The Moment I Realised I Was Leading on Empty

I remember the exact moment. I was standing in front of the mirror, getting ready for another leadership meeting, another presentation, another day of doing the work I was known for. I had the title. The trust of a national team. A track record that spoke for itself. From the outside, everything looked like it was working.

But on the inside, I was depleted.

I looked in the mirror and saw someone I barely recognised. The sparkle was gone. The weight of holding everything for everyone else was etched into my face. The pressure. The pace. The performance. It had all become a mask, and I didn’t know how to take it off.

And here’s the part that might surprise you: I wasn’t failing.

By every external metric, I was thriving. I was leading large teams, delivering results, and growing influence. But what no one saw was what it was costing me to keep going. I was constantly tired, disconnected from my purpose, and questioning whether this version of leadership was sustainable—or even meaningful.

I had become skilled at compartmentalising. Home life was unravelling. Grief over my mum’s passing was still sitting in my chest, unresolved. My marriage was crumbling. And yet, at work, I was "on."

This is what I’ve come to call leading on empty. It’s the kind of leadership that keeps everything moving, but at a cost. It’s what happens when we give and give, without spaces to refill. And the scary part? It’s normalised. Rewarded, even.

The turning point didn’t come in a big bang. It came in quiet moments: a breakdown in the car, snapping at someone I cared about, crying in the bathroom between meetings. It came when I started to ask questions I had avoided for years:

Is this what leadership is supposed to feel like?

Am I building something… or just surviving it?

The deeper I leaned into these questions, the clearer it became: something had to change. Not just for me but for the people I led.

Because here's the truth: we can't lead others well when we’re disconnected from ourselves.

That moment marked the beginning of a different leadership journey. One rooted in strength, yes but also in softness. In kindness. In sustainability. I began to deconstruct the version of leadership I’d been taught and rebuilt something that felt true. 

Something human.

This journey led me to develop the framework I now teach through Your Best Year Yet a neuroscience-backed reset for leadership teams who are ready to lead with more rhythm, more connection, and more clarity. It’s the work I wish I’d had when I was burning out quietly behind a high-performance mask.

The system is built around three pillars:

Purpose – helping leaders reconnect to what actually matters, not just what looks good on paper.

People – creating psychological safety, trust, and real connection in teams (because we lead humans, not KPIs).

Process – building a leadership rhythm that supports consistent, meaningful action without the burnout.

It’s not about softening expectations. It’s about sharpening alignment.

Because when we lead from clarity instead of chaos, everything changes.

I share this not as a theory, but from lived experience. I’ve rebuilt from burnout. I’ve reset high-performing teams who lost their rhythm. I’ve sat across from executives who admitted, with tears in their eyes, that they don’t know how to keep going without breaking something or themselves.

What I know now is this:

Sustainable leadership is not a nice-to-have. It’s a must.

If you’re reading this and quietly thinking, "That’s me," I want you to know—there’s nothing wrong with you. You’re not weak. You’re not broken.

You’re human.

And you’re not alone.

Leadership can be powerful and kind. It can drive results and preserve wellbeing. But it starts with us. With telling the truth about how we are, and giving ourselves the permission to lead in a new way.

If you’re ready to explore what that looks like, I’d love to walk beside you. Because you deserve to lead with a full tank—and your team deserves that version of you too.