Owning Her Space

Real stories. Real women. Real next steps.

  • The bookshelves of our lives

    I love books.

    Always have.

    Recently, I was trying to create more space in our library room at home. Or perhaps “library” is a generous word for what is essentially a room with one entire wall covered in books… that also serves as a snug and, depending on the mood, occasionally a bar!

    As I started going through the shelves book by book, something unexpected happened.

    I realised I was not just looking at books.

    I was looking at a timeline of my own evolution.

    Different periods of my life were sitting there quietly on different shelves.

    There were the years of business and marketing books.
    The years of leadership and communications.

    But also entire phases of pure fiction.
    Historical thrillers.
    And, at one point, what appeared to be a fairly serious obsession with books about witches!

    Looking at the shelves, I could almost trace different versions of myself through the genres alone.

    And then, over the last few years, something shifted.

    Finance.
    Geopolitics.
    History.
    Psychology.
    Biographies.

    Books challenging the way I think about work, money, freedom, identity and the structure of life itself.

    And suddenly it became obvious:

    My reading had become a reflection of who I was becoming.

    Not just professionally.

    Personally.

    Because somewhere along the way, I had quietly reawakened something I had not fully realised I was missing.

    Curiosity.

    Not the kind linked to productivity or qualifications.

    But genuine curiosity.

    The kind that expands your thinking.
    Challenges your assumptions.
    Makes you see the world (and yourself) a little differently after every book, conversation or new idea.

    And the more I nurture it, the more alive I feel intellectually.

    Not because I suddenly need to reinvent my life.

    But because learning creates movement.

    It stretches the mind beyond routine.
    Beyond responsibility.
    Beyond the narrow space we sometimes unconsciously shrink ourselves into while simply managing daily life.

    I think many women stop feeding that part of themselves for years.

    Life becomes operational.

    There is always something to organise, manage, solve or carry.

    Curiosity slowly starts feeling optional.
    A luxury.
    Something you will come back to “when life calms down.”

    But I’m starting to believe it is far more important than that.

    Because curiosity keeps evolving us.

    It reminds us that we are still expanding.
    Still discovering.
    Still becoming.

    And perhaps that is one of the most beautiful parts of life.

    Not arriving fully formed.

    But realising we are still allowed to grow.

  • When Doing Nothing Feels Impossible

    My husband often laughs when I say I need a holiday.

    Not because he disagrees that I’m tired.

    But because, according to him, I don’t actually know the meaning of “relaxing” or “doing nothing.”

    And if I’m honest… he may have a point.

    Even away from work, I will find something to organise.
    Something to improve.
    Something to think about.
    Something to plan.

    My brain rarely switches off completely.

    For a long time, I saw that as a positive thing.

    I’m ambitious.
    Independent.
    Practical.

    I get things done.

    And, realistically, when you carry a lot of responsibility, you often have to.

    Because if you don’t do it, there’s a good chance nobody else will.

    So you adapt.

    You become efficient.
    Reliable.
    Capable.

    You stop waiting to be rescued and simply learn to move.

    And over time, that becomes your normal state.

    But recently, I’ve started wondering something else.

    What if the inability to truly do nothing is not ambition at all?

    What if it’s simply the result of carrying so much, for so long, that your nervous system no longer recognises stillness as safe?

    After two decades of running from one responsibility to the next, perhaps my brain is simply wired to anticipate the next task before the current one has even finished.

    The next email.
    The next meal.
    The next deadline.
    The next thing to organise, solve or remember.

    And when that becomes your default setting for long enough, something interesting happens.

    You stop just doing it.

    You become it.

    The capable one.
    The productive one.
    The one who always keeps moving.

    And maybe that’s why slowing down can feel strangely uncomfortable.

    Because when the movement stops, you are left facing a quieter question:

    Who am I when I’m not constantly doing?

    I don’t think the answer is to suddenly become someone who spends entire days doing absolutely nothing.

    That’s probably never going to be me.

    But I do think there is something important in learning how to create more space between the doing.

    More moments of presence.
    More calm.
    More stillness without guilt.

    Not because productivity is bad.

    But because constantly living in “next” mode means you rarely get to fully experience where you already are.

    And perhaps real balance is not about becoming less ambitious.

    Maybe it’s about learning that your value does not disappear the moment you stop moving.

  • Maybe life isn’t about finding your one true purpose

    I’ve been thinking a lot recently about this idea of “finding your purpose.”

    It sounds inspiring.

    But if I’m honest, I also think it can feel incredibly intimidating.

    As if somewhere out there exists one perfect answer.
    One perfect path.
    One thing you are supposed to discover in order to finally feel fulfilled.

    And perhaps that’s why so many people stay stuck.

    Not because they don’t want change.

    But because they don’t know what the alternative should look like.

    “What if I make the wrong choice?”
    “What if I still don’t know what I truly want?”

    But maybe life doesn’t work that way.

    Maybe purpose is not a fixed destination waiting to be discovered.

    Maybe it evolves as we evolve.

    Because when I look back at my own life, the things that brought me joy at 20 are not the same things that fulfil me today.

    And that’s not failure.

    That’s growth.

    For me, life is less and less about chasing one defining purpose.

    And more and more about the experience of living it.

    Building a journey that feels aligned with who I am at this moment in time.

    Sometimes that joy comes from achievement.
    Sometimes from learning.
    Sometimes from stillness.
    Sometimes from being outdoors and feeling completely present in the season around me.

    It changes.

    Because we change.

    And perhaps that’s the point.

    So if you feel pressure because you still haven’t figured out your “true purpose,” maybe step back for a moment.

    Look at everything you have already built.
    Everything you have already overcome.
    Everything you have already experienced.

    Your life has never been empty of meaning.

    Maybe the real question is not:

    “What is my one true purpose?”

    But:

    “What kind of life do I want to experience next?”

    And that feels like a much more freeing place to begin.

  • The moments where time disappears

    I’ve been thinking about this idea of flow.

    Not in a theoretical way.

    In a very simple, very real way.

    The moments where you lose track of time.

    For me, it happens outdoors.

    Walking through the fields and woods with my dog.
    Watching the seasons shift, almost imperceptibly.
    Noticing how the same path never really looks the same twice.

    There is no goal.
    No outcome.
    Nothing to achieve.

    And yet, those are the moments where I feel most present.

    Time doesn’t stretch.

    It disappears.

    And when I think about it, that’s rare.

    Because most of our lives are structured around the opposite.

    Deadlines.
    Outputs.
    Decisions.
    Movement.

    Everything is measured.

    Everything is tracked.

    Everything has a purpose.

    But flow doesn’t work like that.

    It doesn’t come from pressure.

    It comes from alignment.

    From doing something that requires just enough of you to stay engaged, but not so much that it becomes effort.

    And the interesting part is this:

    We all have those moments.

    Not necessarily in nature.

    But somewhere.

    A specific task.
    A piece of work.
    A creative outlet.
    A quiet routine.

    Moments where you’re not thinking about what comes next.

    You’re simply there.

    The problem is not that flow is hard to find.

    It’s that most of us don’t create enough space to notice where it already exists.

    We move too fast.

    We fill every gap.

    We optimise every hour.

    And in doing so, we miss the very signals that tell us what feels right.

    Because flow leaves clues.

    About what energises you.
    About where your attention naturally goes.
    About what you might want more of.

    But only if you’re paying attention.

    And that requires something most of us resist:

    Slowing down.

    Not to do less.

    But to notice more.

  • The moment you stop…and don’t know what to do!

    Have you ever noticed what happens when you’re forced to slow down?

    A long-haul flight.
    A holiday.
    A moment where, suddenly, there’s… nothing to do.

    No emails.
    No meetings.
    No immediate demands pulling you in five directions.

    And instead of feeling relaxed, something else shows up.

    Discomfort.

    Because you realise something slightly unsettling:

    You don’t quite know what to do with yourself.

    You’re so used to moving from one task to the next…
    to solving, organising, managing, delivering…

    that when that stops, even briefly, two things happen.

    First: guilt.
    “I should be doing something.”

    Second: disorientation.
    “If I’m not doing… then what am I?”

    I had that moment recently, flying back from Japan.

    Fourteen hours with nowhere to go, nothing to fix, nothing to manage.

    And it took time to settle into it.

    Because when the “doing” stops, something else becomes visible.

    The structure you’ve been operating within.

    How much of your identity is tied to keeping things running.
    How much of your time is already pre-allocated.
    How little space there is to simply… be.

    And that’s where it becomes powerful.

    Because that moment of discomfort is not a problem.

    It’s a signal.

    A signal that your life has been built around movement, responsibility, and output.

    And once you see that, a better question appears:

    What would this look like if it was designed more intentionally?

    Not to do less.

    But to choose differently.

    That’s where the shift begins.

    Not in the middle of the noise.

    But in the rare moments where everything pauses—and you realise you have a choice.

  • The power of stepping out

    Life doesn’t always give you space to think.

    It fills itself.

    Work expands.
    Responsibilities accumulate.
    Decisions stack on top of each other.

    And before you realise it, you’re no longer choosing.

    You’re responding.

    Travel interrupts that.

    Not because it’s relaxing
    (a 15-hour flight to Japan is certainly not my idea of relaxation!)

    But because it creates distance.

    Distance from:

    • your routines
    • your environment
    • your usual patterns of thinking

    And that distance creates space.

    Space allows clarity to return.

    I’ve been deep in writing over the past few weeks.

    Structuring ideas. Testing frameworks. Refining thinking.

    And stepping away from it — even briefly — has reinforced something simple:

    You don’t redesign your life by staying inside it.

    You need to step outside of it.

    Not to escape.

    But to see it properly.

    Because when you’re too close to something, everything feels equally important.

    When you create distance, priorities re-emerge.

    What matters becomes obvious.

    What doesn’t becomes easier to let go.

    And that’s where change actually starts.

    Not in the middle of the noise.

    But in the moments where you can finally hear yourself think.

    Sometimes the most productive thing you can do is not push forward.

    It is to step back.

    Reset.

    And decide — deliberately — what you take with you when you return.

  • The power of subtracting

    I came across an idea recently that made me stop and think.

    Like many of us, I often have a long mental list of things I’d like to improve or explore.
    A course I should take. A podcast to listen. A webinar to attend. A book to read. A project I want to start. A change I’ve been meaning to make. The list is long.

    The exercise I heard about is simple.

    Take a sheet of paper and write down 25 things you would like to achieve this year.

    Then go through that list and circle the five you would focus on first if the time frame suddenly shrank to three months.

    So far, this sounds like a normal prioritisation exercise.

    But here’s the twist.

    The remaining 20 items become your “avoidance list.”

    Not your secondary priorities.

    Your avoidance list.

    In other words, the things most likely to distract you from the few goals that truly matter.

    When I heard this, it struck a nerve.

    Because most of us are not short of ambition.

    We are short of focus.

    We carry dozens of ideas, projects, and intentions at the same time.

    Courses we want to take.
    Plans we want to explore.
    Changes we want to make.

    And each one quietly competes for our attention.

    The result is not just that we stay busy.

    It’s that we end up doing many things poorly, instead of focusing long enough to make a few things truly meaningful.

    Progress becomes diluted.

    What I like about the avoidance list is that it forces honesty.

    You cannot pursue everything at once.

    If five things truly matter, the other twenty must wait.

    And that discipline becomes even more important when you are trying to redesign your life.

    Because building optionality doesn’t happen through scattered effort.

    It happens through consistent focus on a small number of meaningful decisions.

    Sometimes the most powerful step forward is not adding something new.

    It’s deciding what you are willing to remove.

  • Protecting your space isn’t selfish. It’s self-respect.

    Life isn’t perfect.
    It doesn’t follow a clean structure.
    And at times, let’s be honest, it’s just plain hectic. Well, mine is at least!

    The point isn’t to believe you can control everything.

    The point is to understand that, at any moment, you can choose what you give priority to.

    And those priorities shift.

    What mattered deeply six months ago may not matter in the same way today.
    Clinging to everything at once is what leaves us drained.

    Instead of trying to hold it all together perfectly, give yourself permission to reassess.

    And learn to say no.

    No isn’t something to fear.
    No is a boundary.
    No is clarity.
    No protects your time and your energy.

    Saying no to a friend’s invitation doesn’t mean you don’t value the friendship.
    It means you’re protecting your energy right now.

    And your true friends, your tribe, will understand.
    Like a comfortable sofa, they adapt to your shape. They love you for who you are, not for how available you are.

    If you ever feel the pressure to say yes just so you don’t let someone down, pause.

    Don’t say yes and then resent having said yes.

    Pause.
    Choose.

    If you go, go fully and enjoy it.
    If you don’t, say no with kindness, and remove the guilt.

    It’s your life.

    Protecting your space isn’t selfish.
    It’s self-respect.

  • You’re not short on time. You’re short on intentionality.

    When I talk to friends about Owning Her Space, the response I hear most often is:

    “You’re superwoman. I don’t have the time to do something like that.”

    I understand where that comes from.
    We’re busy. We’re tired. Life is full.

    But I don’t think this is really about time.

    Because the truth is, we all have the same amount of it.

    What differs is how consciously we choose to use it.

    I’m not talking about becoming hyper-productive or turning life into a series of optimised minutes.
    I’m talking about noticing where time quietly leaks away — often without us realising.

    Endless scrolling.
    Background television.
    The kind of tired distraction that doesn’t really rest us, but fills the space anyway.

    I do it too.

    Recently, I read 4,000 Weeks by Oliver Burkeman, a book that puts a very simple idea front and centre: the average human life is about four thousand weeks long.

    Not to scare us. But to remind us that time is finite — and therefore meaningful.

    That question stayed with me:

    How many of those weeks do I want to spend on autopilot?
    And how many do I want to invest in building a life that feels more intentional?

    This isn’t about guilt. And it’s certainly not about giving up all pleasure or rest.

    Rest matters. Joy matters. Switching off matters.

    But so does purpose.

    Because when you have a clearer sense of what you’re working towards — financially, personally, emotionally — time starts to organise itself differently.

    You stop saying “I don’t have time”
    and start asking “Is this how I want to use it?”

    That shift alone is powerful.

    Not because it forces action.
    But because it restores choice.

    Ultimately, what we do with our time is exactly that — a choice.
    And like all choices, it’s deeply personal.

    But awareness is the first step.

    Not judgement.
    Not pressure.
    Just noticing.

    Because we don’t get more time.
    We only get to decide what we do with the time we already have.

    You don’t need to change everything.
    You just need to decide what matters enough to make room for it.

  • Clarity First: where I am vs where I want to go

    At some point, the question shifts.

    It stops being “What do I feel like doing next?”
    and becomes: “Where am I, really… and where do I want to go?”

    Not in a superficial way.
    Not “maybe I need a holiday in the sun” (although I’m not against that either!).

    But in a deeper, more honest way.

    What do I want this next chapter to mean?
    What do I want it to feel like, day to day?
    What do I want to be proud of five years from now?

    Because it’s the decisions I make today that will shape my tomorrow.

    For me, one answer has become very clear: I want to move away from relying entirely on a monthly wage.

    Not because I dislike my work; I don’t.
    But because I want choice.

    The ability to choose how I work, when I work, and how much of my time truly belongs to me. And I know that doesn’t happen by accident. It’s built.

    When I looked at this more closely, I also had to be honest about something else:
    my personal financial knowledge wasn’t as strong as I thought.

    Yes, I’m good at budgeting.
    Yes, I can read a company’s financial statements.

    But understanding how money can work for me, on a personal level?
    That was a gap. And a big one.

    And that was a good thing, because once you see a gap clearly, you can do something about it.

    Over the past 12 months, I’ve made a quiet commitment to educate myself.
    I’ve been reading financial books. Listening to podcasts. Learning the language. Trying to understand how money really works — not in theory, but in real life.

    And to my surprise, it’s been… fun. Really!

    The learning.
    The stretching of how my brain thinks (and sometimes doesn’t).
    The sense of progress.

    Because knowledge doesn’t just give you information.
    True knowledge gives you perspective.
    And perspective gives you freedom.

    It helps you stop panicking and start assessing.
    Stop guessing and start deciding.
    Stop drifting and start planning.

    But learning alone isn’t enough.

    The next step is action.

    That’s what this chapter is about for me. I’m still learning — but I’ve also started putting things in place. Not radical changes. Not walking away from responsibility. I still have a day-to-day job and commitments to honour.

    But the actions I’m taking now will change my life in five years’ time.

    I have a clear plan. And with that, a sense of control. And that feels good.

    I also see many capable, talented women stuck in a financial position that limits their ability to choose what comes next.
    They’ve worked hard.
    They’ve made sacrifices.
    They’ve supported families and careers on the promise that working hard and getting a good job would be enough.

    Sadly, for many of us, it isn’t.

    Financial freedom requires understanding how money works — and learning how to make it work for you.

    I’m not there yet.
    But I am now actively working towards it.

    And if I can do that — thoughtfully, realistically, and alongside a full life — then so can you.

    You don’t need to become a financial expert.
    You just need enough knowledge to make choices you trust.