Something unexpected has happened since I started writing this multi-part memoir: friends, former colleagues and complete strangers have reached out to say it’s struck a chord. Many of these people have been through situations similar to the one I’m going through now. But, as it turns out, in the polished world of corporate careers, the messier truths tend not to see the light of day.
When I left my last role and relocated back to London, my walking speed rivalled an Uber Eats delivery rider. But that’s not because I was getting anywhere, it was simply muscle memory – a bad habit of decades of running to the next meeting, the next crisis or the next flight. I had to retrain my body, not to lose momentum, but to redirect it.
I quickly realised that the drive that once powered my career success could power something completely different. For me, that was a heady mix of spirituality, fitness and writing. And, as I wrote, I found that telling my own story wasn’t self-indulgence – it was reconnaissance. It gave me the time to think about what I really wanted for myself and my next role.
Take time to find the right CEO partner
HR chiefs are often involuntarily paired with a CEO and some intellectual sparring ensues. Done well, it’s a true double act – think Strictly Come Dancing, but with more board meetings and fewer sequins. Apart from one notable exception (another memoir, another day!), I’ve worked with some world-class CEOs – self-aware humans who engaged in proper, symbiotic and authentic partnerships. I missed that.
The best ones valued me like a co-pilot. We plotted routes, argued about speed, and, crucially, I felt empowered to say, “Captain, if we keep flying into that storm, we’re going to lose an engine.” The less good ones… well, they liked the idea of values, culture and behaviours, so long as it didn’t require them to actually change course.
And here’s the thing – my experience isn’t unique. Nearly two-thirds of CHROs globally say their organisation’s CEO turns to them for strategic advice on matters beyond workforce and culture, according to a survey by the consultancy Korn Ferry. What’s more, over 60% of people chiefs are running transformation programmes that touch the whole business. The modern CHRO isn’t just a passenger on the flight; they’re in the cockpit.
Over the past year, however, as I visited many C-suites – sometimes for promising roles, sometimes for warm introductions – I’ve noticed a pattern: although CEOs often profess to want a CHRO who drives strategy, brings disruption and challenges groupthink, scratch the surface and you’ll find that many really just want a very expensive ‘agree-o-meter’. They want someone who will nod politely and avoid making the room uncomfortable. Incidentally, that discomfort is often where leadership change happens. Despite CHROs’ involvement in leading transformation initiatives, the same Korn Ferry survey found that nearly a third of CHROs believe their leadership team isn’t aligned on the overall transformation agenda.
Real partnerships are messy. They fail or succeed on the conversations that occur outside of the meeting room. CHROs must be able to express their concerns to the CEO and feel confident that those concerns will be addressed. And CEOs must consult their people-chief partners before decisions are made, rather than calling them in to tidy up the mess. Both sides must feel comfortable disagreeing in the meeting room, in front of witnesses, because they understand that the stakes are bigger than their egos.
Without that kind of partnership, C-suites won’t be building a business; they’ll just be playing corporate theatre and praying that the audience doesn’t notice that the script’s been recycled since 2009.
Control the ‘in-between time’
While I’ve been waiting for the right role, the right leader or the right spark, the magic has been happening in the margins – sitting in reception areas, with carpets older than the company, talking to office managers and executive assistants; while sitting through informal coffee meetups; during off-hand chats with the chief of staff who is quiet but has a sharper mind than anyone on the ninth floor. I am eternally grateful for the mental space to enjoy these interactions instead of hurrying to the next agenda item.
When you first leave a big corporate role, everyone talks about “finding your next thing”. Sounds simple, but, before you find it, you have to survive the ‘in-between time’. But, more than survive it, you have to shape it into something meaningful – an opportunity to understand what you really want from work. You must resist the corporate muscle memory that says “Go. Fast. Now.” And, instead, let curiosity, creativity and connection seep into your days.
But the wait can be maddening. Your inner critic taps its watch. You start wondering when “between roles” becomes “out of circulation”. And that’s when people grab the wrong job, the wrong leader, the wrong fit – simply because, in that space, the white noise feels too loud.
But, the truth is, this is the space where you figure out who you are now. After years of focusing on progression, always in an upward trajectory – the in-between time can be a truly safe space without the hefty agenda, the corporate blood pressure and the constant rushing. Skip that and you risk showing up to your next chapter half-formed and half-sure.
My take? Live the interval with meaning. Meet people without a transactional agenda. Explore your creativity without worrying about whether it’s “productive”. And find humour in the absurdities of the job hunt (like being asked in interviews to “give an example of influencing upwards” as though you hadn’t spent years doing exactly that). These things keep you upright. They make the waiting less about anxiety and more about readiness.
Readiness is where the real power lies. When the right opportunity lands, you’re not running toward it just because it’s there – you’re choosing it because it’s worth the space it will take up in your life. And that, to me, feels like progress.
Something unexpected has happened since I started writing this multi-part memoir: friends, former colleagues and complete strangers have reached out to say it’s struck a chord. Many of these people have been through situations similar to the one I'm going through now. But, as it turns out, in the polished world of corporate careers, the messier truths tend not to see the light of day.
When I left my last role and relocated back to London, my walking speed rivalled an Uber Eats delivery rider. But that's not because I was getting anywhere, it was simply muscle memory – a bad habit of decades of running to the next meeting, the next crisis or the next flight. I had to retrain my body, not to lose momentum, but to redirect it.
I quickly realised that the drive that once powered my career success could power something completely different. For me, that was a heady mix of spirituality, fitness and writing. And, as I wrote, I found that telling my own story wasn’t self-indulgence – it was reconnaissance. It gave me the time to think about what I really wanted for myself and my next role.
