When life is good, the team is performing, the business is growing, and things feel stable, the mere suggestion of change can trigger genuine anxiety. Yet when things are difficult, performance is declining, culture is suffering, and the team feels stuck, change is the very thing everyone is quietly craving.

We often focus so much on either the future or the past. The past of what was and the future of what if… When we focus too much on the future, we can become overwhelmed and anxious. Now, I love the big picture. I love being able to see what we want to achieve and where we are heading, but what I was forgetting was all the amazing steps we are already taking towards that big goal.

I have always been described as an extrovert. I get involved in conversations, laugh, and tell stories, but what the outside world doesn't see is my internal narrative. This battle goes on when I am going to meet people I don't fully know, join a networking group, or go into a place I haven't been before.

There has been an interesting feeling around. I hear many describe it as "let's just get through this", while others feel a sense of the unknown, the question of "what will ever happen next?" tends to be the tone.

I was thinking about the sentence I'd just created and the fact that I'd put two ideas together that couldn't actually exist at the same time. I had created an impossible equation, and yet I'd been asking my brain to solve it every single day.

Let's create space for people to tell us what they are feeling rather than telling them what they should be feeling. Let's just, for a moment, see the possibility of things going well.

Change. Oh wow, it’s happened again. I’ve hit the wall of my little box called life and now I’m standing at that familiar crossroads asking myself the same question we all eventually ask: Do I keep doing what I’ve always done? Or do I peek over the edge and see what else might be possible for me?

If you feel like the state of the world is living inside your head, it is not a personal failing, it is a pattern called the Drama Cycle. Emotionally charged information is designed to pull you into one of three roles: victim, persecutor, or saviour.

Feeling unlike yourself: anxious, flat, or emotionally unrecognisable, is a normal response to collective uncertainty. Your emotions are not the problem. Fear, sadness, and anger are survival signals designed to guide you. When you learn to direct them instead of suppress them, they become tools for clarity and action.

If you're feeling flat, directionless, or quietly anxious despite nothing being obviously wrong, you're experiencing a common response to collective uncertainty, and it has a name. Here's what's happening and how to find your footing again.

This week, I’m exploring identity in a way that moves beyond roles, labels, and what we do each day. In this piece, I share why identity isn’t something fixed, but something we practise daily, often without even realising it. I unpack how living on autopilot can quietly disconnect us from ourselves, and how shifting our focus to how we want to feel allows us to take back ownership of who we are becoming.

When did "no" become a dirty word Somewhere along the way, we started to believe that being kind meant being constantly available.

Powerless - is the feeling that you are stuck, that there is no way forward, that what is happening around you has more control than what is happening within you. At its most intense, it can feel like despair, helplessness, even a quiet sense of giving up.

There is a very particular moment that comes just before we stretch ourselves. It rarely arrives loudly. It begins as a tightening somewhere in the body, a subtle shift in the breath, a flicker of doubt that feels almost logical.

Over the next few weeks, I'm going to have a deeper conversation and work on emotions. What they are. Why do they exist?

Dear you, I've been sitting with this letter for a few days now. There is so much I want to say. So many thoughts swirling around in my head and so many feelings that have been rising and falling over the past couple of weeks, and yet… every time I've tried to write, the words haven't quite landed. Not because nothing has been happening, but because everything has been happening. I think, if I'm honest, I've been in survival mode. Just doing what needed to be done: packing, d

There are so many conversations we're not having. The quiet ones. The ones that swirl around at night when the house is finally still. It's not just the silent drift that can grow between two people in a relationship. It's the way we slowly stop seeing ourselves, and how that quiet erosion changes how we see them, too.

The person you speak to the most, every single day, is yourself. And that voice influences you more than anyone else ever will. Internal narrative runs the show.

Am I doing enough? Why does this still feel hard? Why can't I just move on? How can I change what I've struggled to change for so many years? Will this New Year's resolution even stick? Who am I kidding, it'll just be the same as last year… Those questions can sound like defeat, but they're not. They are information. They're the echoes of the parts of you still trying to protect you, the versions of you who learned that striving, pleasing or performing kept you safe.

NLP taught me that meaning is never fixed; it’s created. That every state, every story, every reaction can be reframed. That awareness isn’t just noticing what’s happening, but it’s choosing how to meet it.