My Story

For more than twenty years, I've worked in learning and development, HR, recruitment, coaching and workplace wellbeing. I've designed training programmes, taught mindfulness, coached individuals and leaders, and worked alongside charities, the NHS, local authorities and organisations across the UK. Supporting people has always been at the heart of what I do.

On paper, I had built a decent career and worked at some well-respected organisations. But, behind the scenes, something wasn't quite right. I spent years trying to fit into environments that simply weren't built for the way my brain works. Some workplaces became increasingly toxic. Other roles demanded a level of attention to detail that left me mentally exhausted. I kept telling myself to work harder, be more organised and push through. Then, later in life, I received an ADHD diagnosis.

Everything suddenly made sense.

It explained why I could think strategically, solve complex problems and connect deeply with people, yet felt drained by environments that relied on constant pressure, politics or endless admin. For years I'd blamed myself, when in reality I had simply been trying to thrive in places that weren't the right fit.

Around the same time, life changed in ways no career could prepare me for.

My disabled stepdad suffered a life-changing fall, breaking his hip and lying on a cold floor for seven hours before help arrived. Overnight, everything shifted. My mum's own health was deteriorating, and she could no longer care for him without significant support. There were no siblings to share the responsibility. It became clear that if I was going to help my family navigate what lay ahead, something had to give.

At the same time, I was supporting my son through a school system that hadn't recognised his dyslexia early enough. Like so many parents, I found myself fighting for assessments, support and understanding, determined that his confidence wouldn't become another casualty of a system that couldn't see his strengths.

Then there were challenges I never imagined I'd face. Family estrangement. Safeguarding concerns. Navigating coercive and controlling behaviour affecting someone I love overseas. Learning how to advocate within complex international systems whilst carrying the emotional weight and sadness that comes with it.

I wasn't just supporting other people through difficult situations anymore. I was living them.

Hospital appointments became normal. Social care assessments. Direct payments. Care planning. Benefits. Advocacy. Safeguarding. Endless forms, phone calls and waiting lists. I learnt first-hand how overwhelming it can feel to coordinate care whilst trying to hold together your own career, relationships and wellbeing.

Eventually, things began to settle. My parents had the support they needed. My son had rediscovered his confidence. I finally had the space to stop and ask myself a simple question.

What had all of this been teaching me?

I realised my professional background and my lived experience had become inseparable.

For decades I'd been helping people develop, lead and thrive through coaching, workplace wellbeing, mindfulness and learning and development. Then life had given me something no qualification ever could: a deep understanding of what it really means to be part of the Sandwich Generation.

I know what it's like to coordinate care whilst trying to meet deadlines. To become the person everyone turns to. To carry the invisible mental load. To spend so much time looking after everyone else that you slowly disappear from your own priority list.

That's why I chose not to return to the corporate world. I was officially done. Instead, I reshaped everything I'd learnt into Red Mountain Wellbeing.

Today, I work with professionals who are balancing careers with caring responsibilities, and with the organisations that want to better support them. My work combines over two decades of professional expertise with lived experience, practical coaching and evidence-informed wellbeing.

Because when someone says, "I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this," I don't just understand the theory. I understand the life they're describing.

And sometimes, that's exactly where change begins.