And no, it’s not because you’re lazy, or ungrateful. And no, you don’t need a better morning routine, a colour-coded planner, or some wellness girlie telling you to drink lemon water and talk positive affirmations in front of the mirror at 6am.

Your brain is just not a neutral record keeper.

It remembers the awkward meeting. The email you didn’t send. The thing you said weirdly. The task still sitting there, blinking at you from the to-do list like a tiny accusation.

But the five things you did finish? The decision you finally made? The conversation you handled better than you would have six months ago?

Gone.

Deleted from the system.

I built My Weekly Wins because I kept seeing this happen with smart people. People with good jobs, big brains, full calendars, too many tabs open, and a quiet sense that they were somehow still not doing enough.

They’d arrive at the end of the week and say some version of: ‘I don’t even know what I did this week’ or ‘I’m just not good enough’.

And then we’d unpack it.

They’d made a difficult decision. Had the conversation. Protected their time. Asked for what they needed. Moved something forward. Did the boring invisible work that keeps everything from collapsing.

Not nothing, then.
Just unrecorded.
And unrecorded progress has a way of disappearing.

This is the bit I find both fascinating and rude: your memory is not a fair witness. It does not sit there like a kind little archivist, carefully filing away evidence of your competence.

It is biased.
Selective.
Dramatic.
Often catastrophically bad at remembering the very things you most need to remember when you’re tired, doubting yourself, or wondering if you’re secretly a bit shit.

There’s research behind this, obviously, because I like my emotional damage peer-reviewed.

First: negativity bias.

Your brain tends to register setbacks, criticism, and mistakes more strongly than wins. Useful if you’re trying to avoid being eaten by a tiger. Less useful if you’re just trying to survive a weekday with Slack, deadlines, bills, ageing parents, weird hormones, capitalism, and one passive-aggressive email from someone called Brian.

In modern work, one difficult conversation can outweigh five things that went well. One tiny piece of criticism can erase a whole week of progress. One unfinished task can make you feel like the entire week was a write-off.

It’s a brain thing, unfortunately. Why can’t we be positive-bias instead?

Annoying, but workable.

Second: the progress principle.

Harvard researcher Teresa Amabile studied thousands of diary entries from workers across organisations and found that one of the biggest drivers of motivation and performance was not some grand cinematic breakthrough. It was perceived progress.

Small wins. Forward movement. The feeling of: something moved.

Not everything. Not the whole mountain. Just something.

And that matters, because most real progress is deeply unsexy. It looks like sending the follow-up. Asking the question. Making the appointment. Having THE awkward conversation. Not spiralling for three hours. Saying no without writing a legal defence. Choosing the less performative option. Taking the next step even though you still feel messy.

Tiny, yes. But not meaningless.

Third: self-efficacy.

Which is basically your belief that you can handle things. Not in an inspirational quote way. In an evidence-based, ‘I have done hard things before and therefore I may not actually die from this’ way.

Bandura’s work on self-efficacy shows that confidence is built largely through mastery experiences. Proof. Evidence. The record of having done something before.

But here’s the problem.

If you don’t record the evidence, your brain may not retrieve it when you need it. So when you hit a difficult stretch, you don’t just feel tired. You feel empty. As if you’ve never done anything. As if you have no proof. As if every hard thing is being faced by a brand new version of you with no history, no receipts, no previous wins.

That’s why I built My Weekly Wins.

Not as another productivity app. Ew, no.

We have enough dashboards. Enough streaks. Enough apps trying to turn basic human functioning into a competitive sport.

I didn’t want another place to optimise myself. I wanted a place to remember myself accurately.

My Weekly Wins is simple. It takes you 20 seconds. You set an email reminders, it sends you an email, you log what happened. The small thing. The boring thing. The brave thing. The thing you’d otherwise dismiss because it didn’t come with applause, a promotion, or someone saying, ‘Wow, you’re incredible, please take the rest of the week off.’

Then, at the end of the week, it reflects it back. Honestly. A little… annoyingly. Like a good friend who refuses to let you say, ‘I did nothing,’ when you absolutely did not do nothing.

Because sometimes what you need is not motivation.

Sometimes what you need is evidence.

A record.

A small file of receipts that says: you moved. You tried. You handled it. You kept going. You are not starting from zero every Monday.

I built this for coaching clients because I kept watching people live without an evidence file for their own competence.

And I built it for myself because, annoyingly, I am one of them.

My brain lies too.

So now I make it keep receipts.

Try it out here! Lemme know what you think.

At some point he said: ‘I just don’t know what my niche is.’

I laughed. Because I’ve said that sentence so many times it’s lost all meaning.

My ‘niche’ has been: women in tech. Then men and women in tech. Then diverse individuals in tech. Then a finance client landed. Then founders. Then people in transition, senior ICs, leaders.

So many pivots. I stopped counting.

But the world and the internet tells you the same thing over and over:

Niche down. The smaller the better. If you’re selling to everyone, you’re selling to no one.

The people teaching you how to find your niche have already found theirs. Their niche is teaching you how to find a niche. You’re hearing from the 1% who made it, not the thousands who niched themselves into a corner and disappeared quietly.

Nobody writes a newsletter about that.

Also – what does niche even mean? The type of person? The industry? The problem you solve? Ask five coaches and you’ll get six answers. The word is everywhere. The definition is nowhere.

So here’s what I’ve actually learned. Not from a course, but from doing it.

Motion first, clarity second.
Your niche finds you if you keep moving. It doesn’t come from a whiteboard. It emerges from the work, the clients, the conversations that light you up versus the ones that hollow you out.

Say yes more than the advice tells you to.
Every unexpected client teaches you something. My best ideas have never come from planning. They’ve come from coffee. From someone saying something offhand that unlocks everything. You can’t niche your way into something you haven’t discovered yet.

Visibility is the actual work.
Finding clients is hard. Being visible is hard. Putting yourself out there is genuinely exposing. The niche question is sometimes just a way to delay that discomfort. Once I figure out my niche, then I’ll start. I’ve said it. I recognise it now.

Begin anyway. Refine as you go.

The niche advice isn’t wrong. It’s incomplete. And it’s sold by people who no longer need it – who hit seven figures and now sell you the framework, the course, the magic formula for how they got there.

That’s their niche, by the way. Selling you yours.

Keep moving. Keep talking to people. Keep saying yes to things that feel right even when they don’t fit the strategy.

That’s apparently my niche. Figuring it out – out loud.

P.S. This is Emi. She injured her feet this week. She’s doing okay. She’s been to a vet. She wanted to wish you a great weekend. Watch your step. 🐾

I’d sit in a room, mostly men. Some experienced, some not. Doesn’t matter. We’d be circling a decision and I’d know exactly what should happen next.

My chest would tighten. I’d rehearse the sentence in my head. Edit it. Soften it. Perfect it.

And then someone else would speak. Not with the better idea. Just with an idea.

Meeting moves on. I stay quiet.

Afterwards I’d spiral. Maybe I’m not cut out for this. Maybe I’m not decisive. Maybe I’m a fraud. It felt like a confidence problem.

But it wasn’t.

It was permission.

Three things I wish I knew

1. No one is going to invite you in. There is no tap on the shoulder that says, ‘Go ahead, you’re ready.’ Rooms reward momentum. Silence reads as uncertainty. If you can see the move, say the move.

2. Waiting protects your ego. If you don’t speak, you never risk being wrong. Untested brilliance feels safer than visible risk. But you don’t get influence without exposure. Permission is often just fear. Fear of being visible. Or being wrong.

3. The story after silence is the real damage. The meeting isn’t what hurts. It’s the narrative: I’m behind, I’m not good enough, I’m a fraud. One quiet moment becomes an identity. That’s expensive.

The shift for me wasn’t confidence training. It was deciding to speak before I felt safe. My voice would be slightly shaky, sentence not perfectly formed. But I’d still say it.

The difference between me and the loudest person in the room wasn’t talent. It was tolerance for discomfort.

If you already know what you think – and you’re still waiting.

It’s not confidence. It’s permission. And permission is a trap.

How many more meetings are you going to leave thinking I should have said that before you realise no one is coming to rescue you?

P.S. This is Kitty. Yes, she’s a dog. Yes, her name is CAT. She wanted you to see her moon sticker. Very chic.

And if you’re a leader reading this, I’m not asking to critique. I’m asking because I’ve been on both sides of this.

I keep hearing leaders say the same thing: ‘We need more ownership.’ Almost every big tech company lists ownership as a core value. Amazon, Shopify, Stripe, Netflix.

But what does ownership actually mean? Usually this:

People should care more, push harder, think ahead, go above and beyond. Which sounds reasonable, until you watch how work actually gets done.

In most teams, ownership quietly ends where the task ends.

Jira moves to Done. The feature ships. The box gets ticked. And the bigger questions stay untouched.

Did this actually solve the problem? Is this still the right thing to be building? How does this connect to the wider product and real customer pain?

Most people see these gaps. They just don’t name them.

And I understand why.

I’ve worked in companies where the moment you suggested something beyond your remit, it was questioned publicly. Where raising an issue was framed as ‘ugh, she’s just creating more work’. Where ownership looked great on the values slide, but risky in the room.

You learn fast in those environments. So you stay in your lane. Stop thinking out loud.

I’ve also worked in companies that were the opposite. Where judgement was trusted. Where noticing something off was expected, not punished.

I’ve also been a leader.

And I’ll say this plainly: creating an environment where psychological safety is genuinely high is fucking hard.

You’re under pressure. You’re accountable for outcomes. You’re moving fast with incomplete information. You don’t always get it right.

Sometimes you question something too quickly. Sometimes you shut something down without meaning to. Sometimes your ‘thinking out loud’ lands like a verdict.

None of this makes you a bad leader. But it does teach your team what’s safe.

This is the part I think we miss.

Ownership is a system outcome.

Take a PM, a designer, or an engineer who executes their work perfectly. Clean delivery. Stakeholders happy.

But they don’t raise the uncomfortable observation. They don’t connect what they’re building to what competitors just shipped. They notice misalignment, but decide it’s ‘not their call’.

On paper, they’re high-performing. In reality, their thinking is contained.

That’s not ownership. That’s task completion.

Real ownership starts when someone holds the outcome. When their thinking doesn’t stop at instructions. When they’re willing to be associated with the decision, not just the delivery.

And that’s where ownership gets uncomfortable.

Because ownership creates exposure.

You can be wrong. You can be visible. You can overstep. You can be blamed.

So people do the rational thing. They stay inside the Jira ticket.

Here’s the controversial bit.

Most companies don’t actually want ownership. They want obedience with some initiative.

They want people to move fast, but not question direction. Take responsibility, but not real authority. Care deeply, but not create friction.

That’s not ownership.

If your team isn’t taking ownership, assume they learned not to. Not because they’re lazy. Not because they don’t care. But because they’re paying attention to what gets rewarded or corrected.

You don’t demand ownership. You don’t give speeches about ‘stepping up’.

You make decision rights explicit. You let people be wrong without public correction. You pause before solving the problem yourself. You reward judgement, not just clean delivery. You notice where responsibility exists without real authority.

That’s how ownership actually grows.

Where does ownership really stop in your team? And what have you unintentionally taught people not to own?

If that question makes you uncomfortable, you’re probably looking at the real work.

If this resonates and you want to think through what ownership could actually look like in your team – I’m open to a conversation.

Not hustle. Not motivation. Not discipline.

Intention as in: where do I choose to place my attention, time, and energy.

December is when founders and execs lose momentum. Not because we’re lazy, but because we mistake activity for progress.

We’re in meetings that feel urgent but change nothing. Wrapping loose ends that were never priorities. ‘Quick’ conversations that aren’t quick. Planning Q1 while still finishing Q4.

I’ll be honest – I don’t love December. Christmas gives me anxiety. (Okay, I quite like getting presents.)

December turns everyone into headless chickens. Work parties. Friends to see. Family logistics. Gift shopping. I do most of my shopping on Amazon because town is crowded with slow walkers who have no sense of personal space. I do like pretty Christmassy towns – but only from the passenger seat.

Here’s what gets me: nothing about December feels intentional.

We spend December being busy. Responsive. Available. Then January hits and we wonder why we have no momentum.

Momentum doesn’t come from activity. It comes from compounding attention in one direction.

Three things I do instead

1. Fewer active priorities. I’m not carrying everything into December. Some things can stay appealing without staying active. If it’s not moving the needle, it’s on pause.

2. One place where my attention compounds. Each week, I choose a single through-line that gets my best energy. Not the loudest or most urgent thing. The thing that builds.

3. A daily check-in that isn’t about productivity. At the end of the day I ask: did my attention go where I intended, or where December pulled it?

It’s not about doing less. It’s about doing things on purpose. With intention.

If you’re building something and feeling oddly tired despite not ‘doing that much’ – this might be why.

What’s the one thing that deserves your compounding attention this month? Not the thing screaming loudest. The thing that matters most.

Sound familiar?

I hear this from founders and leaders who are smart, experienced, impressive – both on paper and in person.

And yet, we underestimate ourselves in ways we don’t even notice.

We talk ourselves out of our own potential. That’s exactly how good ideas die. Quietly, in draft form.

The real reason this happens

What’s actually happening is boring and human: uncertainty = danger. Visibility = risk. New idea = potential embarrassment, failure, rejection, wasted time.

It’s our brains doing what brains do best: trying to protect us.

This is why even the most capable leaders think less of themselves than their track record justifies.

In the early days of my startup, the biggest blocker wasn’t the product. It was me. I thought pitching before perfection was somehow wrong. Anyone who’s built anything knows how backwards that is.

Oh, but the pressure. What if I fuck it up? You won’t. And even if you will – it’s not a big deal.

The hidden cost of underestimating yourself

Thinking less of yourself doesn’t just delay one idea. It changes how you lead:

You over-prepare instead of move. You polish instead of publish. You wait for certainty instead of creating it. You stay quiet in rooms where decisions are made. You confuse hesitation with strategy.

It might look like you’re being thoughtful, responsible, measured. But it’s simpler: a leader who doesn’t fully trust their own thinking.

Who’d you follow? The person with conviction behind a half-formed idea, or the person still second-guessing?

We both know the answer.

Underestimating yourself has a cost: slowed momentum, lack of visibility, and ideas that never got a chance.

The reframe that changes everything

Your confidence isn’t a prerequisite. Confidence is a result.

Leaders act before they feel completely ready – not recklessly, but decisively.

You don’t need 100% certainty. You don’t even need 80%. There’s a well-known leadership rule: if you have ~70% of information, move. Anything more – you’re stalling.

The minute you stop treating readiness as a requirement, momentum becomes available.

A 3-question tool to get your ideas out of draft

Before you delay, ask:

1. Am I pausing because the idea isn’t ready, or because I don’t feel ready? Those are not the same.

2. If I already trusted myself, what would I do next? Make it specific and immediate.

3. What’s the smallest visible version of this idea I can put into the world today? A rough draft, a message, a test, a conversation, a post.

Momentum comes from movement. And movement starts with visibility – even a tiny one.

The real reason ideas die

Most ideas fail because we hesitate:

Not yet. Not ready. Not good enough. Not the right moment.

So stop underestimating yourself. Start giving your ideas exposure to the real world, not just drafts and documents.

Small actions. Visible steps. Momentum.

I spoke to someone today who does ballet. Not for sport – for the mind. Because when you’re doing ballet, there’s nothing else you can think of. Every part of you is focused on your posture, muscles, balance, not falling over. It forces presence.

It reminded me of something I’ve done for years: coming up with things I’d love to try. And then immediately finding a reason not to. Too far, too late, too busy, too random. ‘I’ll suck at it’, ‘I’ll be tired’. Pick an excuse – I’ve used it.

So today, five minutes after that conversation, I signed up for a belly dancing class. Zero skill. But I’ll bring 100% craic.

And no, I didn’t suddenly become confident. I just realised I’d let these small ideas sit in draft for no good reason.

If this resonated – I coach founders, leaders, and senior ICs who are done second-guessing themselves. Work with me.

The beginning is always electric. Whether it’s a startup, a project, a side hustle, a coaching business, or a Loveable thing.

If you’re anything like me, you get a high from the excitement. You start telling people what you’re building. One conversation leads to the next, you get invited to events, calls, more conversations. That momentum feels so good and the universe is cheering you on.

But then, at some point, the hype fades. You’re sitting alone, staring at your screen. The invitations dry up. The conversations stop. And you’re left with the thing itself – the actual work – wondering what the hell you’re doing and why you thought this was a good idea in the first place.

Even now, as I’m rebuilding my coaching practice, I have days like that. I love coaching. I know this is the work I’m meant to do.

Right now, as I’m writing this, I’m sitting at my desk by a window overlooking the garden. The rain is dropping. Perfect working weather. Sounds so calm.

But my anxiety is through the roof. My mom is supposed to start chemo today. My friend is having surgery to remove a tumour in the same hospital. We’re probably going to lose on a house bid.

All of these things are just today.

And I’m also just trying to start my business again.

That’s when ‘why’ stops being theory – and becomes the one thing that keeps you together.

When I ran my startup, I never stopped to ask why me, why this, why now? I chased funding, features, visibility. And when things got hard, that lack of clarity nearly broke me.

Things will get hard. Things will get lonely and you’ll miss the ease of a corporate job and a monthly salary.

So if you’re building something new – a business, a startup, a new chapter – ask yourself:

Why this? Then ask why again. And again. Ask it fifty times.

Why you? Keep poking. What’s yours here? What’s the fire no one else has?

Why now? Why this moment? Not six months ago, not six months from now?

Ask till it stops sounding smart and starts feeling true. Because when the momentum fades and life gets messy, those answers will keep you going.

My why

Fairness.

It’s one of my core values. It followed me all my life. When I was little I refused to clear the table unless the boys did it too.

Now, I refuse to accept a system where women still have to work twice as hard for half the credit.

I get a fire in me when things are unfair – when brilliant people get overlooked because they don’t shout the loudest, or when founders are stretched to exhaustion just to be taken seriously.

Fairness to me is about power. Who has it. Who doesn’t. And how we build better systems to support it.

That’s my why. To make ambition fair again.

How to do your own ‘why’ (for real)

Here’s what it actually looks like when you dig:

Why coaching? Because the world isn’t fair – and coaching is how I help people take their power back.

Why this? Because fairness is one of my core values.

Okay, but why fairness? Because I’ve seen how easily good people get overlooked – not because they lack talent, but because they don’t fit the mould.

Why does that matter to you? Because I’ve been that person. Passed over, doubted, told to wait my turn.

Why does it still fire you up? Because I know how different life feels when people stop apologising and start owning their voice.

Why is it important to you? Because helping people take up space without apology restores something in me. It tells that younger part of me she belongs here too.

What does that give you? Peace. Every time someone owns their power, the girl in me finally gets to rest.

That’s the point. You don’t stop at the first ‘why.’ You dig until the answer hits something raw. Something that makes you go: ah, that’s it.

Because that’s the version that will keep you going when everything else gets hard.

Whether you’re building a company or rebuilding yourself, the process is the same – you need your why.

That’s it. That’s the work.

Now go ask your fifty whys.

If this resonated and you want to think through your own why – I’m open to a conversation.

But even with contacts and connections, the information is still so fragmented. You might spend three months just to understand the ecosystem, what exists, what you qualify for, and how to actually get started.

So here’s a cheat sheet I wish I had when I started.

👉 Download the full Startup Ireland Cheat Sheet here

🌱 Start with LEO (Local Enterprise Office)

Every county has one. If you’re just starting – pre-revenue, still figuring it out – go talk to them. They offer mentoring, training, and grants for early-stage founders. Some supports require you to be registered as a business, so check first.

👉 localenterprise.ie

🧠 Mentoring

LEO mentoring is simple: you fill out a form, tell them about your business, and they match you with someone.

My experience? Mixed.

A good mentor can be gold, but if you already have a strong network, you may get more value from your own circle. I leaned on friends in sales and business development – and that ended up helping me more.

💡 Feasibility Grant

If you’ve got an idea you want to test, LEO can co-fund early research – things like market validation, prototyping, or technical proof of concept.

They’ll cover up to 50% of costs (usually capped at €15K). It’s reimbursement only – you spend, then claim back – and you’ll need to show matching funds and a simple business plan.

They don’t cover your own time, only external costs. (When I was building my own product, they wouldn’t fund me, but if I’d hired a UX designer at €600/day, they’d cover half of that.)

🚀 Enterprise Ireland

If LEO is the front door, Enterprise Ireland is the big sibling. They focus on scalable, export-ready companies – ones with real growth potential.

The main programme you’ll hear about is HPSU (High Potential Startup) – aimed at founders who can scale quickly, hit €1M+ in sales, and create 10+ jobs.

👉 enterprise-ireland.com/en/supports/start-ups

There are plenty of other supports too – Priming and Trading Online Vouchers, each designed for different stages of your journey.

If you want the full breakdown – links, details, and how to actually apply – get it here:

👉 Download it here: newsletter.egle.coach

⚙️ Accelerators & Hubs

One of the main entry points is New Frontiers – Ireland’s national entrepreneurship programme.

Phase 1 helps you test your idea. Phase 2 gives you a €15K stipend.

Beyond that, look into Dogpatch Labs (Dublin), PorterShed (Galway), or Republic of Work (Cork). I’ve listed more regional hubs and accelerators in the full guide.

⚖️ My Two Cents on Ireland’s Startup Scene

In 2024, the government nearly shut down the NDRC – which caused uproar.

They later extended it to 2026, with plans for a new National Accelerator Platform that will expand to all sectors, not just tech.

Personally? I don’t love it.

Tech should stay the backbone of the ecosystem – it’s where the scale and global potential live. Open it too wide, and you risk diluting what makes Ireland’s startup scene powerful. Enterprise Ireland should practice what it preaches about product–market fit: you can’t be everything to everyone.

💬 Other Programmes Worth Checking Out

• Fierce – a pre-accelerator for women founders (based in Dogpatch).

• TechFoundHer – network + events for women in tech.

• Ignite (UCC) – startup incubator for graduates.

• LaunchBox (Trinity) – student accelerator with open events.

• AwakenHub – community for women founders across Ireland.

🧩 Final note

This list isn’t complete – it’s what I learned by doing, failing, and asking too many questions. Take what’s useful, leave what’s not. And if it saves you a few weekends of chaos, it’s done its job.

I’ve been there. The accelerators, the pitching, the grind.

Now I work with founders and leaders who want to build ambitious things without burning out or losing themselves in the noise. Because there’s more than one way to build something great.

Onwards.
Egle

If users were dropping off at checkout, you wouldn’t scream ‘I need a new job’ and delete the whole thing. But you also wouldn’t do nothing. You wouldn’t just watch it underperform – anxious, frustrated, knowing something’s off, but not sure what.

You’d test. You’d tweak. Analyse the data. Observe.
You’d figure out where the friction is – and design a better flow.
Test again.
Tweak again.

Why don’t we take the same approach with our careers? More often than not, we stay stuck in silent dread – joy quietly draining – because it pays well or sounds impressive. Because you're the first woman at the leadership table, and you should be grateful. You should feel good.

A career pivot isn’t a jump.
It’s a design problem.

If you feel unfulfilled in your work – if there’s that quiet feeling that something’s off – then something probably is.

The values are misaligned. The reward loop is missing. The constraints are too tight.

Treat your career like a design problem

In product design, we don’t just ask ‘what’s cool to build?’ You don’t ship something because it sounds good. You test. You tweak. You design within constraints.

• Is this desirable? Do users want it?

• Is this feasible? Can we actually build it with the time, tools and team we’ve got?

• Is this viable? Will it work long-term? Will people pay for it?

A good product has all three.
So does a good career.

In coaching, we look at three dimensions:

• Desirability.

What energises you? What lights you up?
What kind of work leaves you feeling proud, alive or deeply satisfied – even after a long day?
If you couldn’t fail, what would you be known for?
What are you curious about?

• Feasibility.

What’s realistic right now – financially, emotionally, logistically?
What resources, skills, or support do you already have? What would you need to build?
What does ‘safe enough to try’ look like?

• Viability.

What’s the value? What problems can you solve that others struggle with?
Where’s the world paying attention – and paying money?
What unique blend of experience, perspective or skill could become your USP?

Common career pivot pitfalls

1. Chasing feasibility over desire.

It pays well. I’m good at it. That should be enough. I should be grateful!
I told myself this for years.
But it’s not. Because your nervous system knows the difference between safety and fulfilment.

2. Ignoring viability.

I love this topic! I’ll quit and become a forest bathing instructor-slash-mushroom coach.
I’m all for reinvention. But passion isn’t enough.
Sustainable careers solve real problems. Someone has to care. And ideally, pay.

3. Skipping the MVP.

I quit. I’m out. Burn it all down. I’ll build something better.
Been there. (See: startup)
You don’t need to blow up your life.
You need a prototype.
A side project. A test offer. A little nudge in a new direction.
Start scrappy. Stay curious.

Start small: design your career like a product

You don’t need a master plan. You need a prototype.

Here are some ways to test your way forward:

• Say yes to a stretch project in a different domain.

• Shadow someone whose job you’re curious about.

• Run a skills audit: what energises you, vs what drains you?

• Write or speak publicly about a topic that lights you up.

• Take a course. Host a workshop. Join a meetup. Build something.

Design thinking is iterative. So is career clarity.
Start smaller than you think. Just start.

Your career isn’t a checkout problem to be abandoned. It's a flow to be redesigned.
Iterate. Test. Analyse data. Prototype.

Want to put this into action? I’ve created this free worksheet - download below.

Download free Career Design worksheet