“I’m great at helping other people have difficult conversations. Just not always my own.”
It’s been true for most of my life. From my first boss, to my first husband, and, if I’m being honest, my larger-than-life mum.
My mum was magnetic. Fiercely capable. She could light up a room and dominate one too. I loved her deeply. But I also learned to tiptoe around her, keeping the peace by keeping quiet. It became instinct.
That pattern followed me into adulthood.
I was 19 and in my first leadership role in retail. My boss? Misogynistic (I didn’t know this word back then!). Critical. Never curious, never kind. Back then, we didn’t talk about things like psychological safety or emotional intelligence. But if we had, he would’ve been the textbook case of what not to do.
His leadership style made me question everything about myself. It chipped away at my confidence until I genuinely believed I wasn’t good enough.
Eventually, I broke. I quit on the spot, angry, shaking, and terrified that I’d just ruined my career. I travelled over 400 kilometres home that night, needing to be somewhere that felt safe again.
What I didn’t realise at the time was: that experience was shaping me.
Years later, during a leadership course, we were asked to reflect on the best and worst bosses we’d ever had. That activity changed everything. It helped me see how much of my own leadership philosophy had been born in contrast. I never wanted anyone to feel the way I had.
That moment became the spark for the work I do today.
Fast forward to now. I teach emotional intelligence and leadership skills. But here’s the truth: I’m still learning too.
Recently, a couple of small, seemingly insignificant moments knocked me sideways. A cancelled professional commitment with no explanation. A quiet connection that went one-sided. Not huge things, but enough to stir something in me. Something old and familiar.
That old tension between keeping the peace and speaking the truth.
The part of me that wonders if saying nothing is kinder. (It’s not.)
The part that still sometimes confuses empathy with avoidance.
Someone wise once told me:
“It starts with clear communication with yourself. When you know where you stand, the words tend to follow.”
That’s stayed with me. Because boundary-setting doesn’t start with confrontation. It starts with clarity.
With recognising what you need. What you’ll allow. And what you’re no longer willing to ignore.
I used to think kindness meant saying yes. That EQ meant absorbing everyone else’s discomfort. That being “good” meant never rocking the boat. I actually know better in my heart.
You can be warm and have strong boundaries.
You can lead with care without saying yes to everything.
And emotional intelligence isn’t just about how you treat others, it’s how you treat yourself, too.
I teach this stuff professionally. I’m still learning it personally.
That doesn’t make me a fraud. It makes me human.
If you’re someone who struggles to speak up, to hold your line, to call it when something feels off, you’re not alone.
You don’t have to shout (makes me uncomfortable outside my own family). You don’t have to fight (makes me even more uncomfortable that shouting). You just have to start with clarity.
Because leadership starts on the inside. Boundaries aren’t about pushing people away.
They’re about staying connected without losing yourself.
If this resonated, you’ll enjoy my newsletter.
It’s where I share real-world leadership tools, honest reflections, and emotional intelligence insights to help you lead with more clarity, confidence, and connection.
We’re all a work in progress, and there’s power in not doing it alone.