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 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.

Learning to Trust Yourself Again: From External Validation to Inner Authority

By Daisy Goreham • June 23, 2025
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