When mistakes happened, we were expected to take responsibility, but there was no fear attached to it. The focus was always on finding a solution, not assigning blame. I never worried that one mistake would cost me my job. That created a sense of safety I had not known before.

There was room to be human, to be real. We could speak openly about good days and bad ones. Personal issues were respected without being indulged. Expectations were clear, feedback was direct, and appreciation was given when it was earned.

What mattered most was that we were not expected to become facsimiles of her. Different personalities were welcomed. Independent thinking was encouraged. Looking back, this was the first time I experienced leadership without fear, a company culture that was a pleasure to work in. That standard never left me.

After the travel agency, my career moved through public relations, marketing, sales, and business development. At one point, I entered the direct selling industry. I did not set out to work in multi-level marketing. For full disclosure, at the time, I did not even know what MLM was. I found myself there gradually, and I stayed far longer than I ever should have.

I held senior, highly paid roles with significant responsibility. The work demanded performance at every level. Confidence had to be displayed. Certainty had to be performed. Doubt, hesitation, and human limits were not welcome. Fear was always present, even when it was not spoken about.

Over time, this environment took a heavy toll. The culture rewarded endurance, not honesty. Long hours were not only expected but demanded. Personal boundaries were treated as a weakness. Success was publicly celebrated, while struggle was quietly shamed, and any form of vulnerability was not an option. I watched people lose themselves, and for a long time, I was one of them.

I stayed because I felt I had to. I was a single mother, responsible for two children, and the financial rewards were difficult to walk away from. The motivation was not vocation. It was necessity. I earned every cent, but the cost was high.

Those years shaped me more than anything else professionally. They broke something in me that took a long time to repair. Not my competence, but my sense of self. My values. My mental health. At times, it felt as though it cost me my soul as well. Eventually, my body and mind made it unmistakably clear that this way of working was not sustainable. I experienced prolonged exhaustion and depression, and recovery took time.

This part of my life took more than fifteen years to leave behind. It was marked by sharp swings between financial abundance and the constant fear of losing the roof over our heads and barely being able to put food on the table. Getting out required walking away from money I depended on, and living with uncertainty while rebuilding something different.

I understand now why this environment affected me so deeply. It demanded constant performance. It rewarded personas over people. And it stood in direct opposition to everything I had learned about leadership that respects human beings and their values.

That pattern, performance, runs through much of my life and work. From early on, I learned to adapt, to present what was needed, to meet expectations rather than question them. For a long time, I believed that this was strength.

I see the same pattern everywhere in leadership. People believe they need to fit a narrow idea of what a leader should look like. Decisive at all times. Certain. In control. Unaffected. Many end up performing a version of leadership they think is expected of them, rather than leading from who they actually are.

This performance often comes from fear. Fear of not being taken seriously. Fear of being exposed. Fear of being seen as vulnerable. Fear of not being enough. Instead of being addressed, that fear is hidden behind personas, authority displays, or rigid control. What looks like strength on the surface is often insecurity underneath.

I know this pattern so well because I lived it myself. For years, I performed roles that were misaligned with my values because I believed I had to, feeling I had no choice. It took a heavy toll. Losing touch with yourself does not happen all at once. It happens gradually, until exhaustion forces a reckoning.

Real leadership, in my experience, does not require performance. It requires clarity, self-awareness, and the courage to lead as a human being. That understanding did not come from theory. It was shaped through experience, cost, conscious change, and allowing yourself to evolve.

All of this shapes how I see people and leadership today. Not as something abstract, but as something lived. I have seen what happens when fear drives behaviour, when performance replaces honesty, and when people are treated as functions rather than human beings.

Meaningful change does not come from fixing people or teaching them how to perform better. It comes from understanding. From recognising the patterns we live inside, and from becoming more conscious about how we lead, how we decide, and how we carry responsibility.

Over time, tools like the Enneagram gave me language for what I had already experienced. Not as labels or shortcuts, but as a way to understand motivation, blind spots, and strengths with clarity and precision.

Many accomplished leaders know exactly what it means to operate at a high level while carrying pressure that rarely has a place to go. They are expected to be decisive, composed, and certain, while navigating complexity, doubt, and consequence behind the scenes. The strain is not subtle. It is managed.

I work the way I do because I understand that terrain. Not theoretically, but from experience. What matters to me is creating a space where performance is not required, honesty is possible, and real thinking can happen. That is the work I do, and those are the people I work with.