As July closes, I'm struck by what this month actually was: the point where I fully stepped into my reinvention and embraced my founder journey. It's also the halfway mark of the year, which feels fitting, because honestly, this has been a month of revelations.
I've spent it sifting through all the different ideas I have. A creative ADHD mind means I'm not afraid of the blank page — I'm motivated by it. When in doubt, I create. But I've also had to admit something less comfortable: creativity is, for me, a trauma response. Writing is a trauma response. When I'm happy and settled, my creativity is still a superpower, but it slows down a little, because my mind isn't using it to distract from grief or unrest. So the sheer level of creativity and productivity I've hit this month tells me something — I'm having a trauma response to a situation that's causing me real grief.
And that ties into the bigger shift: what got me here won't get me there. I've always loved testing new ways of working, and this month made clear just how fundamentally my professional direction is changing.
Lately I've been talking to a lot of professionals who are transitioning out of roles and organisations, and they feel lost. They're carrying a grief that doesn't have anywhere to go, because most people only expect grief to show up around personal loss, not professional loss. But in a system where long hours are normal, where burnout is common, where people spend more time with colleagues than with their own families — of course the lines blur. When we talk about identity, we usually default to demographic descriptors and classifications. Yet so many of us are actually defined by our profession and our job title. We have to rethink that.
A story about opportunity cost
Two years ago, I did a photo shoot for a book and podcast project. I loved it — thinking through the shots, the images I wanted to capture, the messages I wanted the photos to convey. Hours of posing, changing, touching up makeup, shifting position almost imperceptibly, using props and then discarding them, all to get a handful of great shots. It might have annoyed some people. It energised me. I wanted to do it again.
So, this week, when the opportunity to do a test shoot for some modelling work came up, I jumped at it. I was excited to confirm the time, to start thinking through the perfect outfits.
Then I stopped.
I realised that for everything I do, there's an opportunity cost. That's just how life works, but as I build out my new ventures, weighing that cost feels more critical and more urgent than it used to. A trip to East London, 90 minutes each way, plus a three-hour session — that's effectively a whole day of focus gone. Despite my interest and my passion for it, I had to acknowledge the reality: it isn't just about time; it's about the real financial cost of every moment of my time.
I talked it through with a friend, a successful businesswoman who gives me advice from a founder's perspective and holds me accountable. She understood exactly why I cancelled the shoot to focus on my business plan and the multiple projects I'm currently building.
And in that moment, something clarified for me: I have different businesses and projects, each with its own distinct identity, but they're all shaped by who I am — my identity, my values, both personal and professional.
The three values
Values alignment has been a huge part of my work over the past few years, as I've evolved out of the Diversity, Equity and Inclusion space. And the one thing I've learned is this: your values guide every decision, and when you're unsure, when you're standing at a crossroads, it's your values that light the way.
This month I refocused and reclarified the values showing up for me, and I want to share three words I've developed into a filter for my business.
1.Respect. I don't have to like you, but respect is something I centre in every interaction now — and it's so much more than attitude or behaviour. It's respect for time, respect for effort, respect for perspective.
2.Reciprocity. As I weigh the opportunity cost of my time, including the very real impact a packed diary has on my family and my own health and wellbeing, I've become conscious of relationships that don't feel reciprocal. People often mistake reciprocity for transaction, but they're not the same thing. When I need help from someone, I also want to know how I can be of service to them. It makes a difference, and I mean it every time I ask how I can help.
3.Relationship. What relationship do I have with this person? What relationship am I trying to build? How do I nurture something positive? Being transactional has never interested me.
That's July: reinvention, grief I'm only now naming, a shoot I said no to, and three words that are becoming my compass.
I'm Roianne Nedd, a leadership advisor, organisational culture consultant, keynote speaker, author and fractional Chief People Officer. I help leaders and organisations build healthier cultures, navigate change with confidence and create workplaces where people and performance can thrive together. If you’d like to follow my work, I’d love to stay connected: Join my community here.