Why trans inclusion matters to me

A life lived in two chapters

I spent the first five decades of my life knowing something was different but not quite having the language or the safety to name it. I remember having thoughts, feelings, a conflict, if you like, about my own sense of self, my gender — going back as far as childhood. Not dramatic moments, just a quiet, persistent sense that something didn't quite fit. I buried it under a career, a business, a life that looked, from the outside, completely successful.

Then, as I got to about mid-40s, that old midlife crisis thing kicked in, and all of this stuff that had been going on in my head for most of my life started manifesting in a more tangible way. There was more awareness, more access to knowledge, more people I could find who understood. I came out. I transitioned. I sold my IT business. And I sat on the end of my bed wondering what came next.

What came next was this: a passion for trans awareness, for inclusion, for belonging — and a conviction that I could use my story and my experience to make workplaces better for everyone.

What those years gave me

This experience over the last ten years has given me the ability to be more pragmatic about life, more pragmatic about other people. It's changed my outlook on acceptance and belongingness and inclusion and culture — on how I want to be treated, and how I believe every person deserves to be treated.

I've walked into rooms as a senior IT executive and as a transgender woman speaker. I know what it feels like to belong and what it feels like to be tolerated — and I know which of those I'd choose every time. I'd rather be excluded and know where I stand than be tolerated and feel invisible.

That experience is irreplaceable. No amount of training, research or good intentions gives you the same depth of understanding as having lived it. When I speak on a stage or sit in a workshop with your leadership team, I'm not relaying theory. I'm translating a human life — mine — into something your organisation can learn from.

Why the work matters beyond me

I want to be clear: I don't do this work solely for transgender people. I do it because I'm a great believer that the why should start about being a fantastic human being — creating environments, creating an ethos where people feel included. When we get that right, the output is positive people experiences for everyone: trans people, disabled colleagues, people of colour, neurodivergent individuals, carers, introverts, returners. Inclusion done well lifts the whole room.

If you're not consciously including, you are likely to be inadvertently, unconsciously excluding. That's not a moral failing — it's how systems work when they're not intentionally designed. My job is to help you see the design, and then redesign it together.

What I want for trans people at work

• Dignity, not debate. A trans colleague's identity is not a discussion topic. It is simply who they are. The energy an organisation spends on debate is energy taken away from inclusion.
• Practical support, not performative gestures. It's not necessarily about making me feel special — it's about not making me feel bullied, discriminated against, anxious or worried. Simple, consistent, human.
• Curiosity over fear. Most people aren't hostile — they're scared of getting it wrong. I tell organisations: that fear of getting it wrong should be your trigger to start learning, not your reason to stay silent.
• Allyship that holds. If you say nothing when you witness exclusion, you are effectively saying it's acceptable. With allyship, silence is not neutral — and holding the rope means staying when it's uncomfortable.

Why I'll never stop doing this work

There are days — and there are many of them right now — when the headlines are grim, the political environment is hostile and the progress feels fragile. I understand that weariness. But I keep coming back to something I said on a podcast not long ago: we should never drop the rope. Trans people, and the allies who stand with them, have to keep believing, keep trying, keep making sure we're not letting it slip.

In order to be loved, you have to be lovable. In order to be liked, you have to be likeable. In order to be respected, you have to be worthy of respect. And that starts with me — with how I show up, how I tell my story and how I hold the space for others to learn. That's what I bring to every keynote, every fireside chat, every conversation.

Where to go from here

If this resonates with you, I'd love to talk. You can explore the LGBTQIA+ inclusion and Pride topic page to see how I work with organisations on trans and LGBTQIA+ inclusion specifically. Read more of my thinking across the guides library, or hear these conversations explored on the Inclusion Bites podcast. And if you're ready to bring this work into your organisation, get in touch — a conversation costs nothing and almost always opens something up.