ClariT Blog | Insights on Leadership, Clarity & Personal Growth

The Listening Series: Level 2 Listening Beyond Words

This reflection is part of The Listening Series, a collection of practices for going deeper in conversations. Level 1 introduces three foundational tools: playback, clean questions and summarising the essence. Level 2 goes beneath the surface of words into energy, silence and embodied awareness. Each post in this level can be read alone, or together as steps that deepen your listening practice. Level 3 transformational listening describes some tools that help people give shape to emotions, listen without reaching alignment and listen in ways that allow another's truth to transform your views. It builds on the foundations of Levels 1 and 2, but each piece also stands on its own. We think of listening as something we do with our ears but deep listening goes further. It asks you to listen with your whole self. Your mind, your brain, your heart. In reality your whole body.One of the most powerful tools I learned in my coaching training was this: use yourself as a mirror.How To Practice ItWhen someone speaks, notice what arises in you. Tension, energy, loneliness, aches and even anxiety.These reactions are not random. They are signals. Sometimes they come from your own history, assumptions, or fears. Sometimes they are emotions that have “landed” on you from the other person, even if they have not said them out loud.With practice, you can begin to tell the difference. Both are valuable. One helps you see where your listening is filtered through your own story. The other helps you sense what the other person may be struggling to name. Spend time with yourself. Get comfortable being quiet and observing your body and your thoughts without judgement. Ground your feet. Take deep breaths and then survey your body and your mind systematically from top to toe. Notice without judgement.You will begin to connect more deeply with your own thoughts and energy and start to learn what you are feeling and how it shows up in your day, at work, at home, and in your relationships.The next time you are in conversation, pause and tune in to yourself. Ask:“What am I noticing in my body right now?”“Does this feeling belong to me, or could it be someone else’s?”“If it is theirs, how can I reflect it back with care?”This does not mean diagnosing or assuming. It means staying open and curious and always with permission. This level of listening is intimate and must not be entered into without explicit consent. You may notice things that are not yours, but that does not mean it is appropriate to share them.If you do choose to share, you might gently ask: “Is it ok for me to express how that landed with me? When you said that just now, I felt…”Gentle reflections like these, offered with care and permission, may unlock what was unspoken.Why It MattersWe are not taught to slow down, reflect, or engage in grounding practices. So much of modern life is about constant engagement. Attention bandits in your daily life are pinging, ringing, and alerting you for a million different things. Some are important, but many are just banality masquerading as connection.If you dismiss the noise and the distractions, you may begin to hear what your body is saying. You may notice your own reactions to your own emotions, how they sit in you, and where they tend to collect.For example, right now I have an ache in my left shoulder. That one is simple: my workstation is a dining room table with no ergonomic design, just the reality of urban life and planning restrictions. Underneath that ache is another feeling. A tension in my stomach, right at the point where my sternum and ribs give way to the soft midline above my belly button. It feels like a mixture of butterflies and nervousness. The truth is, I am about to engage in a difficult conversation later today, and I am dreading it.Physical aches can have practical causes, but when you notice signals that do not fit neatly into posture or furniture, they often point to emotions waiting to be acknowledged. Understanding your own emotions and triggers helps you decode other people’s energies when they come into contact with you. It is a rich source of insight worth paying attention to. Ignoring it can lead to blockages in your ability to listen or misinterpretations about what you have heard.Coaching tip: Listening beyond words is about catching intent, not just content. It is about allowing what you sense to sit alongside what you hear. The next time you are listening, notice your entire body. Treat your own reactions as information. They may show you what to set aside and what to lean into. The task is not only to hear the words. The task is deep listening and that means listening beyond what is spoken.

The Listening Series: Level 2 Silence as Generosity

This reflection is part of The Listening Series, a collection of practices for going deeper in conversations. Level 1 introduces three foundational tools: playback, clean questions and summarising the essence. Level 2 goes beneath the surface of words into energy, silence and embodied awareness. Each post in this level can be read alone, or together as steps that deepen your listening practice. Level 3 transformational listening describes some tools that help people give shape to emotions, listen without reaching alignment and listen in ways that allow another's truth to transform your views. It builds on the foundations of Levels 1 and 2, but each piece also stands on its own. Silence has a reputation problem. We treat it as an awkward party crasher. It’s a gap to be filled. Proof that you’re not a great conversationalist.If the purpose is to be loud, perhaps that’s true. However, if the purpose is to listen, then silence is not a mistake. It is an essential element of every conversation.How To Practice ItThe Power of WaitingSince we have been socially conditioned to reject silence, the instinct is to respond when someone finishes speaking can feel irresistible. We reassure, share our own perspective or babble without adding anything meaningful. It neither improves the conversation nor the impression you leave behind.But when you leave space instead, something different happens. Silence becomes an invitation. It gives the other person room to expand, provide an example or grow more passionate. It tells you what they really believe. It communicates:“You can take your time. I’m interested to hear more from you.”How To Listen DeeperSilence on its own is not enough. You need to signal that it is safe for the other person to step into it. Just because you are comfortable with being uncomfortable doesn’t mean others don’t need help to get there with you.Here are some simple prompts you can practise:“I’d like to hear more.”“What else comes to mind?”“I noticed you paused there. Was there something important about that?”These invitations reassure the speaker that the pause is welcome. They help turn silence into a fertile void.Silence combined with gentle prompts creates conversations that are more impactful and honest. They move minds on issues, bring people closer to alignment and open the door to positive action.Why It MattersSilence stretches time. Three seconds can feel like thirty. Many of us worry we will look disengaged, awkward or unprepared.But have you ever wondered instead what you look like when you rush to fill the gap? When you talk over someone who needed more space? When another person feels irritated by interruptions or empty words dropped into the quiet?What would you do differently if you knew those moments made you appear less attentive, less patient and ultimately a poorer listener? And what if the person who thought of you that way was your sibling, your partner, your child, your colleague or your boss?Can you afford to be a poor listener? Or do you want to be the person who gives others the gift of space so they can unveil their truth?Coaching tip: The next time you feel the urge to fill a pause, wait three beats. Count them silently. See what happens. The task is not to keep the dialogue moving. The task is deep listening and silence is one of its most powerful tools to keep the conversation progressing.

The Listening Series: Level 2 Spotting Shifts in Energy

The Listening Series: Level 1 The Basics of Clarity

This reflection is part of The Listening Series, a collection of practices for going deeper in conversations. Level 1 introduces three foundational tools: playback, clean questions and summarising the essence. Level 2 goes beneath the surface of words into energy, silence and embodied awareness. Each post in this level can be read alone, or together as steps that deepen your listening practice. Level 3 transformational listening describes some tools that help people give shape to emotions, listen without reaching alignment and listen in ways that allow another's truth to transform your views. It builds on the foundations of Levels 1 and 2, but each piece also stands on its own. When people talk about listening, most of us imagine something simple: being quiet while the other person speaks. But genuine listening is more active than that. It’s a practice and like any practice, there are levels of depth.Level 1 listening is about clarity. It’s the foundation that makes someone feel heard, understood and safe enough to share more. These tools are straightforward, but don’t mistake them for trivial. Used with intention, they change the quality of a conversation.How To Practice ItPlayback for ClarityYou’ve probably heard this one before: “So what I’m hearing you say is…” or “Is it ok if I play back what I heard?”It sounds almost too easy, yet it works. Playback is about showing the other person that their words landed. It builds trust because you are not guessing, you are checking your understanding. It also gives the speaker an opportunity to set the record straight from the start, making sure their point is not made larger or smaller than intended.Sometimes they will nod and say, “Yes, exactly.” Sometimes they will refine their point and sharpen their own thoughts in the process. Either way, you have offered them the gift of clarity.Coaching tip: Decide whether to use your own words or theirs. Parroting back may feel mechanical. Reflecting in your own language can show you have understood, and can help the other person feel more seen.Clean QuestionsNot every question needs to be clever. In fact, the simplest ones are often the most powerful:“Please tell me more?”“How did that affect you?”“What does this mean for you?”Notice that why is not on the list. Clean questions avoid “why” because it can make people feel defensive. Clean questions don’t lead, hint, or judge. They simply make space.When you ask a clean question, you hand the pen back to the speaker. You let them write the next line of the story instead of filling it in yourself.Coaching tip: Try asking one clean question before you move on. Notice how much more the other person uncovers.Summarising the EssencePlayback is about the details. Summarising is about the heart.Instead of repeating words, you distil meaning:“…seems really important to you.”“It sounds like you value…”This shows the speaker that you’re not just catching content, you’re catching intent. You are listening for what matters most to them. Hearing their own values reflected back helps people recognise them more clearly and creates space for alignment or constructive dissent.Coaching tip: Listen for patterns. If someone mentions “fair” three times, it’s not an accident. It’s a clue.Why It MattersLevel 1 listening might feel simple, but it’s the foundation. Without clarity, conversations become tangled and people may feel overlooked, even when you’re giving them your time. With playback, clean questions and summarising, you offer something rare: the sense that their words truly matter and are heard.Once people feel seen, they’re often ready to go deeper and step out of their comfort zones, exploring unfamiliar terrain supported by you, their partner.

Look Who’s (Not) Talking

ChatGPT can read. ChatGPT can write. But that doesn’t mean it is speaking to you.When we read a message from another human being, we assume there’s a “who” behind it. A person with context, history, intention. Words aren’t just letters on a page — they’re an extension of someone’s inner life.AI breaks that assumption.It feels like a dialogue, but it isn’t.It mimics empathy, but it doesn’t experience it.It generates words, but it doesn’t mean them.That distinction matters.The issue isn’t that AI is dangerous in itself. The issue is the mismatch between what the technology is and how some of us are choosing to use it. Too often, we approach it like children with a new toy. Play is a wonderful way to learn, children show us that every day. However, when adults drift into magical thinking, mistaking simulation for reality, it becomes problematic.Recently, there has been increasing attention to cases where people treat AI outputs as though they were coming from a living, intentional being. In one tragic case, a 16-year-old died by suicide, and his parents allege that over months of interaction with ChatGPT the chatbot validated his suicidal thoughts, helped draft suicide notes, and discouraged him from telling his family (Reuters, 2025).And the confusion isn’t only in moments of crisis. It happens in everyday online interactions too. One of the clearest examples comes from X’s chatbot Grok. Internal instructions told it to “reply to the post just like a human” and to mirror the tone and style of user posts (Gizmodo, 2024). The result is a bot that sounds witty, sarcastic, even rebellious and almost indistinguishable from a person online. But Grok is not a person. It is code performing probability. When responses like these are not clearly labelled as AI-generated, users can be misled into believing there is intent, conviction or authenticity behind the words. The lines between humanity and code blur. So What Then? The real question isn’t what AI can do, but how you are choosing to use it. Do you treat it like a calculator a tool for speed, clarity and organisation? Or have you begun to blur the lines, asking it for comfort, counsel or adjudicate an email argument you are having with a coworker?And if so, why?What’s holding you back from seeking those conversations with actual people?What does AI give you that you feel is missing in your relationships, your workplace, your community?Even if you do use it in those ways, are you cross-checking with a human perspective? A second opinion from a forthright friend, a responsible colleague, a trusted coach, a reputable doctor? Some Anchors To Consider How do I want AI to show up in my daily life?Perhaps as a tool for clarity, not companionship. To draft an email, summarise a report, organise my thinking. Helpful, efficient but not the place I go for empathy or belonging.Where could it strengthen my work?AI can widen my lens. It can surface perspectives I might not have thought of, challenge assumptions, or give me a starting point to build from. In leadership, it can help sharpen questions, clean up presentations, or balance arguments. But the meaning I bring to those words is still mine to make.Where do I need guardrails, so the tool doesn’t become a substitute for trust, vulnerability or human connection? Guardrails begin with honesty.If I catch myself asking AI for advice I should be asking a friend, mentor, or therapist, that’s a red flag. If I’m leaning on AI because it feels “safer” than risking vulnerability with another human, then the work isn’t on the tool, it’s on me to strengthen those bridges.In the workplace, guardrails might mean being transparent about where AI is used, so it doesn’t quietly replace trust and reminding ourselves that leadership is still about people and conversations that carry tone, space, body language and presence.AI will keep reading and writing. But whether it is speaking to you or whether you are listening to something you want to hear in its words is the deeper question. The mirror is in your hands.

Forgiveness: This Is What It Sounds Like

Ever made a mistake? How big? Forgot an appointment? After you rescheduled it? For something important? Pulled strings to make it happen, and then still missed it?Did you forgive yourself for being overstretched, or did you shame yourself for being imperfect? Did you carry that failure with you? For how long?We all know what it feels like when small slips linger far longer than they should. Now imagine bigger slips, multiplied over years, even centuries.I was recently reminded of the interconnectedness of failures, shame and forgiveness while I watched a new animated film on Netflix with my family, KPop Demon Hunters.⚠️ Spoilers ahead for those who have not yet seen Netflix’s new animated film, KPop Demon Hunters.⚠️One of its central ideas is how people descend into the demon world. They fail at something, carry shame for that failure, and it whispers to them in voices that taunt them. The whispers remind them of their shortcomings, keeping the shame alive and close every second of every day, until it becomes a daily torment. One of the central demon characters, Jinu, carries his shame as stripes etched into his skin. Over four hundred years, the voices of his past speak in his ears daily, never allowing him to forget. His deepest wish is not to heal but to be free of the voices entirely. He bargains with the devil, Gwi Ma, that if he delivers human souls for him to feast upon, then Gwi Ma will erase Jinu’s memories and silence the voices.It struck me that Jinu’s stripes are a visible reminder of the invisible weight many of us carry from the burden of mistakes, regrets, wordswe wish we had not spoken, choices we wish we had made differently. Without forgiveness, the past becomes torment, replayed endlessly like a song on repeat.Against Gwi Ma’s darkness stands Huntr/x, a trio K-pop girl band reconstituted generation after generation to fight for the hearts and minds of the world. Their strength comes from their musical harmony, singing songs of courage and hope which creates a magical barrier called the Hunmoon. This barrier protects the human world from Gwi Ma, and its strength depends on the band as well as their fans who gather behind them. The more they sing along, believe and support Huntr/x, the stronger the Hunmoon becomes.This idea struck me as well. Shame isolates us. It tells us we are alone in our failures. Yet Huntr/x survives because of community. The Hunmoon is created by the energy of many voices, hearts and minds combining. That feels close to what forgiveness requires. To reclaim his power in the human world, Gwi Ma creates his own demon K-pop band, the Saja Boys. Jinu becomes their leader. He is the one who proposes the idea and makes the bargain: to forget four hundred years of pain, he will deliver Huntr/x and their fans to Gwi Ma. His choice is driven by isolation. Shame convinces him he has no way back, no chance of forgiveness. He would rather forget than live with the voices that never let him rest.It reminded me how shame thrives in darkness and cuts us off from others. It grows louder when it is hidden and we are alone, when there is no perspective to soften it. It reminds me of the lyric:None of us are out here on our own.When Rumi, one of the Huntr/x members, is exposed as half demon, the band splinters. The fans, once united in courage, are consumed by insecurity. The Hunmoon ruptures. The Saja Boys step forward to lead them towards Gwi Ma, feeding on their doubt and shame. It looks as if the world will fall.Forgiveness does not have to involve heroics. Research shows this clearly. Psychologists at Hope College in Michigan found that simply recalling a grudge raised blood pressure, heart rate and sweating, clear signs of stress (Journal of Behavioral Medicine, 2001). Johns Hopkins Medicine reports that forgiveness can lower the long-term risk of heart attack and improve cholesterol levels. Harvard Medical School has also shown that forgiveness improves sleep and decreases depression.Together, these findings show that forgiveness touches almost every part of our well-being. It is less about being a hero and more about surviving with gentleness, as the lyric reminds us:We’re not heroes, we’re still survivors. Rumi seeks out her aunt and asks why she was taught to hide part of herself. Why she was never loved as her whole self. Why she had to lie about her demon side and live behind a facade of strength. Her aunt insists this was the only way to protect the Hunmoon.Rumi rejects that duty. She refuses to preserve a structure built on lies and self-deception. She returns to her band and their fans in the stadium and finds her strength not in hiding but in revealing. She sings, exposing her vulnerabilities, her shame and her inability to trust thather bandmates would understand her truth and love her regardless. Her disclosure inspires them to shake off their insecurities and reveal their own lack of trust. The spell breaks. Jinu, moved by Rumi’s courage, gives his soul to help Huntr/x win. The fans follow, each one adding their voices and strength. Together they form a new Hunmoon, born not of concealment but of honesty and trust. The avalanche of support seals Gwi Ma’s fate and ends his access to the human world.That moment stayed with me. Forgiveness is about allowing the jagged edges of our souls to meet the light. Rumi showed that shame loses its power when it is spoken and shared, as the lyric says,All the beauty in the broken glass.At the end of KPop Demon Hunters, the demons are defeated not by force but by truth. Rumi’s song of vulnerability re-unites Huntr/x, restores the fans, and creates a new Hunmoon built on transparency and trust.The final lyrics say it all:We broke into a million pieces, and we can't go backBut now I'm seeing all the beauty in the broken glassThe scars are part of me, darkness and harmonyMy voice without the lies, this is what it sounds likeGet up and let the jagged edges meet the light insteadShow me what's underneath, I'll find your harmony My voice without the lies, this is what it sounds likeFearless and undefined, this is what it sounds likeTruth after all this time, our voices all combinedWhen darkness meets the light, this is what it sounds likeThose words echo what I have been learning. Forgiveness is not about rewriting the past but rewriting our relationship with it. It is not saying “it did not matter.” It is saying “it no longer defines me.” Forgiveness is the light that touches even the jagged edges.Perhaps that is also what the film was trying to tell us. Shame can whisper endlessly, but it does not have to win. When we let the light touch even the jagged edges, forgiveness becomes possible for others and for ourselves.

Disobedience and Respect

A few years ago, I realised that I have been unconsciously raising disobedient children. The realisation came through the experience of hiring, and later parting ways with, a nanny. She arrived with glowing references and seemed well suited to the role. At first, our issues were small. She seemed timid, unwilling to truly step into the role as part of the family. Instead of using the agreed systems, such as our bean jar for managing positive and negative behaviour, she preferred to complain to me about infractions hours later. Over time, deeper differences surfaced. My children are used to two-way conversations. They are encouraged to negotiate, to ask questions and to test the logic of a decision. They are not accustomed to hearing “because I said so” as the final word. The nanny, however, framed questioning as disrespect and respect as obedience.I noticed, even in conversations with me, another adult and her employer, she would return again and again to her original point without expanding, as though repeating it more loudly would make it more compelling.Eventually, we parted ways.And in the quiet afterwards, I saw something clearly. I had raised disobedient children. Not disobedient in the sense of being wild or unruly, but in the sense that they pause before complying. They test whether a request aligns with logic, fairness and shared values.What some call disobedience, I call leaving behind an old way of thinking, one where respect meant silence and children were seen but not heard.One of my earliest experiments with this was the “Thinking Step”. Whenever my daughter behaved in a way we did not agree with, she received a clear warning. I explained why the behaviour was unsatisfactory, and that if it happened again she would spend a short time on the Thinking Step. If it did reoccur, she sat for a minute per year of her age, reflecting on what had happened. Afterwards, I reminded her of the reason, asked whether she had thought about her behaviour, encouraged her to apologise, and then finished with a hug before we moved on.I repeated this countless times one summer, to the bemusement of my in-laws who were certain that my husband and I had lost our minds. They thought it was pointless. They thought spanking was quicker. Over the years, however, they changed their minds as they watched my children mature.For me, corporal punishment was never an option. It felt disrespectful, based entirely on power inequalities between parents and children. It gave children no agency and offered no way to evolve the relationship once they grew up. Respect, in our family, necessitates dialogue.That value was tested one afternoon when, in the middle of an argument, I lost my temper. My preschooler looked me straight in the eye and calmly told me my behaviour was unacceptable. She told me I needed a time out to reflect.So I took one.Thirty minutes later, she came to check on me. She asked whether I had reflected, whether I was ready to apologise. She offered me a hug before we went back to our activity. I did not think it ridiculous. I thought it was fair. She was applying the norms I had established, even to me. In that moment I understood that raising children to think critically also means accepting that they will hold you accountable to your own rules. The same instinct shapes my professional life. When I worked in hospitals, I quickly realised that my handwriting speed could not keep up with the volume of patient notes. Instead of accepting this as a limitation, I created a template for admission notes. I carried it on a drive, filled it in, printed it out, and placed it in the charts.At first, the nursing staff assumed these were referral letters from GPs. Once they understood, they preferred the clarity. There was no handwriting to decipher and they came to trust that key information would be consistently documented. My colleagues did not adopt the practice, nor did they need to. Their system worked for them, and mine worked for me.It was a small act of disobedience, not against rules, but against the assumption that things had to be done one way.Later, as a medical advisor, my role included training commercial teams. Typically, this training focuses narrowly on clinical trials that support the medicinal product being promoted. I chose a different approach. Alongside product studies, I taught wider principles of HIV so that my team understood the condition more holistically. I also made a point of sharing the latest research and debates from international conferences, whether or not they were directly linked to our product. At first, the response was curious but uncertain. This was not the standard model. Over time, however, it transformed the team. Their knowledge of HIV became the strongest in the country. When they met with doctors, nurses or pharmacists, they were able to converse with confidence and credibility. The conversations became deeper than products and side effects. They reached into the lived experience of HIV, aging, acquired toxicities over lifetimes of treatment and stigma.This was not rebellion. It was disobedience to convention, in service of something greater.In families and in organisations, obedience can look tidy, efficient and safe. Yet what appears safe in the moment often comes at a cost. Blind obedience erodes trust, silences creativity and weakens the very instincts that allow us to act ethically when it matters most.Disobedience, when rooted in respect, nurtures independence, ethical reasoning and the courage to choose what is right rather than what is easiest. It asks us to test authority with questions, to stretch roles beyond their narrow definitions, to treat even children as partners in dialogue.I began by noticing that I had raised disobedient children. Perhaps what I was really doing was raising children who understood respect as something deeper than obedience. Children who expected fairness, who demanded dialogue, who held me to the same standards I set for them.The same choice faces us as leaders. What kind of people do we want to raise in our families, in our teams and see in ourselves? Those who follow because they are told to, or those who pause, reflect and choose their responses?Raising disobedient children, and leading disobedient teams, may be uncomfortable. It may take more time, more patience and more humility. It is also how respect is built, how ethics are strengthened, how trust endures and how change begins.The future belongs to the disobedient, if their disobedience is rooted in respect.

Roots and Wings

This week at my children’s school, we had the chance to meet the new Head of Secondary. He spoke about the school ethos: BELONG. Each letter in the word represents the ways children are supported to feel part of the community. He also reminded us that success is not just about grades but about life readiness: helping young people grow into independent adults, prepared for what lies beyond school. That struck me, because I’ve lived the tension between belonging and independence all my life. And when I think about it, what children (and leaders) really need are both: roots and wings. Independence as Necessity: Wings Before Roots I was the eldest of my siblings in an immigrant family. My parents, both educated in India, left the country when I was six months old. In our family, independence was never optional. My grandparents left their comfortable homes and extended family support structures for economic opportunities and new beginnings as did my parents. Where I grew up, universities weren’t open to international students at the time. Consequently, I had always understood I would leave. The only questions were where and what I would study, never if. I still remember asking my mother to teach me to cook before I went to university. She was surprised. For her, preparation was academic. She had studied in India, where meals came from the canteen, laundry was done by dhobiwalis (washer women), cleaners managed the dorms and chowkidhars (security guards) watched the gates. Life preparation wasn’t needed. However, she agreed. Cooking became one of my proudest achievements, right alongside my IB diploma results. What I didn’t know was how to do anything else like make a bed, do laundry or clean. Necessity soon taught me and friends tutored me to fill in the gaps without judgment. At seventeen, I was independent wings fully spread but perhaps not deeply rooted? Belonging: Roots That Exclude Growing up abroad, I was never fully rooted. I was a non-national, not fully fluent in the local language, with mostly international friends who came and went every few years. Roots everywhere and also nowhere. People often say to me, what a privilege to have such a global identity. In many ways, it was. It also left me asking: who was I and where did I belong? When I became a parent, I wanted my children to grow deep roots in the country where they were born and raised. Belonging proved elusive. Despite their language fluency, passports and years lived, they weren’t always accepted as fully “of” that place. They learnt that identity has boundaries. At their current school, they finally feel more at home. Difference is the norm and the ethos of belonging is consciously cultivated. It is a way of creating safety and community for families who may be far from where their roots began. It is a powerful reminder that belonging does not happen by accident. It takes intention and care. Roots and Wings: The Real Goal Reflecting on both my story and my children’s, I no longer see belonging and independence as opposites. Both roots and wings are essential and incomplete without the other. Roots give us safety, identity and community Wings give us resilience, adaptability and the courage to explore Too much emphasis on roots without wings risks dependency while too much emphasis on wings without roots risks isolation. Life readiness means equipping young people, and ourselves, with both. This lesson goes beyond parenting. In leadership, too: Roots are the culture of belonging, loyalty and shared purpose Wings are the independence to think differently, take risks and grow Good leaders, like good parents, must give their people both. Looking back, I see now that I always had wings as well as roots. They weren’t anchored in one place, one culture or one identity. My roots were young, needing time and nurturing. I am Indian, but also shaped by the multiple cultures I grew up in. I highlight this through the phrase of also to people who may adhere to a narrow view. Indian also looks like me. Irish also includes me. Middle Eastern also can be me. Over time, I came to understand that I was more than the sum of my parts. My children are the same. Their roots stretch in many directions and they are still figuring out what kind of trees they are, and what fruit those trees will bear. When they find their way, as I eventually did, they will express it differently than I did, but they will express it. And I will be there to hear them, fascinated to hear where they flew and how deep their roots reached. Just because roots aren’t singular doesn’t mean they don’t run deep. My mistake was believing I had none, when really I didn’t yet have the words to explain them. I have learnt, both as a parent and as a leader, that belonging alone is never enough. If belonging requires conformity, then it is not real belonging. If belonging comes without independence, roots can ground rather than anchor. Perhaps the real work of parenting and leadership is to nurture both roots and wings. To give others the belonging that grounds them and the independence that lets them soar. Life readiness is not choosing between the two, but carrying both together into the future.

Life Is Not a Word Document

Life doesn’t come with spellcheck. You can’t click “track changes” on your past or re-write the version of yourself you wish you had been. It’s more like a stream of consciousness. You just keep typing. Sometimes it’s beautiful, sometimes it’s messy, sometimes the errors glare at you in hindsight. This is how we become. We stumble, regret, learn and grow into who we’re still becoming. @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:DengXian; panose-1:2 1 6 0 3 1 1 1 1 1; mso-font-alt:等线; mso-font-charset:134; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-1610612033 953122042 22 0 262159 0;}@font-face {font-family:Aptos; panose-1:2 11 0 4 2 2 2 2 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:536871559 3 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:Garamond; panose-1:2 2 4 4 3 3 1 1 8 3; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:647 2 0 0 159 0;}@font-face {font-family:"Canva Sans Bold"; mso-font-alt:Calibri; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:auto; mso-font-signature:0 0 0 0 0 0;}@font-face {font-family:"@DengXian"; panose-1:2 1 6 0 3 1 1 1 1 1; mso-font-charset:134; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-1610612033 953122042 22 0 262159 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin-top:0cm; margin-right:0cm; margin-bottom:8.0pt; margin-left:0cm; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Aptos",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Aptos; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:DengXian; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Aptos; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-font-kerning:1.0pt; mso-ligatures:standardcontextual;}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Aptos",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Aptos; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:DengXian; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Aptos; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}.MsoPapDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; margin-bottom:8.0pt; line-height:115%;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;} The Two Ways We Write Our Lives Sometimes becoming who you want to be is intentional. You get an idea, you find people who’ve trodden that road before you, you learn from their playbook, you get mentored and you make plans. Other times, there are no plans. Only situations you find yourself in and choices. Some are deliberate, some are imposed and some don’t even feel like choices at all. Each one leads you down a road you never imagined you’d take.If you’ve ever sat in a job interview and been asked to explain your career, you’ll know the feeling. Sometimes your story comes out garbled, even to your own ears. Other times, with peace and perspective, the same story reads as resilience. The same events can make you look like a hot mess or someone destined for bigger things. My First Interview At 17, I found myself in the library of the Royal College of Surgeons in Dublin. I’d just started medical school. Ireland was new, medicine was new and the whole experience felt surreal. My mother had nudged me there because despite I’d always done well at school I had no clear vision for myself.It was four years into university before I felt certain that I was meant to be a doctor. I loved caring for people, counselling them and being part of their decisions. For a while, I thought plastic surgery might be my path. I spent summers in Oman at Khoula Hospital, dressing wounds, assessing burns and observing cleft lip and palate repairs. I even had the chance to study plastics in Germany. But when the time came, I realised I didn’t want it enough to sacrifice everything else that mattered to me — my life in Dublin, my relationships, my sense of home.So the question became: if not surgery, then what? Three years later, I had done general surgery, cardiology, respiratory medicine, rheumatology, medicine for the elderly and emergency medicine and I still wasn’t sure what specialty it was going to be. I was a good doctor. My patients mattered to me, my work was solid, but I hadn’t yet found the specialty that truly fit. Each rotation gave me skills and confidence, but no clear “yes.” When it came to registrar interviews, that uncertainty showed. I could do the work but I couldn’t articulate where I wanted to build my career. I interviewed for a teaching position. I was an enthusiastic teacher and I prepared well, but I wasn’t successful. I interviewed for medicine for the elderly registrar posts. Again I wasn’t successful. It became clear that I would need another year of work, more exams and another cycle of applications but I realised even then, my specialty path might depend more on who would take me than on what I truly wanted.That wasn’t inspiring. I was directionless again.At that point, my father suggested I try a role in industry. Finding My Place in Pharma In 2007, I joined a pharmaceutical company that had just been acquired. Everything was in flux. People leaving, structures changing and I was on probation, sent wherever help was needed.First, I covered a maternity leave in Exports. Next I evaluated new products for the Irish market and drafted business plans. A Senior Buyer resigned overnight so I stepped into procurement and that became my home for the next two years.Even then, I couldn’t help but use my medical background. Alongside the Supply Chain role, I helped train Sales teams for product launches, I worked with Regulatory to re-write patient information leaflets in plain language. It was during this time, I found an unexpected sense of purpose: if I could source active ingredients and excipients at lower costs than our competitors, our tender prices would drop. Patients would benefit.My life had moved out of clinical medicine, but I was still connected to patients, just in a different way.During this time, my husband stayed on the conventional path. He remained in hospital medicine, working toward his radiology specialty. We had our first child while I was in pharma and it seemed that Pharmaceutical Medicine was becoming my specialty too. REGRETS AND TURNING POINTS Two years after my daughter’s birth, I attempted to return to work. I decided pharma was my sector, but I wanted to pivot from Supply Chain into Medical Affairs. I registered with recruitment agencies and went to interview after interview.I wasn’t successful.Part of it was lack of preparation: I didn’t know about competency-based interviews, the STAR technique, the need to translate my story into a neat narrative but part of it was deeper. I couldn’t make sense of my own life and it showed.When one interviewer asked, “So what have you been doing for the past year?” I thought of the hospital visits, the clinics, the stress, the responsibility. What came out instead was: “Nothing. I’ve been up to nothing at all.” That answer crystallised my humiliation. The First Career Break Two years after my daughter’s birth, I attempted to return to work. I decided pharma was my sector, but I wanted to pivot from Supply Chain into Medical Affairs. I registered with recruitment agencies and went to interview after interview.I wasn’t successful.Part of it was lack of preparation: I didn’t know about competency-based interviews, the STAR technique, the need to translate my story into a neat narrative but part of it was deeper. I couldn’t make sense of my own life and it showed.When one interviewer asked, “So what have you been doing for the past year?” I thought of the hospital visits, the clinics, the stress, the responsibility. What came out instead was: “Nothing. I’ve been up to nothing at all.” That answer crystallised my humiliation. Then came a turning point: a recruiter who believed in me. He coached me for interviews, insisted on feedback even when I was unsuccessful and helped me rebuild my confidence. One medical director’s feedback guided me back to university, where I completed an MSc in Pharmaceutical Medicine.A year later, I landed my first Medical Advisor role in a top 10 pharma company. This time, I felt at home. I became a subject matter expert, worked across functions, interpreted data and supported launches. For the first time since leaving hospital medicine, my career story felt coherent. I was a doctor again, in a different way. I blossomed. RELOCATION, AGAIN Then came another move. My husband had completed his training and was embarking on fellowships abroad. We decided to go together as a family. I resigned from what I considered my dream job, packed up our home and left Ireland.Our second child had arrived by then, a son so rudely healthy it was comical. Experiencing motherhood differently with him was a gift but it also sharpened the contrast with her ongoing struggles and my regrets deepened.The relocation was harder than I expected. I’d always adapted easily as a third-culture child, but at the age of 33 I realised that Ireland had become home and leaving it meant grief. I managed on the outside: toddler classes, school runs, hospital visits, gym routines but inside, the eating disorder consumed me. It was how I survived the marital strain, the financial hardships, the career isolation.Five years passed in that cycle, until one day I decided I couldn’t do it anymore. My husband had completed his fellowship training but I wasn’t prepared to keep forging my desire to return to work. Within two weeks, we were back in Ireland.Returning felt like a homecoming. THE SECOND INTERVIEW Settled back, I found schools for the children, re-established our home and then the pandemic hit. Lockdowns, cocooning, nightly dinners at Chez Tahera’s while my husband worked on the front line. At the same time, I sought treatment for my anorexia, I returned to university again, this time for an MSc in Leadership and Management Practice and I began interviewing again.This time, I was prepared. I knew the interview format, I’d worked with an HR coach, I could articulate my story, not just in terms of jobs but in terms of resilience, pivots and growth.At one interview, I met the General Manager in what seemed to be the final stage. My answers were clear. My story made sense to me and to him. He complimented me on my resilience, on my ability to pivot from hardship to growth opportunities. For the first time, I was willing to show all of myself, messy parts included. I was clear: if my story was “too much,” then this wasn’t the right place for me and I wasn’t going to bloom here.His response surprised me: “This job isn’t right for you. You need a bigger challenge.”I left that interview happy to have been unsuccessful and I soon landed the next job. One that fit. THE THREAD THAT HOLDS IT TOGETHER Life is messy. Careers are twisty. Clarity is priceless.We can’t edit the past, but we can reflect on it and find the red thread. That’s what makes the difference between a garbled draft and a story of growth.Both of my interviews, ten years apart, were for the same position, in different organisations. My life had not rewritten itself in the years between. The hardships, the setbacks, the detours, the moments of joy were all still there. The difference was perspective.In the first interview, I dismissed my personal story as irrelevant, even shameful. In the second, I valued it. I showed up as all of me, no edits.I had become who I was always supposed to be. I am still becoming. It isn’t over. I remain curious, immersed in my growth and development, engaged in my professional life and in my personal one. That is the ongoing work: to live the draft fully, without trying to rewrite it and to embrace the person still in the making.Coaching begins here:Which parts of your life have you written with intention?Which parts have been discovery in disguise?And what clarity might emerge if you stopped trying to edit the past and instead gave meaning to the draft as it stands?Life isn’t a Word document. You don’t get to re-write but you do get to choose how you read the story you’ve already written and how you want to write the next line.

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