This blog is part of the Leader insight series, a collection of honest, peer-led reflections from leaders across our community. From aspiring CEOs to those with decades of experience, these stories explore the pivotal moments, challenges, and lessons that shape leadership in all its complexity. Together, they form a growing library of insight to help us lead with courage, care, and clarity.
Eleven years ago, I was persuaded to apply for the role of chief executive at Community Links. It was a defensive move. I loved the organisation, and I didn’t know who might step in to lead it, whether they would share my values, or whether they might change everything I held dear. Being a CEO was never in my plan; I have never even had a career plan. I have simply moved on when roles became routine, seeking out new challenges and opportunities to grow.
Nearly eleven years later, I am still here, and I feel privileged to now lead the organisation known as Inspire North.
If you stay in a chief executive role long enough, you will experience the full rollercoaster: the swings, the roundabouts, the highs, and the lows. On my very first day, before nine o’clock in the morning, I was told of a client’s death, a serious HR issue, and something else I cannot even remember now. I recall thinking: Wow, this job is going to be tricky.
In 2018, I led a merger, which was a major challenge that transformed both organisations overnight. We brought together two charities, each nearly £10 million in size, into a group structure encompassing Community Links and Foundation. At times it has been challenging; at others, it has been amazing.
A few years ago, we hit a significant bump in the road, and I genuinely did not know what to do. In fact, there have been several moments like that, and it is completely normal. When those moments come, I do what I have always done: reach out for help and support. I have leaned on ACEVO many times, speaking to Jenny or Tom for guidance. There is a very limited pool of people a chief executive can turn to, especially for emotional rather than practical support. On that particular occasion, I reached out to trusted colleagues, shared the issues we were facing, and was given helpful contacts. Following those leads allowed me to reshape and restructure our organisation. We are now in a great place, but the journey from crisis to calm took two to three years.
One of the biggest lessons I have learned as a chief executive is how long it takes to truly resolve, embed, or change something. A six-month plan will probably take a year or more.
I have also realised that one of my defining qualities is what I now call grit. For me, that means a steadfast determination to keep going. I do not give up easily and always believe there is a way through. I might not have found it yet, but I trust that if I keep working at the puzzle in front of me, the solution will come. So far, I have never been proven wrong.
My advice to anyone considering becoming a chief executive is threefold. Firstly, there is never a perfect time. When I stepped into the role, my children were only three and eight. I had been working part-time for about eight years, and I was not exactly looking forward to returning to full-time work, but I knew it was necessary for the role. Ideally, my children would have been a couple of years older, but I also knew that if I did not take the opportunity when it came, it might not come again.
Secondly, you are stronger than you think, but resilience depends on your ability to seek help from the right people at the right time. You cannot hold back on that.
Finally, stay true to your values. Act with integrity. Listen to all feedback, good or bad. Even poorly delivered criticism can shine a light on issues you have not yet resolved.
I listen to a lot of podcasts, many of which talk about work–life balance and whether it is truly possible in certain roles, such as being a CEO. If you do something you love and feel passionate about, it does not always feel like work. Still, one piece of wisdom guides me: you cannot pour from an empty cup.
To me, that means you have to look after yourself if you want to take care of others. As a single parent to two neurodivergent teenagers and a chief executive, I juggle more than a balancing act while also trying to stay physically and mentally active. It takes thought, dedication, and careful prioritisation. I ruthlessly and unapologetically make my own wellbeing a priority and invest time and resources into maintaining it.