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I've built my coaching practice around neurodivergent people. Not because I thought mainstream coaching was broken — though I did have my questions about it — but because I wanted to work with people for whom the standard playbook often doesn't quite fit. What I didn't expect is how much of my work would end up looking like this: gently, sometimes firmly, redirecting someone away from their neurodivergence as an explanation for things going the wrong way. It comes up constant

I grew up in what social scientists call a "coconut culture." Hard on the outside, soft on the inside — meaning people don't open up easily to strangers, but once they do, they really do. You don't get a warm smile and a compliment to your blouse on day one, yet, once you are in, you are staying at my house wherever you are in town. Where I come from, community support was real and close. You relied on people around you — for food, for transport, for navigating bureaucracy, f

Job searching is probably the most requested topic in my coaching practice. And honestly, I get it — the market is rough right now, and I've watched a lot of coaches lean heavily into that demand. I've also changed jobs a lot — across countries, industries, and functions — so I do know how this goes. And still. This is not necessarily my favourite type of project to work on. Here's why: there's a persistent myth that somewhere out there exists the perfect job — where everyth

I obviously use social media — probably too much of it. Instagram gives me cat pics and bouldering inspiration, WhatsApp has the group chats, and there are even some strange professional communities on Slack. A bit of fun, some staying in touch, and of course… procrastination. Then there's my LinkedIn account. It's not a place I go to relax or quietly browse. It's more like a place I feel I should go — like a six-month dentist check-up, but for my career. And yet I rarely le