Five things that made me

“I started working as a residential social worker for children with disabilities in the UK. Next thing I knew, I was off to Romania with my rucksack to start a new job. This was the post-Berlin Wall, post-Ceaușescu era, and a growing awareness of children with complex health and emotional needs living in horrific conditions in ‘orphanages’ and other institutions.

I managed three children’s homes, designing and running a training programme for Romanian residential social workers. And, with the medical director, I identified children who would move into each unit while a sister organisation tried to find their birth families. Our mission was to prepare the children emotionally and physically to return home.

I had no idea how challenging this work would be and how isolated we were from home. There was no phone contact with our families, so all communication was by letter. The winter was hardest. We were living on Romanian ration cards, getting up at 5.30am to queue for sugar, oil and milk rations. I was there for just over a year, but the children were wonderful and the experience and friendships will stay with me forever.

From Romania, I applied to do my social work masters. University of Birmingham offered me a place without an interview. I couldn’t afford to fly home, so I took it. After working as a social worker in children’s services in the public and not for profit sectors, I realised I wanted to have more influence and impact. But there was no clear career path for me – you served time and you slowly moved up the ladder step by step. I wanted a different direction.”

“Over the course of my career, I’ve often forced myself to accelerate my growth by making a big change. For example, I took on a fixed-term contract so I didn’t get stuck somewhere for years – that was my worst nightmare. I also decided to work for myself for a while. I was an absolute fiasco. I had no idea how to run a business, and my assumption I’d be fine on my own was very wrong.

So that’s how I landed in the consulting world. I joined one of the other Big Four firms to look after their adult social care practice. I had no idea what the job even meant, but I loved the excitement of consulting and freeing the more impatient me, the one that wants progress fast. There was a big value placed on passion and speed.

But it was also a shock. Because of my background, it never occurred to me I couldn’t take my whole self to work. I’ve always been open about being a lesbian, my relationship with my partner Jo, and a strong sense of standing up for what’s right. But suddenly, my wardrobe choices made me stand out. My forthright opinions were not welcomed. And I felt like an imposter.

When I joined Deloitte, I decided to do things differently. Before, I just stood out. Now, I worked harder to fit in, to be part of the fabric of the organisation so I could stand out for the right reasons – not because of my wardrobe. I spent some time learning about how a partnership works. I’m not particularly hierarchical, so I speak my mind and challenge openly, but I needed to recognise and respect it’s not the same for everyone.

Making those changes helped me focus on what I really cared about – delivering better social care outcomes for people. Listening to the people we create services for and to the people on the frontline delivering those services. Focusing on co-designing solutions and respecting the different skills and experiences people bring to the table. Getting alongside our clients, showing humility, and building relationships based on respect. We all need incredible people on the frontline, and we have the opportunity to support these people in every way we can.”

“In 2010, I was training for Ride Across Britain, a 900-mile cycle across the country, when it became it obvious that there was something wrong with my legs. However hard I worked I just couldn’t do it. Shortly after, I was I was diagnosed with MS. So while the ride was taking place, a group of us rode unicycles in Hyde Park to send a message: sometimes the hardest things to take on are the things that need more than physical strength and power – they need you to accept help.

It took me a couple of years to accept that I could be both strong and vulnerable at the same time. Now I’ve found a balance, I can value each alongside the other; they contribute to each other, and the result is something much more rounded, more powerful.

I thought a lot about how I can have the biggest impact with the resources I have. MS definitely has an impact on that – I can’t rely on being physically strong or being able to keep going regardless of how I feel. My mindset used to be very much that you can achieve almost everything you want if you work as hard as you can. But now I had to accept that working five days was too much.

So, I worked with occupational health and moved to three days a week. It gave me an opportunity to think about how I could make a different kind of impact.”

“I’m really proud I’ve been part of the change through my career – that I was brave enough to do certain things, to speak truth to power. But after working with children through really devastating moments in their lives, I’ve recognised a need for lightness. Working with children and young people has always been important to me – they have shown me that even when things can be deeply difficult or you find yourself despairing, things don’t have to always be heavy – there can be light too.

I was 12 when my Dad died and childhood bereavement services weren’t a thing back then. This is partly why I took a role with Young Minds, a charity that supports young people and makes sure they’re not alone with their mental health. As chair, I love the chance of working alongside young people – I’ve enjoyed bringing them much closer into our governance as trustees.

One of the most important sources of wellbeing for me is being part of a community. I’m the sponsor partner of our Proud at Deloitte network in the Midlands. Being part of that community gives me a deep sense of belonging and happiness. For our most recent Pride march in Birmingham, I wanted us all to bring friends and family along – to be there with my colleagues as well as my partner Jo, who is always there when I need her most, made me feel at home.

Looking back, I’d give myself permission not to always be in the driving seat. I remember being asked once what would happen if I let someone else hold the flipchart pen [laughs]. I’ve learnt that when I do less, I give other people the opportunity to do more. It’s just as important to be part of a community and not necessarily leading it. I’ve got better at feeling content with who and what I am.”