Last weekend, I went to a 70s party in Johannesburg. I very nearly didn’t. It's that time of year when my anxiety levels skyrocket and I'd spent the week leading up to this having to manage that, so part of me was afraid of having an anxiety attack in public. But it was a party for a friend I’ve known for nearly 25 years, and my tickets to Johannesburg were already booked. So I decided to see it through. There was no time left to go shopping either. So I did something I would

Two meetings in, nobody said anything. When I took over chairing the board, I kept the meeting flow the previous chair had put in place: same process, same pacing, same structure, while a new set of board members found their feet alongside it. Changing it hadn't seemed necessary, and for two meetings, nothing suggested otherwise. If ignorance is bliss, I was having a wonderful month. Then, in the post-board debrief after the second meeting, one of the incoming board members s

There was a project near the end of my time at Accenture where I was doing too many jobs at once. I'd stepped into more than one crisis, was covering roles that weren't really mine to cover, and was trying to hold it all together at the pace I'd always held things together (which, in hindsight, was less a pace and more a dare). When something went wrong under those conditions - a decision I'd made got questioned, a piece of work got criticised, someone pushed back on a call I

In my last few months at Accenture, there was a specific incident when someone on my team didn't come to me. They went over my head instead. My first instinct was to feel undermined. Why hadn't they just spoken to me directly? We worked closely. I was (by my own estimate) extremely easy to talk to. You could have asked me, and I'd have told you so myself. Surely if something wasn't working, they'd say so. Except I already knew, if I was honest with myself, why they might not.

I'd planned my exit from Accenture for years. I'd worked out the finances, so I could support myself once I was out. I'd thought through the conversations I was going to have on the way out, who needed to hear what, and when. I'd decided how much time I was going to give the handover, so the team I was leaving wasn't left holding something half-finished. I am, if I'm honest, the kind of person who plans her exit from a dinner party. This was just a bigger dinner party. What I

A few weeks ago I noticed pain in my foot in a dance class. It wasn't a dramatic injury. It was the kind of pain you shake off, adjust your steps around, and mostly forget about within the hour. It's just a toe. It's tiny. I mean, how bad could it be? Except I didn't fully adjust. I just changed how I was landing and moving, slightly, to avoid the sore spot. A few weeks later, while on my regular Sunday walk, my ankle joint started complaining about the arrangement and I ende

For a few years, my passport looked busier than my diary. Cape Town to Johannesburg. Johannesburg to Warsaw. Johannesburg to Prague. Back again. I was on first-name terms with the hotel staff in multiple cities. I'd said yes to both projects practically immediately when they were asked of me, the way I said yes to most things back then: fast, and without much thought about what I was actually agreeing to. I told myself the flying was just the cost of that managing director pr

This past weekend I attended a Mad Hatter's Tea Party. Actual teacups. Actual hats. Actual straw brims waiting to be decorated with pompoms, ribbon, dried flowers, paper quotes (and a few other things I don't know the names of). These are sentences I did not expect to write about my social activities this year. The workshop was called "The Hats We Wear, The Roles We Play." Before anyone touched glue, we had to choose an identity card from a set with several options. Quite a f

I loved The Odyssey - like properly loved it, the kind of watching where you forget to check your phone. (Also, where you don't realise three hours have passed until you try to stand up and everything aches.) Sidebar: you have to see it at the IMAX - it feels like short-changing the experience otherwise. Getting back to my point: One of the characters was a lesson in distraction. He kept choosing to avoid the reality of the situation waiting for him. And I know that route. I'

The first time I ventured out on my own in public after my partner died, I made myself go back to a mall we used to spend hours in together (in hindsight, not the gentlest choice). It felt like almost every shop had a memory attached to it, which meant I spent most of the walk from the car renegotiating with myself about whether this was a good idea. It was not, for the record, a good idea. I went anyway, because I needed to reclaim my world and my space. I was wearing glasse

My old boss used to call me her FUF. It stood for something a lot less polite than "fixer," but that's essentially what it meant: the person who got called in when something had gone wrong and needed sorting, fast. I decided it was basically a promotion. (Sidebar: in case of any doubt, yes, it means f-up fixer). I used to wear it like a badge of honour. Being the one who could be trusted to sort out any mess felt like proof of my value, not just to her, but to myself. The mor

There was a period in my career when I could write a blistering email in under three minutes. Genuinely impressive turnaround time, if regrettable content. Basic instinct, in the most literal sense: no thought, no edit, straight to broadcast. Something would land in my inbox with a tone I didn't like, an expectation I felt wasn't being met, a comment that read as dismissive, and my fingers would already be moving before I'd decided anything. I'd type fast, hit send, and feel

This past weekend, I sat down to play We're Not Really Strangers - a card game built entirely around questions designed to take you past small talk. The experience was a reminder of how rarely, as adults, we're given structured permission to be honest. One card asked: What lesson took you the longest to unlearn? And I had to answer out loud. Not write it down, not think it privately and move on - say it, to another person, in real time. It was one of those moments, the kind y

This past weekend, I caught myself making a decision based on a future that didn't exist yet. My instinct was to step away. Nothing bad had actually happened. There was just a chance that it might. So my first instinct was to exit stage right. Gracefully, of course. But it was still running away. Looking back, it makes perfect sense. My time in consulting taught me to look around corners, anticipate risks and think several steps ahead. Those skills served me well in boardroom

Three years ago this week, I left Accenture. At the time, I thought leaving would be the hardest part. It wasn't. The decision itself had taken years to reach. By the time I handed in my resignation, I knew it was the right thing to do. I had thought through the financial implications, the practicalities, and what needed to happen next. What I couldn't plan for was everything that came after. I left because I wanted more freedom, better health and a career more aligned to pur

Clarity isn’t always the problem. At least, not in the way we think. Those who know me well know not to give me directions. Not landmarks. Not “turn left at the big tree” or “it’s just past that petrol station.” I’ve told people this. They don’t listen. If anything, they double down. They add more detail. More landmarks. More explanation. At some point, my eyes glaze over. I’m nodding, but I’ve already decided I’m putting it into Waze or Google Maps. They think they’re being

Zanzibar: 2006 I didn’t always struggle to step back. I stepped back easily when I trusted the person. I remember the first time I went on holiday with work friends. We were traveling to Zanzibar and I flew from Cape Town to meet them in Joburg. To this day, one of them still tells the story. She couldn’t believe I was the same person she worked with. I arrived with no idea what time the international flight was leaving. No details of where we were staying. No plan. I didn’t

Path Forward - Spier Light Art. There was a point in my career where I knew exactly what I needed to do. I needed to step back. I was leading a project in Europe. I was exhausted. And I knew I couldn’t keep operating at that level. But I didn’t let go. I didn’t want to be seen differently. At the time, the story in my head was simple: If I let go, I’d be seen as weak. As someone who couldn’t handle it. As someone who didn’t finish what they started. So I stayed for longer th

The more capable you are, the more you’re given. At first, it feels like recognition. You’re trusted with the complex work. The high-stakes projects. The things not everyone can handle. I remember when that started happening for me. I felt proud. It felt like I had made it. I had built a reputation. Someone who could get things done. Even when it was messy. Even when it was hard. And for a while, that worked. But over time, something shifts. What starts as recognition becomes

A familiar pattern from earlier in my career. I remember preparing for client meetings many times in my career. Before the meeting, I had to take my boss or colleagues through the deck. I must have reworked it five or six times. Tweaking the wording. Changing the visuals. Adjusting the tone. Trying to anticipate exactly what the feedback would be. Trying to get it perfect . We got into the session. They looked at it. And then asked me to change things anyway. The feedback was