I sometimes think of my childhood as an exercise in performance. Later in life, I trained in theatre and acting – but long before that, I had already learned how to wear a mask.
I grew up splitting my time between army barracks in lots of different countries – where my parents were living – and boarding school: two environments shaped by rules, routine and a very clear idea of what “normal” looked like.
Though I knew I was gay from a young age, I also knew that difference was not welcome, so I found ways to fit in. Like most other queer people, I learned fast how to pretend to be straight just to get through each day. And I hated it.
Those early experiences have stayed with me, not just as a memory, but as a driver. They’ve shaped how I see the world and how I lead today.
When difference is treated as a problem
I was head boy at school and had daily meetings early each morning with my headmaster. After I came out as gay, aged 17, he never spoke to me again. No explanation. Just silence.
That moment taught me something important about leadership. Leadership is not just about what you say and do to keep things comfortable, as they’ve always been. It is about what you do when someone challenges your expectations. Do you step back, or do you lean in? I want to lead in a way that creates space, not shuts it down. I want to lead and to learn.
Too often, I feel we talk about difference in cautious terms, as something to accommodate or manage. But difference is not a problem to solve, it is a strength to build from.
Early in my career, I worked at the NSPCC, alongside a group of brilliant Black women who were unapologetic in their belief that difference mattered. On the wall was a poster that said: “Different is good.”
I still think about that poster and those powerful women who had such an impact on me. Different is good. That is a complete sentence.
Activism as a way of being
My early experiences of homophobia pushed me towards the gay civil rights movement – a movement that challenges systems, question assumptions and that refuses to accept that exclusion is inevitable. It aligns very closely with the disability rights movement in that way.
Throughout my career, I have been lucky to meet disabled people who have challenged the way the world sees them, navigated systems that were not built with them in mind and pushed back against a medical model of disability that reduces their identity to a diagnosis. To them being the problem.
From them, I learnt about the social model of disability (the belief that people are disabled by barriers in society, not by their condition). That shift in thinking is profound. It moves the focus away from “fixing” individuals and towards changing the world around us and the decisions we all make, particularly as leaders.
It also became personal. I am disabled – I am deaf. And I have had a difficult journey getting the right support. For years, I went through hundreds of ear, nose and throat (ENT) and audiology appointments, countless delays and many moments where I was not listened to or understood. I still do.
By the time I finally got hearing aids, luckily I already had the social model language and cultural understanding that disabled people had shared with me. I could see my own experience not as a personal failing, but as part of a wider system that was not working as it should.
The fact is, disabled people face so many barriers in life. Public services – like social care and the special educational needs and disability (SEND) system – are not working. Disabled people contend with extra costs, negative attitudes and public misconceptions day in and day out. It’s exhausting.
So, when I think about the role of a charity like Sense, I think about change. Not small, incremental change, but meaningful, structural change. Leading a charity with this potential is a privilege, but it comes with a huge amount of responsibility.
Creating space for something better
My first year at Sense has been challenging and brilliant. I’m so proud of our work, our purpose and our values. And I want us to push for better, to encourage everyone at Sense to ask difficult questions like: who is in the room? And who is not? Who are we designing this for? And who might we be excluding without realising?
Our new strategy and three-year plan – Transforming Sense, together – has been shaped by the voices of more than 3,000 people connected to Sense. One of the strongest themes that came through was the need for deeper co-production with disabled people with complex needs and their families.
I think back to my time in drama school, where my focus was on the relationship between the actor and the audience. We talked a lot about power and communication – who is doing what, to whom, and why. I want the people we support at Sense to be the actors, directors and producers, not the audience – they’re the leaders, it’s their stage, their script, their theatre.
That’s why we’re creating a new co-production function at Sense to shift power more towards the people we support. Other highlights from our ambitious strategy include significant investment in service transformation, and a greater focus on driving social change through the evidence and insight we can draw from our frontline services.
I am optimistic about the future. Disabled people need and deserve big change, and our new strategy gives us the opportunity to be part of that change. I am so proud of Sense and I want many other people to proud of us too and to see us as a trusted friend – supportive, but willing to challenge because you trust us.
For me, it all comes back to that early experience of wearing a costume that didn’t fit. Leadership, at its best, should create space for people to be themselves, and to celebrate difference. That is the kind of leadership I am trying to practise. And I believe it is the kind of leadership our sector needs.
