandably started to evolve. The people I'd spent years building "strategic relationships" with gradually faded away (and vice versa). But other relationships – some of which were more than 10 years old - stepped forward in ways that surprised me. The Real Gap Here's what I think the real gap is: not just the space between how much people like us versus how much we think they do, but the chasm between seeking approval from everyone and finding genuine support from the right people. The Victoria Beckham article's example resonated because it highlighted how someone can build something successful - in this case, a business now worth millions - not by winning over the critics, but by trusting their own vision and surrounding themselves with people who believed in it too. The gradual move from needing everyone's approval to focusing on the opinions that actually matter - that's where the magic happens. Finding Your People in the Messy Middle When I made that decision on December 10th, 2020 - sitting jet-lagged in temporary accommodation, realising mid-interview that my heart wasn't in pursuing another corporate role - I thought I had it figured out. But it took another stint in corporate consulting to truly understand what I was moving toward, not just what I was moving away from. Those two years at a US investment bank taught me as much about myself as the previous decade had. Yes, I could still perform at a high level. Yes, I could build teams and establish new functions. But I also learned I craved autonomy, choice, and freedom in ways that no corporate structure - however well-paid - could satisfy. When that contract ended, it felt very similar to leaving HSBC and I was reminded of why I’d chosen to leave the first time around. As I thought about it during the cold, dark January of 2024, the way forward became clear: I wanted to retrain as a coach and try something completely different. Scary? Absolutely, but you know that saying “if it scares and excites you at the same time, it’s probably the right thing to do”? What I couldn't have anticipated was how right it would feel. As I immersed myself in coach training and that world, something magical happened. I found myself surrounded by people who both understood me and were like-minded, but who also challenged me - in the right way. Not the aggressive, ego-driven challenge of difficult boardrooms, but the kind that comes from genuine curiosity and care for growth. For the first time in years, I felt like I was in exactly the right place. The coaching world introduced me to a different kind of community entirely. These weren't people impressed by job titles or salary figures. They were drawn to depth, to authentic connection, to helping each other become who they were meant to be. The conversations were different. The support was different. The whole energy was different. As I started being honest about what I actually wanted - more autonomy, more choice, work that felt personally meaningful - these were the people who showed up. Some were fellow coaches-in-training, others were established practitioners who took me under their wing. All of them were interested in the real me and who I was becoming (cheesy, I know, but it’s true!). The people who matter aren't necessarily the ones with impressive credentials. They're the ones who see your potential even when you can't see it yourself. What Inner Authority Actually Requires Building genuine inner authority - the kind that lets you walk away from well-paid consulting contracts to retrain in something completely different - isn't a solo journey. It requires community, but the right kind of community. Over these past four years of coaching training and practice, I've learned that inner authority flourishes when you're surrounded by people who see your potential even when you can't see it yourself. People who will celebrate your courage to change direction, not just your ability to climb the ladder. People who understand that the most important growth often happens outside your comfort zone, but who'll support you through the discomfort. The coaching community taught me what it felt like to be truly seen and supported. Not for what I could produce or deliver, but for who I was becoming. These were relationships built on curiosity rather than competition, on depth rather than networking strategy. Ask yourself: Who in your life would you call if you woke up tomorrow and said, "I think I need to change everything"? Who would listen without immediately trying to talk you out of it or remind you of all the "practical" reasons to stay put? These are your people. This is your community. And their voices are the ones that should carry weight when you're making decisions about your life. The Community That Holds Your Whole Self Since choosing this path, I've discovered something beautiful: when you stop trying to be palatable to everyone, you become magnetic to the right people. The coaching practice I'm building, the relationships with clients who trust me with their own transitions, the community of practitioners who've become genuine friends - it's taken time, but I'm getting there. And I love what I do. None of this would have been possible if I'd stayed in roles that looked impressive but felt hollow. The magic happened when I finally found my people - not just colleagues, but a community that understood both where I'd been and where I was trying to go. This doesn't mean becoming indifferent to others or abandoning empathy. It means developing such clarity on your values and vision that external opinions inform but don't control your decisions. It means surrounding yourself with people who've earned the right to influence your thinking because they genuinely care about your wellbeing, not just your productivity. That's what inner authority supported by genuine community looks like: the confidence to own your narrative, even the parts others might find questionable. Building Your Real Network So how do you build this kind of community? It starts with radical honesty about who you are when you're not performing a role. Practice vulnerable sharing. The people who can hold space for your uncertainty, your fears, your dreams that don't make sense on paper - these are your people. But they can only show up for you if you let them see the real you. Trust your instincts about relationships. That gut feeling about who feels safe, who energises you, who you can be completely yourself around - pay attention to it. Your real community won't drain you, they'll refuel you. Look beyond your industry. Some of my most valuable relationships now exist completely outside my former professional sphere. The parent at school drop-off who asks how you're really doing. The friend who's known you since before you had a LinkedIn profile. The local and fellow business owners who have so much empathy and support to offer. Embrace what others might see as your "edges." There's power in owning what others might judge - when you stop trying to be professionally palatable to everyone, you become authentically attractive to the right people. What I Know Now If you're reading this and something resonates, please know: there’s nothing wrong with you if you're successful on paper but feel disconnected. You're not ungrateful if you want something different. You're not a failure if you're tired of optimising for other people's definitions of success. You're someone who's ready to remember that your inner voice - the one that knows when you need rest, when something doesn't feel right, when it's time for change - deserves as much respect as any external metric. And when you have the right community - people who see you, not just your achievements - they'll remind you of this truth when you forget it. They'll support you in listening to that voice, even when it's asking for something that doesn't make sense to anyone else. The question isn't whether you can trust yourself. You proved that the moment you started questioning whether there might be something better waiting. The question is: who do you want beside you as you figure out what comes next? Who in your life sees the real you – not just the version that looks good on paper? And what would become possible if you stopped seeking approval from everyone and started building genuine support from the right people? These are the questions worth sitting with as we head into the final quarter of the year.  👉 If you’re craving that kind of community, that’s exactly what we’re creating inside The Inner Authority Club – a space to explore these questions together, build confidence in your own voice and surround yourself with people who really see you.

From External Pressure to Internal Compass: The Interview That Changed Everything

By Daisy Goreham • July 29, 2025
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.