This is the modern world

It's a weird thing hosting webinars. And it's part of what I do.

For many people the idea of presenting on screen, on their own, to a wall of silence is their worst nightmare. For me, it's a chance to pretend I'm on television - something I long aspired to as a child and long before I understood just how bloody difficult it is to carve out a career in that space without money or connections. The chances of young working class people being able to access and take up creative careers in media have eroded over time to the extent where the sector acknowledges it has a very real problem - something that I'm glad to see being tackled by some of the organisations you'll find on my Common Good Network directory here: Creative Sector - The Common Good

But, as ever, I digress ;)

This post was prompted by my most recent hosting duties; a webinar for a tech firm that is beloved of developers. And whilst my talent lies not in coding or quantum computing, I absolutely have a knack for bringing the energy required to make people feel like they made the right choice in joining the session. I'll put your presenters at ease, give the audience a (virtually) good time, field Q&A and - vitally - keep things to time (there's a reason my initials are TK: as well as Toni Kent, they stand for Time Keeper). It was, by all accounts, a success. Attendees were happy, client was happy, the subject matter experts were happy too.

Job done then - right? Well, not quite. There was just a little something missing for me. Because, for all the effort and energy that goes in, and however happy the client is, there are times when something gets a little lost. Feels missing. Is missed. It's that of face-to-face human connection.

Think about it. If you're called upon to deliver a speech or a talk in person, regardless of how well it goes, you'll have someone you can bounce ideas off, or who'll buoy you up at the beginning and end. Someone who offers you a real-time and sincere reaction where you can read those non-verbal facial expressions. Who you can maybe go off with and have a cup of tea and a debrief. Who will help you to make that transition from high adrenaline to into the groove.

As someone who works almost exclusively from home and with a husband who does the same, I can tell you that when you've both got your own separate - and completely unrelated - work thing going on, banging on about the online webinar you've just hosted does nothing to enhance your relationship. We're there for each other for sure, but are of precious little use to each other in the highly specific and specialised sectors and roles that we work in. In my husband's sector, it's perfectly normal to swear like a trooper on a Teams call. In mine, we ration our big swears for calls with people that we really know, like and trust ;)

So what's a girl to do?

Well, firstly, I always book a space to present from. This causes a great deal of confusion when booking a meeting room - sometimes I'll arrive to find the space beautifully set up for four people or more, only to then sweep everything on the table aside to set up my rig. I may have to ask for lighting, an ethernet port or a 'do not disturb' sign and am conscious it may seem diva-esque when, to all appearances, I'm simply sitting on the end of a web cam (and I know how bad that sounds).

Aside from taking me away from the house and the temptation to put on a load of washing the minute I finish my call (or a delivery driver hammering at the door because there's a car on the driveway so surely someone's going to answer?), there's the huge benefit of bringing me into physical contact with PEOPLE. And not people I'm married to or have given birth to or who would like me to sign for something I didn't order. Just other people!

One of the myriad of problems that came with COVID was this idea that it's perfectly normal to work from home on your own. Well I'm here to tell you that it's not. Working from home dulls our ability to interact with others, negotiate with others, get shit done with others. To laugh and celebrate together. Work out complex problems and support one another. I am all for flexibility and inclusion but let's not pretend that we don't suffer when we're sat ruminating on our own priorities or problems. Or that digital poverty doesn't exist. Or poverty full stop. When you have young people expected to work from shared bedrooms or their parents' kitchen table; or vulnerable people placed at greater risk because now they never need to leave their house, full-time remote working is not a panacea. And it's absolutely not the way to induct our young people into the world of work.

When I hear stories of friend's kids who have been through soul-destroying online only recruitment processes, and then finally offered a job which is working from home, it makes my heart sink. How do we learn to become independent if we don't get out? How do we deal with the challenges and frustrations of being out in the world when we rarely set foot in it? How do we get to know our colleagues if we only ever see them as a tile on a screen? 

I was delighted when our daughter secured her first job through the recruitment agency that offered me my first office job (go Reed!). To go into a branch and have someone match you up with a client they know well is still a thing. And it works. At a time when we're led to believe that the entire world is run by AI agents, it's still possible to go 'temp-to-perm' in an entry level role. There are still organisations that want to hire young people and train them up. It's been more than a year since our daughter started working at a financial services firm and she's thriving on being in an office environment and - crucially - getting out of the house. I envy her town centre 9-5 with its shops and ability to grab an M&S sandwich while you do the post run (do you remember that? A 9-5 where you don't take work home with you? BLISS!). I know you probably think this is some post from the '90s but I swear to all that's holy that it isn't - if, like me, you've worked for or work with massive corporations, it's easy to think that small service-led companies with entry level roles no longer exist.

To return to today, and the point of this post, I was reminded of that value of human interaction. I tried out a new venue - a hotel that was recommended to me through a business network - who very kindly allowed me to use their gym after my session. The benefits were instant: not only did I switch off my webcam and close my laptop without immediately being drawn into some kind of domestic situation, I had the chance to put on my running shoes (without being whined at by a dog) and get myself off for the kind of workout I hadn't enjoyed since I used to work in an office. 

It felt like the perfect way to shake off the nervous energy and offered a prime example of how if we don't get ourselves out in the world we can forget things we used to take for granted - like if you're going to a gym for a workout and are planning to use the a shower afterwards, you really ought to remember to pack some clean knickers.....

Soundtrack: This is the modern world - The Jam. Now added to the Reasons to be Cheerful playlist on Spotify - check it out here:

Me, looking slightly mad, on a webinar - I love it!

I go round in circles

You know how sometimes a small thing becomes a big thing?

It normally starts by asking yourself a simple question which spirals into a complex issue that you didn't envisage spending hour upon hour trying to fix over the course of several weeks.

Sometimes it's along the lines of; "I wonder what that noise is in my loft?" or "I wonder what that intermittent issue is with my car?".

For me it was "I wonder if LinkedIn has given me a refund?".

Now, for those of you who don't know what LinkedIn is (and, as I have come to discover, those of us who are on LinkedIn think the whole world is on there when in actual fact, a great swathe of the general population is not); it's kind of like Facebook for business people. But with less stuff that "Needs gone ASAP" and wayyyyy more self promotion where everyone is "Delighted to announce".

I'm on there because from a business perspective it's a pretty good place for me to be. I've made some great connections and secured a lot of brilliant speaking and writing gigs. It's offered me a way to stay in touch and stay on top of what's going on in the tech and social mobility space in a way that's interesting and - dare I say it - fun. And, in a high point for me, I went vaguely viral with a post about a choc ice that garnered 185k impressions (TikTok folks will be laughing their arses off at that assertion but on LinkedIn 185k does count!). 

As with all software platforms, there's levels and options around whether you want to pay. And pay I did for the Premium version that frankly did precious little except allow me to see who had looked at my profile. And so, when - in classic subscription fashion - my Premium membership was renewed without forewarning, I thought: This has got to go.

Twenty-four hours later, I cancelled my subscription. And asked them for a refund which gave me an automated response of "Yes!".

And this is where the trouble starts...

My first mistake was to think the refund would simply be issued. I mean, they took the money a day earlier, so surely it can't be hard to send it back, right? Wrong.

I waited two weeks and having not received confirmation, thought I'd go and check if the money was in my account.

Turns out it wasn't. 

So I hopped on the LinkedIn chatbot and raised a service request which led to an almost instant reply:

"We tried to refund you but it didn't work."

Wait? What?

Now I'll spare you the finer details because god knows even I'm bored of the process so far but at this point I became locked in a three-week battle where I ping-ponged between various customer service agents at my bank and the Premium consultant handling my service request at LinkedIn, vainly trying to relay messages between each party and wondering if I had done something wrong in a former life. 

As a customer with a problem I had:

• A bank escalation process that operates on the basis of speaking to people 
• A LinkedIn escalation process that operates on the basis of Service Requests within their app.

On the one hand I've got a LinkedIn rep who is unfailingly polite ("It is my pleasure to serve you") and yet cannot actually help me ("Much as I want to I am not able to make any changes on our currently stated information above. I understand how important this is for you"). On the other hand I've got an ever-changing cast of people at the bank I can speak to if I can bear being on hold for anything between five and twenty five minutes who have variously indulged in a whole range of behaviours that include:

• Openly patronising me "You see, Mrs Kent, in banking terms what LinkedIn has told you isn't factually correct. But rest assured you've done nothing wrong" No sh*t Sherlock.

• Hating on their colleagues "Ah, Mrs Kent, I don't know who it was that told you they could see why the refund wasn't accepted - it's not possible for them to know that information." 

and finally, hopefully today a lovely customer experience person in Liverpool offered me the sweet, sweet promise of a resolution; "I'm certain the team will just ensure this gets refunded".

The thing that has given me stamina throughout is a combination of tea, swearing and my day job including hosting some webinars that feature advances in chatbot technology. As a result of seeing what's possible from the likes of AWS (and testing out some live examples), I'm getting the chance to be curious about what could be done to improve the experience for customers and customer service professionals alike. 

The new wave of chatbots (or Agentic AI powered 'agents') don't get hacked off at people's frustrations. Or react when they're asked a stupid question. Or want to gouge their own eyes out at having to search through 125 separate SharePoint sites for the information they've been asked for. Or try to find the colleague that speaks a second (or third, or fourth) language. Or get caught up in trying to translate between internal terminology and layperson's language. 

My experience in learning about these systems has been that, given the right data and prompts, they can deal with pretty complex questions in a pretty straightforward way. And if they can't - they can escalate to a human. In the cases involving councils I have seen some compelling arguments for this - one look at my local Facebook page will tell you some of the most common questions (alongside "what's that noise / smell / thing in the sky") are things like: "what bin is being collected this week?" or "who does that abandoned car belong to?". You don't want your council employing people to tell citizens to read their waste disposal flyer or to use the online reporting tool. What you want is people who have the time and skill to deal with complex issues around things like social care and housing. You can see the argument when it's a big organisation to individual conversation - but how about when you're stuck in the middle?

At a time where I've found myself wedged between two multi-billion dollar businesses, trying to not lose my cool whilst attempting to secure a refund of £270, I dread to think how much it has cost in terms of the time of everyone involved. This is a terrible way to do business. Inefficient, expensive and an appalling customer service experience. If there's anyone out there who can build a chatbot that picks up and sorts out this level of painful experience I'm here for it!

In the spirit of keeping it 'cheerful' - this horrible process has given me something to think about and write about in a way that could ultimately bring value to my customers and more business my way. Hopefully, I will eventually get my money back. And if I don't - well, I'll be asking you to book me to speak. Let's see if the next 24hours means another trip around that circle....

Soundtrack: Circles by Kae Tempest - check out the full Reasons to be Cheerful playlist here: 

Current status of my enquiry....

Photo by Daniel Herron on Unsplash

It's Not Unusual

It's interesting how we all have our own version of what's 'normal' or 'usual' - one woman's weekly manicure might be another's Christmas treat. 

This thought was brought into sharp focus after the Boy Wonder (a name used for my son when he almost exclusively wore superhero fancy dress - a habit that returned this year and can be seen in the previous post) told us about a conversation that took place in his business studies class: "Who in the room has a cleaner?".

It began with my son expressing surprise that his friend had a cleaner.

His friend was surprised at our son's surprise. 

The teacher was surprised at our son's surprise. So surprised in fact, that this prompted a poll.

Turns out, it's not unusual to have a cleaner in his class. Around 60% - teacher included - don't bleach their own bathrooms. And before you wonder how much we pay in fees - this is a state school we're talking about. It's quite the opposite of what some people would have you believe about state schools and a nuance that I'm at pains to point out when I speak about not all state schools being equal. Whilst many of the families at my son's school employ cleaners, at the one I attended, the mums (and us girls included) were the cleaners - you can see me in full cleaner mode at the end of this post. 

Now, whilst I'm fully aware that the catchment our school serves is - whilst socio-economically diverse - relatively affluent by virtue of where we live, I was surprised. In my head, being able to afford a cleaner is a luxury. It's something we did when the children were small and I was on a big corporate salary. It's something I long for but is entirely impractical as we have two dogs that shed day and night and leave paw prints all over the floor when they're not busy rubbing their faces along the edges of the sofas. We are also an untidy bunch and, as anyone knows, cleaners ain't going to do your tidying up for you.

We joked that our son was 'hard done by' whilst sitting in full knowledge that he and his sister have had a start in life that is far more comfortable than what some of their peers (and parents) experienced. My early indicators did not suggest a future where I'd be raising children in a quiet village with the means to pay for the driving lessons and cars they so desperately need to be able to participate fully in the world - growing up in a town and poor is one thing (and was my experience) - but growing up poor in a rural location is an absolute double-whammy of being excluded by virtue of shambolic under-investment in facilities and public transport. It's part of the reason I set up The Common Good Network as a means to highlight organisations doing great things in towns and cities that range from the coast to the capital.

But the thinking about what's 'usual' persisted and extended into an online conversation in a Social Mobility Forum where the subject of over-representation of wealthier people in senior roles came up. Research from Boston Consulting Group suggests that people who grew up in financial disadvantage feel less like they 'belong' at work and are less likely to be represented the further up the workplace ladder you go. But is that really a surprise? Even if it is, it's certainly not unusual.

The research caused me to reflect on my corporate experience - and whilst I never felt like I didn't 'belong' at Microsoft, it was challenging at times to know that my education, experiences or leisure choices didn't match those of colleagues who came from better resourced families. 

Like lots of those from council estate backgrounds who made it to corporate, I went through what I call the 'one-way cultural exchange' of having to learn about where's good for skiing, sailing, holidaying and buying diamonds; and what people mean when they say "good" in terms of education, or when they shout "Lee!" when cheering a team at the Henley Regatta (turns out it's not the name of a rower, it's the shorthand for the Leander Club). But alongside that there was some upside and a degree of freedom I didn't know I had. The freedom to tap out when it all got too much. The freedom to go.

Thing is, my corporate experience was - in a way - all about gains. It turbo-charged my social mobility story and lifted my financial, social and cultural capital way beyond what I had thought was possible. More importantly, it helped to provide a phenomenally stable beginning for my two children. It broke a cycle and created a generational shift. And, whilst there was pain that came with leaving the place I grew up in and the guilt that is inherent when you realise that we don't live in a meritocracy, and that money really does attract money, and the tightrope walking that comes with feeling like you don't quite fit in where you're from and where you find yourself, I could do something that many people who grow up with money can't do: take the money and run in the direction of something more interesting. Crucially I could do this without the risk that it would mean forfeiting my social standing or, more importantly, my friends.

In some spaces the social mobility conversation is solely focused on helping people overcome socio-economic barriers. And rightly so - it's something I support with The Common Good Network. The injustices that exist in education, employment and just about every other aspect of society are shameful. To grow up poor is to be more likely to encounter poor health and educational outcomes. More likely to be care experienced or prison experienced. If you have a moment I would urge you to check out the work of Class Divide who not only highlight exactly the kind of systemic (and intentional) issues that families on low-incomes face in accessing education, but have been instrumental in changing policies that harm children with the least resources the most. These are the kinds of people who will drive change that bubbles up. 

But what about the other side? Could there be another reason why we see more people from better-resourced backgrounds in better-paid roles or positions of power? Something that I learned when leaving corporate life was that former colleagues thought I was "so lucky" and wished they could do the same thing. I was stumped - we're all grown ups so why couldn't they make the same choice? The reason was a bit more complicated than I thought. Some were so highly financially geared that to stop privately educating their children, to swap to smaller houses in less affluent locations (or just have the one house), to stop holidaying in the places, and ways, that they'd grown up with, or to stop the leisure pursuits that required not only 'all the gear' but deep knowledge and decades of practice, would be to take themselves out of the social groups to which they belonged (there's that word again).

To have a boat, a holiday home, a debenture, private schooling or intimate knowledge of international finance are all highly unusual to someone from my background. But not so to others who were born into financial advantage and who - like all of us - had no choice in where they were born or who they born to. We are shaped by the people and places we grow up around and can't simply shake off our culture - it's why I still think £100 is a lot of money and still use my 'outside voice' indoors sometimes. It's why I'm a Bournemouth girl at heart and not Bora Bora. It's why I can't walk past an old estate pub without part of me being spirited back to where I once 'belonged'. Given the choice, most of us don't want to leave our families or social circles. We don't want to be outside of what's loved and familiar. To lose out or be left out. 

Luckily for me now, I have community where I live and friends who have had a similar journey. Who find what was once 'unusual' when they were growing up to be something they now do, enjoy, or are able to access. We marvel at how things have turned out, don't take ourselves too seriously and poke fun at the people who do. But we don't look down our noses at those without and remember what it was like before. In the context of the social mobility conversation, this is my appeal for us all to be open minded, to remember that lots of things are relative and it's not a 'them vs us' conversation (unless you uncover specious policy-making like the Class Divide team did). Now, where is that hoover..... 

Me, one of Henry Hoover's ancient ancestors and my good friend Lou :)

If you like this, you might like to book me to speak!

Soundtrack: It's Not Unusual by Tom Jones - listen to it on the full Reasons to be Cheerful playlist on Spotify

Let's Hear it for the Boy

Well, it's all kicked off a bit on LinkedIn, hasn't it?

For those of you not on LinkedIn, the topic du jour that's causing people to lose their minds is the algorithm potentially (or definitely depending on who you listen to) prioritising male voices. So much so, that women have taken to changing their names from Lucy to Luke or the gender marker in their 'about' section from Lady to LadsLadsLads.

Like any social media platform, LinkedIn can be a pretty seductive place (and not in a sexy way - although I see plenty of posts where men are being called to account for treating the platform as a dating app); one where you get drawn into either an echo chamber where you're lauded in a way that would not happen at home, or you find yourself being OUTRAGED by people and articles that - whilst more refined than tabloid clickbait - certainly exist for the same reason.

Anyhow, this isn't going to be an examination of whether women's voices are being purposely silenced by nefarious forces or just not heard because we're less self-absorbed / proactive / provocative than men. There's plenty of others who are far more invested and educated in that topic. Rather, it's given me the opportunity to visit something that's on the mind of lots of parents of teenage boys - myself included - what their son's experience is of becoming a man.

In LinkedIn land, and particularly in DEI spaces where I often find myself, there's a sense that being a 'man's man' or a 'bloke' or someone who wants to provide for their family is regressive. Perhaps even a bit distasteful. I hear "Men need to step aside" "Women don't need 'looking after'" "The TV show Adolescence is a documentary that must be shown in schools....". And you'd better watch yourself if you're a woman who says publicly she'd be happy to stay at home while her husband's at work - controversial! 

Now the narratives we see are heavily influenced by our own browsing habits, connections and confirmation bias and as a result are incredibly one-sided. And I've noticed that what I read and hear in the corporate space is often far removed from what I see and hear in the infinitely more nuanced and varied outside world where my friends and family extends beyond 'professionals' and into a more representative group that includes men who are board directors, long-term unemployed, scientists, fork-lift drivers, accountants, window fitters and creatives. And teenage boys. And there's nothing like being in the presence of teenage boys to tell you what their life is like.

Happily for me, my 17 y/o is (relatively) happy to have a conversation. And definitely open to a lift back from a party which often provides me with more laughs than I can get at a comedy gig. Once he learns to drive I'm going to know a lot less for sure but what I have learned so far is that alongside all of our worries about the various bogeymen online who we'd all like to blame for collectively damaging our sons and daughters alike, we need to pay attention to what's going on at home.  

And what is going on at home? I know I speak from a place of privilege and good fortune (or, as one of my friends calls it - "Absolute Vanilla"). I am 25 yrs married and our son has grown up alongside his older sister in seeing a mum whose wings are not clipped and a dad that is around thanks to the 'joy' that is working from home. He speaks football with the fluency of a perfect pundit and can share that with his dad in a way that I can only hope to match with my knowledge of music which is a shared pursuit on those car journeys. With two forthright women in the house he also has to carve out a way in which to operate as a man amongst a monsoon of hormones whether he likes it or not.

Like all families, we experienced and were harmed by the absolute bin fire that was COVID but in an area where you could go for a walk without the neighbours all fucking spying on you and reporting you to someone with a clipboard. We weren't trapped in a flat. But it wasn't all board games and bread-making - while BoJo was having private parties, my mother died and the rules meant instead of visiting my disabled brother to tell him that the most important person in his world was gone, I had to explain it over TEAMS.... Through that period our son saw first hand that the man with the top job was distinctly lacking in moral fibre in a way that rode roughshod over some of the most vulnerable people in society. 

And when I look at it like that, I see our son's life has been coloured by men at all levels doing bad things. And yes, we have talked about Andrew Tate around the dinner table but let's not pretend that's the only type of 'role model' boys pay attention to and see. And let's not pretend that our boys think that our opinion is 'the law'. I read a great piece that said we need to ask our kids what they think and then just listen. It's the opposite of the tack that was taken at school where they had to participate in sessions which essentially told the boys that anything men like Tate or Yaxely-Lennon (for that is his name ;) ) had to say was wrong. No room to listen, no room to talk, no room to respectfully disagree or participate in debate. Boys should be told and not heard.

But listening is where we get to hear the interesting stuff. What's landing. What's appealing. What we can counter and what, perhaps, we need to make room for. Who is saying to boys that it's normal to want to look after your family? Or normal to aspire to have a comfortable lifestyle? Or normal to want to leap around at football like a lunatic? Or normal (if not desirable) to get caught up in trouble and learn from it?  If we know these things (and we know how the topic is being handled at school) we can have a conversation at home about how you can get what you want in a way that is ethical, doable and doesn't look down on aspirations that a lot of young people (despite what half of online media will tell you) actually have?

And what is striking is that a lot of the negative narrative about boys disregards and dismisses us as parents and families too. What are we telling our boys about the men in their lives that they love, look up to, respect or admire? Are they 'wrong' too? No. 

In speaking with friends who teach in primary schools, they tell me how when you ask very young children - both boys and girls - what they want when they 'grow up', they will draw pictures of a family and a home. Then, once they're proper into the capitalist machine that we can pretend we don't live in, they start adding 'stuff'. The cars, swimming pools, pool tables, ponies. There's a reason Argos brought their catalogues back you know.... The children are showing us they'd like a family and a nice lifestyle and how do we tell them to go about getting it? We don't! 

School becomes a sausage machine for university. PSHE lessons focus on consent and drugs and sexually transmitted diseases. Those tricky topics are important and have led to challenging conversations and the knowledge that - as much as you might not like to think it's happening - there is still plenty of teenage sex and pregnancies, drinking and drugs, and it's all going on right on your doorstep. Fret about toxic influencers all you like but I'd be worrying more about the kid on the moped that's selling ket and weed... 

But how about the good stuff? Where is the optimistic stuff? We've not once had a report of conversations about how you might build a life with a partner or friends. How you might share resources in those early days or think laterally on how to take that first step towards a house or a car. So what do we do? Send an email to the school? I think if we ourselves have managed to worked it out then it is incumbent on us to help our children find their way. Parenting isn't passive - yet the narratives we hear thanks to 'smart' phones can make us feel like we've not got much influence at all.

As mum to a son I've seen an entire generation of boys being characterised in the press as 'wrong' and 'at risk'. But what the media paints isn't the whole picture - it never is. My personal experience is that these boys are interesting and funny and vibrant and wanting to make their mark on the world in a confident and positive way - even if they don't feel confident or positive yet. They want to know about their family history and the men who have gone before. How their dads and uncles and grandads and stepdads make / made money and how they, in turn, might earn a living. They're interested in what their mums do too but - much as I hope my son loves and respects me - he absolutely doesn't want to be me!. 

They also want to be heard. The boys who have lost their mums, experienced family break-up, had a hard time at home / school, or their heart broken or been picked on or ripped off. Instead of beginning from a point where we think they are misguided or toxic or wrong, we need to provide the space and conditions (apparently side-by-side in the car / on a walk is best!) to hear what they have to say and listen without jumping to the worst possible outcome or judgement. The way we feel, characterise and talk about our boys and young men rubs off so how about - in the spirit of this blog - we do it in a way that's a bit more optimistic and, frankly, cheerful!

Soundtrack: Let's Hear it for the Boy - Deneice Willliams. Now added to the full updated Reasons to be Cheerful Playlist! Listen here

The inspiration for this post - they know who they are ;)

Go let it out

Well it would appear that returning to writing has opened the floodgates so let's ride that wave!

Alongside the recent rush of inspiration that has me reaching for the notebook, something that's been surprising is the absolute lightness that comes with hitting 'publish'. Turns out I could absolutely use a bit of writing for pleasure vs writing for an algorithm. 

Of course, I'm also writing this for you, lovely reader, but with the knowledge that you're here for the same reason as me - to catch a breath and perhaps a break from the ceaseless dopamine thieves that want to grab our attention and wallets.

It began, strangely enough, with signing up to a business growth course. Something designed to get my online directory of helpful organisations 'The Common Good' fully out into the world and, maybe, 'monetise' it - I like to get paid as much as the next person but there was something about trying to create a commercial model for a platform designed to help people that made me feel just a little bit...ugh. I'm still a bit stuck if I'm honest but I know the answer will come. There's no rush.

What did need urgent attention was the realisation - during a workshop session designed around business - that I hadn't taken a holiday during the previous 12 months. Not only had I not been away, I had nothing in the diary until November...double ugh!

I looked at the wall planner I'd bought for the workshop and felt my heart drop. There, in glorious A2 was cube after cube of work - or the hope of more. I was aiming for more speaking gigs, more 'community meet ups', more busy-ness, more stuff. Each red dot a reason to invoice, each blue dot a trip up to 'Town'. The energy that had been there at the start of the course sank in my stomach like a stone. 

And it's weird, isn't it? How we can begin something so full of energy and fire only for something to stop us and make us go "huh?". But maybe there's a lesson in that. Maybe it's ok to change your mind. Or, as we like to say in business, to 'pivot' from one thing to another.

Start-ups 'pivot' all the time. The thought of this reminds me of netball - the 'one-foot-on-the-floor' move while you decide where to pass. It's a vision I aim to keep in mind every time I think of a tech bro - just a dude in skorts and a bib with GA writ large on the front and back. Strange imagery aside we accept it's entirely normal for a small organisation to switch ideas, emphasis, products - so what about us? Can't we do the same too?

That moment of realisation provided fuel to an otherwise low-level fire (and made me book a weekend away with my husband). Probably something that's been there for a long time in amongst the vivid dreams that may or may not be influenced by progesterone. There since my body and mind got round to the idea of being fifty. In amongst the shifting sands of a family life that is changing from the clear line of parent:child to a house full of adults that must find a way to rub along with each other. There are times they still need you for sure, but you can't just waft about waiting to be wanted. 

The family dynamic is a topic that is coming under increasing scrutiny amongst my friendship groups. We are swapping stories of children flying the nest and making plans on whether we keep it feathered to welcome them home. What do you do when it's just the two of you again? What do you do if it's you on your own? Should you start early to establish new patterns that will provide you with a ramp up while they ramp off? What if they need to come back or (whisper it) never leave?

We look to those older than us with kids in their mid- to late- twenties. Those who have found their nests with too much echo to bear. They leave our village in waves, three or four houses at a time. Our former babysitters now building independent lives of their own. Their parents moving to places just a train ride away from their adult children rather than being stuck out in the sticks where they'd be less inclined to visit.

Others buy camper vans and spirit themselves away for weekends while their brood soak up university, they now have their own tales to tell and are not just waiting for news. Some are welcoming grandchildren and, others, as in our case, are taking pride in seeing their children flourish at work and adjusting to early adulthood. And, of course, there's the obstacles to navigate, the upset and anger and misunderstanding and mistakes. Compared to my own upbringing there is a remarkable amount of patience and candour in my household but - if you know me - you'll know how acutely aware I am that when you can raise your kids outside of the stresses of poverty you have a bit more mental and emotional bandwidth.

And the best part of it all is having people to share this with who don't live in your house. It's why I was pleased to share a room on a recent girls trip away. Whereas our solo sleepers had the blessing of peace and quiet and no-risk of another person snoring, my friend and I got an extra hour at the end of each night to talk frankly about what was on our minds. As she is a mother of two older boys I picked her brains endlessly on her experiences and knew I could share mine without fear of shock or judgement. A post I wrote about my son when he was four doesn't even offer the slightest hint of what it is to have an adult man as a child - this post is not the place to write about it but I will aim to do it justice soon.

As a group - and in that room - on our WhatsApp group, and the other ones that we're part of with our wider groups of friends, we absolutely have the chance to let it all out. When I speak to friends who are dads, there seems to be mostly a shrug of the shoulders or a "FML" expression. A "Christ it's a pain in the arse" or a sigh. The same struggles are there for sure but who are they (and do they need to?) letting it out to? It takes for my husband and I to get out of the house to properly talk and more often than not I'm the one in the minutiae - getting caught up in how the children are feeling and whether or not the decisions they make or things that they do are as clear cut as they appear. It's in those conversations that I get a good reminder that sometimes I don't need to tie myself up in knots about everyone else - maybe I should just concentrate on what it is that I want rather than trying to predict (or worse) control what comes next. 

And this brings us back to that workshop and back to how looking at that calendar brought me back to the blog. I came to realise that so much of what I was doing was aiming to satisfy the needs of others. The groups I thought I had to be part of. The content I thought I had to create. The style I thought I had to communicate in. If you open LinkedIn and it makes you go 'ugh' or you open your email and there's yet another daily update from someone you suspect is a shyster who is offering you the world if you'd only sign up to their content generation course then why on earth are you killing yourself trying to play the same game? If it doesn't feel right, deep down, then it's not right. And you don't have to get all angry (done that) or try hard (done that) or bend over backwards for someone that's sending your BS detector into overdrive or trampling your boundaries (done that too!). Sure we all have to do things sometimes we don't like but, in common with lots of my friends who are now at the fifty-mark, we're tired of doing it. Knackered in fact. If we've got this far, and survived - and I don't say that lightly given the losses we've collectively suffered - then we need to be able to stand up for ourselves. Which, for me, begins with letting it out.

If you like this, or can relate to this, please give it a share with the people you feel you're able to 'go let it out' with. I'd love to know there are more groups of awesome women supporting one another. 

Love

Toni xx (here's a pic of me letting it ALL out at a gig I did - thanks to the phenomenal woman who booked me and trusted me :))

Soundtrack: Go Let it Out by Oasis. If you bear with me a bit I'll be sharing a Spotify playlist for the blog very soon!

IT's (Still) Different for Girls

Of all the things we tell our young people about careers, I don't think we put "You'll make lifelong friends" anywhere near the top of the list.

We say it a LOT about university. A world that is now opening up to me with one child in sixth form and the other one having gone off into the world of work. Not that either of my kids wanted / want to go to uni. One found the sixth form experience so awful they couldn't wait to see the back of education and the other is keen to make money and avoid the potential punishment that is repaying a massive loan. 

The school, meanwhile, had other ideas, so hellbent is it on maintaining a position of being seen as a 'Good' school (by which I don't mean OFSTED Good, I mean moneyed parents choosing it as a less expensive but socially acceptable state-school option after the absolute kidney punching that is private secondary education 'good'). 

But I digress - and I want to be even-handed. Uni is - for many - an awesome choice. For my friends with children at uni, and off the back of a night out me and a friend had with my daughter and her daughter when we went to visit the latter at Nottingham University, it most certainly offers PRIME opportunities for making friends for life in new and exciting (and old-school raucous) ways.

Anyway, let's put that wild memory aside and return to the topic in hand: finding friendship as a woman in the world of work. It's something I reflected on 12 years ago in this post about the challenges I faced as a woman in IT. The post features a photo of me with some friends I'd made in one of my early tech jobs. Friends who I still spend time with today. Friends who 25 years on from when we first met are still among the first women I'd choose to spend time with and to whom I turn when times are hard.

The post in question performed marvellously. It resonated vividly with women in a similar position and made a man get publicly upset with me on LinkedIn which I think means it must have really been on the money. I wonder if I'll get the same reaction again....

And what of the 12 intervening years? What's it been like for us since then? The women in the photograph, myself included, have all gone on to develop their careers and experiences which have taking them into a range of more senior, seasoned, visible roles. Those 12 years have been power years of putting our skills, networks and talents into action. 12 years during which we have grown not only as individuals, but grown our families. Raised children to the point some are now leaving home.

Today we operate at EMEA and Global level and are trusted with some pretty serious stuff. We are Board members, business leaders, budget holders. One of us is an MBE and then there's me! In the 13 years since I went solo, I have written more thought leadership pieces for senior tech leaders than I can tell you about, fronted some pretty niche webinars for some of the biggest tech brands in the world and stood on stages delivering keynotes for their women in business and social mobility networks. I am simultaneously in front and behind the camera or screen, off to the side but still very much part of the IT community. Both visible (as my children will attest when they realised their friends had googled my profile) and invisible (for all that I publicly put online, there's a ton of webinars that will only ever be seen by CIOs and solution architects in certain sectors - told you they were niche!).

And what are the challenges that face us now? 

• We have made our way up despite being passed over and made passes at by men who should know better 
• We've shouldered substantial workloads alongside serious responsibilities 
• Dealt with death and divorce and decisions involving elderly relatives 
• Sorted budgets whilst selling houses and surveying care providers 
• Managed meetings alongside mile after mile of pick up and drop off and parents evenings 
• Been seen as simultaneously at work and available for every last whim of every family member whether we like it or not because we are 'the woman' and so must be there for all of the emotions all of the time.

We are heavy with the weight of high expectations around maintenance and appearance and being agreeable and adaptable and aging whilst looking ageless and OH MY GOD!

So no wonder I felt like I'd absolutely lost my mind earlier this year.

No wonder my family felt like they needed to tell me that I was acting strangely after I lost my shit at the dinner table.

And thank goodness I knew I could drop a line to my friends that I'd made all those years ago to tell them what happened and ask them a question without fear of judgement: 

"Do you think that I might need to go to the doctor?" 

We don't get to ask questions like that of everyone. Sometimes we don't even get to the point where we feel like we can ask - so quick are we to turn on ourselves at any given moment with an internal voice that says:

"What if I'm just being selfish? I mean, look at what I've got here, why don't I just get over it? Other people have it harder, isn't this just being self-indulgent? Other people don't want to know this - why can't I just sort it out myself?"

Well, I'd tried that. Done all the 'walks-in-nature-hug-the-dog-breathe-deeper-smile-at-your-children-keep-a-gratitude-journal-run-walk-swim-spa-detox-don't-sweat-the-small-stuff' and it didn't work.

So I messaged my friends. And they said.

"Go to the doctor" 

"This happened to me too" 

"You are not going mad"

"It's going to be ok"

"OMG you need to ask for HRT - NOW!"

And I took that last line seriously and did what my friend said. 

And it WORKED.

And it's not just down to the appointment I eventually made. It's down to those friends. Those women I met when we were all little more than 21, all full of fun and excitement and big plans and bold ambitions and oh. so. hot! 

Without them my life would have worked out a little different. They formed a template for friendship and we've held hands all the way. We all have other friendship circles too. Groups we've become part of as mothers, neighbours or shared interests. But this group endures. And it started in IT.

IT is (still) different for girls. But for the girls that are in it, were in it, thinking about joining it, it's oh so much more the richer because of the other girls and women you will meet. Stick at it, stay in it, there's a place for you in IT.

Like this? Tell a friend - god knows we all need one :)

Love

Toni 

xx

25 years on....still going strong!

So Now What?

For the musically-minded amongst you, you'll recognise the title of this post as something that Madonna posited to a lover in 'Justify My Love' which is - in my book - one of the sexiest pieces of work in her canon. But, fear not, I'm not about to invite you to do anything that will get you arrested or in trouble with your other half. Rather, I'm going to invite you back into the bosom of Reasons to be Cheerful which has been dormant for - wait for it - six years.

It's been six years since I last posted on here. A wistful piece written about my then 9-year-old son who is now a strapping 17-year-old man who I absolutely could not carry up the stairs in the way that my poem spoke of. Six years during which my daughter has gone out into the world of work and six years during which we faced Covid, said goodbye to my mother, lost friends too early and found fractures in family ties.

Six years is a long time. I leapt off the blog on the cusp of my mid-forties and now find myself at fifty, wondering, as many of us do, "what's next"?.

I mean, fifty is an actual age, right? Significant. A moment. It was one that I marked with a fuck-off party in our village hall where I went wild in indie-disco style. I'm not sure I have ever been happier than the moment when me, my husband, and our kids were throwing ourselves around on the dancefloor, accompanied by their friends and our friends. When you realise that your kids' generation has adopted 'your' music, from Oasis through to Robert Miles via The Shamen and The Jam, you achieve the kind of coming together that just doesn't happen in any other way.

The leaping around became a leaping off point. I had reached the pinnacle that is fifty and then....what? What then? What does the Book of Life say you're 'supposed' to do? 

Thing is, for all the unusual things I've done, I've followed a pretty standard life arc:

• Bought house with boyfriend - check
• Got married in mid-twenties - check
• Two children born two years apart - check

And I've got to tell you this is 100% what I wanted. For all of the wild times as a teenager, the corporate career chasing and pivot into writing, performing and presenting, my god did I just want to have a secure, stable and 'normal' homelife. Still do. 

And now I'm in a position where it feels like half my emails are about pension planning. Half the ads I get fed are about magnesium supplements and the importance of bone strengthening. Half of my conversations with friends are about HRT. These are all relevant and important things because, as women, mothers, partners, friends, we're all thinking deeply about what's next and how we're going to - if not thrive - cope. 

Whether it's grandchildren on the horizon or grinding out the last few years at work. Clearing a space for ourselves or clearing out the loft so the kids don't have to do it. We are fantasising and forecasting, keeping up and catastrophising, wishing and wondering. Is there only 'The Now'? Or should we be purposely building a framework for 'What's Next'?.

In conversations with others, and in trying to listen to myself, I kept finding myself called back to writing and to this blog. It's where I carved out my 'what's next' after corporate. Where I connected with others and created the kernel of my work as a speaker and writer. Where I didn't have to be 'professional and polished'. Just myself.

So if, like me, you're wondering "What's Next", I'm inviting you to come back to the blog, hang out and see if we can't find some more Reasons to be Cheerful as we face in to our fifties. And if you like it, tell a friend - god knows we could all use one!

Love

Toni xx

Soundtrack: Justify My Love - Madonna