There's a moment that has stayed with one of my clients, and, in truth, it echoes in the lives of many of the people I've worked with. She was about ten. Dressed in sequins and nerves, ready to perform her part in a school dance. The music began, and she missed a step. Just a beat, nothing more, but in that moment, from the back of the room, came a sharp voice, a family member's offhand comment, wrapped in frustration: "Honestly, you're so clumsy. Can't you get anything ri

A couple of weeks ago, something happened to me. I sat at my desk staring at the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard but not typing, not really doing anything. I felt physically stuck, my body wouldn’t move, my head was spinning, thoughts racing like they were chasing each other in circles: “I can’t do this. I’m not good enough. I’m so tired. I should know better. I don’t look great. I don’t feel great. I am failing at everything”

Focusing on what we do not want is an avoidance tactic. It is comfortable because it does not require much of us. We do not have to imagine anything new or stretch ourselves. We simply point to what exists (or what we fear might happen) and reject it.

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.

It's a strange thing to step back into your life and feel slightly like a guest in it. Nothing's wrong on the surface. But there's an internal mismatch. A quiet discomfort that's hard to name. It's a familiar pair of shoes. Same shoes, same colour, same size. But feels like I'm wearing the left shoe on the right foot, and the right shoe on the left.

The lunch tin isn't just a container of food. It's a mirror. Of our intentions. Our pressures. Our need to nourish, yes, but also to prove that we have 'done it', that we are good, that we are enough.

Sometimes, healing doesn't look like crying on the bathroom floor. Sometimes, healing looks like realising you've been holding your breath for 18 years and didn't know it.

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.

This week I got pissed off, and I mean really pissed off. I've been listening to incredible women who are strong, fiery, and just bloody amazing, and they're feeling caught up in knots and twists. They're unsure, worried, panicked, and they feel like their only option is maybe to leave something they've worked so hard for. Their confidence is low. They can't focus.

Jorge and I have been married for 16 years and have been together for 22. Some of you reading this might think, that's baby love! While others might wonder how we even got here. But over the last two weeks, I've been reflecting on love and what it all means. Perhaps it's the conversations I've been having with friends and clients that brought it up and made me wonder: what does it all mean?

This week, I’ve been sitting with a word. It’s not a big or fancy one, just a simple four-letter word that has been with me more times than I can count. HOPE.

Fifty weeks of showing up to the page and myself. Fifty weeks (fifty lessons) of sharing the tangled thoughts, hidden fears, messy contradictions, and quiet revelations that come with being a woman, a mother, a partner, a coach, and most of all… a human.

The other day I walked into my local fruit and veg shop and found perfectly fresh strawberries on sale for $1.42. Jackpot! That little thrill reminded me that joy doesn’t need a big stage. And honestly, what’s ever truly perfect?

Confidence. What is it, really? Is it that magical fairy dust you spot in people who can talk to strangers, light up a room, make everyone laugh, and own a dinner table in seconds? Or is it the quieter kind?

So here I am, writing about how our past shapes our current or old identities and how to break away and rediscover your true identity.

When I first saw my mum put on her lipstick, I noticed something change. Her shoulders lifted, just slightly, but it was enough. A sparkle

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

How do we shift our mindset to cope with high-volume work and thrive? People are collapsing under the weight of it all, unable to handle

Now, anyone who knows me well would describe my house as tidy, neat, clean, and, let's be honest, stage-ready. It's friendly and...

I was frazzled. I felt this huge weight settle on me—the weight of expectation. The "good mum" glow I'd been basking in? Gone.