Growing up in a large family with limited resources shaped my life—and ultimately, my work—in profound ways. As the eldest of six children, most of whom were raised by a single mother juggling multiple jobs, I learned early on how inequity isn’t about lacking drive or talent. It’s about lacking access: to resources, opportunities, and pathways. These foundational lessons have driven my journey from an inquisitive child starting a newspaper no one read, to a strategic coach supporting others to turn ideas into impact.

This story begins with The Daily Adam, a handwritten, photocopied community newspaper I created at six years old. It was filled with reports about our neighbourhood and family life (some might call it a perfect example of service journalism answering informational needs).

Nobody bought it of course (another industry premonition), but the project lit a spark in me. My mum said I was ahead of my time. As per usual, she wasn’t wrong.

Growing up in the Fens of Lincolnshire - bleak post-Thatcher rural Britain, where the gaps between privilege and poverty were stark - I began to notice the stories that weren’t being told. My own family’s story was one of resilience: parents working tirelessly to keep us afloat, siblings relying on each other for support, and a constant undercurrent of resourcefulness that kept everything moving.

At 11, I received a scholarship to attend a private school, where I was surrounded by extraordinary wealth for the first time. The contrast was stark. At home, money was tight, and every decision was weighed carefully. At school, my peers spoke casually about garden rooms, inherited connections, and future careers mapped out in front of them. The experience was eye-opening. I saw how wealth wasn’t just about possessions; it was a set of pathways—to power, opportunity, and influence—invisible to those who didn’t have them. Even as I benefited from the privilege of that scholarship, I became acutely aware of the systemic barriers that kept so many talented, driven people locked out.

This realisation stayed with me as I navigated university, where I studied post-colonial literature to better understand how systems of power shape narratives. After keeping myself afloat with multiple jobs, dealing with severe depression, and barely graduating, I taught autistic adults, inspired by my own brother, whose experiences opened my eyes to the gaps in support and understanding for neurodiverse people. From there, I worked on experimental art and media projects that interrogated power structures and explored ways to amplify unheard voices.

By 2011, my passion for storytelling (and cheap rent) had drawn me to Berlin and - ultimately - journalism, where I joined Sourcefabric, a newly-minted NGO developing open source tools for independent newsrooms. I led projects that supported marginalised communities: election monitoring in Mozambique, building radio networks in Serbia and Senegal, and helping local journalists share stories that mattered. These tools broke down traditional media gatekeepers and gave people the means to tell their stories, challenging inequity at its core.

At Storyful, a social media verification start-up, I witnessed another side of this dynamic. I joined in 2013, and we worked to amplify eyewitness voices while tackling the growing challenge of misinformation. Leading the product team, I helped develop tools that ensured those capturing history were credited and compensated. The company’s journey—scaling from a small team to a $25m acquisition by News Corp—taught me invaluable lessons about the intersection of growth, sustainability, and purpose. I saw how investment could create opportunities but also how it could shift priorities, sometimes away from the original mission.

Later, as Executive Director of the European Journalism Centre, I focused on systemic impact, overseeing the distribution of over $25m in funding to journalism organisations and launching initiatives like the Engaged Journalism Accelerator and a $3m Covid-19 Emergency Fund. I saw firsthand how targeted resources could transform under-resourced newsrooms, enabling them to innovate and thrive. But I also saw the barriers: the lack of start-up capital, the difficulty of sustaining long-term impact, and the systemic inequities that still silenced too many voices.

These experiences shaped my understanding of the power of coaching—not just as a way to support individuals but as a means to challenge systems. Coaching, at its heart, is about shifting power. It’s about helping people identify their unique strengths, navigate obstacles, and build pathways to their goals. For me, it’s also about equity: ensuring that those pathways are accessible, regardless of where someone starts.