What Is Mine To Do?

What began as a five-month freelance interlude unexpectedly blossomed into a transformative five-year adventure. Here’s a few things I noticed along the way and the questions I’m carrying as I step into a new chapter of organisational leadership.

Miniature astronauts by Nong on Unsplash

After stepping away from leading the Jo Cox Foundation in 2018, I found myself at a crossroads. That chapter of my life had been defined by profound grief, moments of triumph as I channeled collective loss for Jo into action, the lows of realising no action could ever replace what was lost, and a personal health scare. I wanted to emerge from this chapter with clarity, determination, and a new job that I could neatly tell people was my Next Big Thing. Many peers and friends — people I love and admire — encouraged me to pursue a prominent role in the loneliness sector. It seemed like the logical next step, given my work in Jo’s memory and my commitment to that sector. So that’s what I set out to do: freelance for a few months while waiting for what I considered my “dream job” in the sector.

Fast forward five years, and I’ve taken what might seem like an unconventional path. I am stepping into the role of Chief Deceleration Officer at The Decelerator, an organisation I have co-founded with Louise Armstrong. We are on a mission to to transform how civil society navigates endings — whether it’s closure, mergers, leadership transitions, or program terminations — amidst times of profound change, loss, and transition. It’s a niche calling, often met with polite enthusiasm or outright discomfort. “Great idea,” people say, “but I hope you never come near me or my organisation.” It’s a risk — one that could leave me completely unemployable if we fail to shift at least some of the narrative and expectations around these critical moments.

But after five years of exploring this work, I’m convinced it’s a risk worth taking. Civil society is well positioned to reimagine and model what thoughtful, impactful endings can look like. And, in many ways, it has no choice. The foundations upon which it was built — its business models, ways of working, and presumed stability — are faltering around us. The Decelerator exists because endings are inevitable, but bad endings don’t have to be. With care, intention, and courage, civil society has the power to transform how we approach endings and transitions.

The Decelerator feels like the culmination of everything that drives me. It’s a space where relationships, care, and pragmatism can be combined to challenge norms and drive meaningful change. It enables me and the brilliant team I work with to provide hands-on support while addressing the systemic issues that lead to harmful or inequitable endings. It’s also an opportunity to do one of the things I love most: lead a small, creative, and dedicated team, deeply rooted in a growing movement of others who share our convictions and purpose. For perhaps the first time, I feel that the change I’m aspiring to create in the world is aligned with the way I’m working to achieve it.

Most of all, this work fulfils me — not just as something the world needs, but as something I need. Inspired by the writing and leadership of Elizabeth Oldfield, I’ve got a rising sense that this work is helping me become the person I long to be: compassionate, practical, connected, and active in a world marked by profound change, impending loss, and the potential for reimagining.

Things I’d Have Told Myself Five Years Ago

Reflecting on the past five years, there are a few things I wish I could have shared with myself as I set out as a freelancer, on the cusp of navigating a major transition:

1. Invest In Relationships
   Relationships are a major building block of everything good and useful. They were key to my freelancing practice, central to how we’re building The Decelerator’s internal culture, and vital to the way we support organisations. As David Robinson from The Relationships Project wisely says, “If you get the relationships right, everything else follows.” This principle has guided me in every step of my journey, and continues to do so.
2. Align Means And Ends
   Freelancing gave me the space to refine my practice — not just in terms of what I want to change in the world, but also how I show up in it. I’m drawn to framing this work through the lens of healing. As Prentis Hemphill puts it: “Healing and social change are not, in fact, unrelated.” They continue, “To ask if we can heal at the same time that we engage social change is, to me, like asking if we can make music or eat food.” Healing, they remind us, isn’t simply about fixing what’s broken; it’s a necessary part of building something new. I’ve come to understand that meaningful change in the world demands deep inner work. We can’t offer to others — or to society — what we haven’t first nurtured and cultivated the capacity within ourselves.
3. Build What You Need
   In November 2020, I was feeling isolated. As a freelancer living alone, I missed the camaraderie and collaboration of team life. So, I built what I needed: Freelancers Get Sh*t Done. What began as a handful of individuals hanging out in Slack is now a thriving community of nearly 2,000 members. It’s become somewhere for freelancers to find work, support one another, and form useful and meaningful connections. Building something for yourself can often end up serving others in unexpected and impactful ways.
4. Ask: What Is Mine To Do?
   With Dougald Hine’s words — “We’re in a time of endings” — ringing in my ears, I found myself slowly turning to Margaret Wheatley’s essential question: “What is mine to do?” Freelancing gave me the space to experiment and reflect on what my unique contribution could be. It deepened my appreciation for the idea that being part of a larger movement requires clarity about my individual role within it.
5. Tune Into Your Gut
   In 2022, I was offered roles in the loneliness sector that seemed like the opportunities I’d been waiting for. On paper, they were everything I’d aspired to. Recruiters showered me with compliments about being the ideal candidate, and my ego basked in the validation. It all seemed like the logical next step. But something deeper — my gut, supported by the wise counsel of trusted friends — gently pointed in another direction. The work around endings was gaining momentum, evolving into something uniquely aligned with my skills and experiences. And the wider world was starting to recognise its necessity. Despite the allure of those roles, they didn’t feel right on many levels. So, I chose not to pursue them — a decision that remains one of the most empowering I’ve ever made. Sometimes, your instincts know better than logic or external praise. In the months that followed, I was able to step away from work for a Churchill Fellowship, giving me the space to reflect and refocus. Around that time, funders began approaching Louise and I, offering support to transform the practice we had built as freelancers into a pilot organisation dedicated to rethinking endings.

Questions for the Road Ahead

As I step back into the role of CEO — a position that once left me drained, impacted my health, and strained my relationships — I’m approaching it with the hopeful, “fresh notepad” optimism that often accompanies the start of a new chapter. This time, I’m determined to do things differently, while fully acknowledging that I will make mistakes and inevitably mess a few things up along the way. I’m ready to be held accountable when I do.

A cornerstone of this journey is the partnership I share with my Co-Founder, Louise Armstrong. Louise operates at 20,000 feet, dedicating one or two days a month to our venture alongside her other commitments. Meanwhile, I am deep in the forest, working four days a week on the ground. From these different vantage points, we are weaving together a shared vision. This intentional collaboration is designed to counter the loneliness and isolation we’ve both encountered in other leadership roles. Shoulder to shoulder with Louise, I’m anchoring myself in a set of guiding questions that will hold me accountable as I navigate this path — together with her, our team, and the wider network of partners and movements we’re part of.

1. How do I stay connected to my purpose and sustain my energy and passion for this mission over the long haul?
2. What parameters am I putting in place for my work, and what support systems do I need to remain sustainable amidst the challenges?
3. How can I listen to my body’s signals — my sleep patterns, teeth grinding, readiness for laughter — and stay attuned to my reserves and strength?
4. Am I leading in alignment with The Decelerator’s values, and how can I deepen my practice as a leader?
5. How do I cultivate a team culture that balances care, creativity, pragmatism, ambition, and effectiveness?
6. What am I learning about myself through this work, and how is it shaping the person I long to be?

The Decelerator has the rare advantage of five years of modest funding — a foundation that allows us to focus deeply on our mission, and allows me a good stretch to focus on my role. Amidst the beauty and complexity of both the work we do and the world we navigate, The Decelerator feels like the work I’m meant to be doing. I leap out of bed most mornings, driven by a fierce belief in our mission, a determination to confront the inequities caused by the status quo’s approaches to endings, and delight at the prospect of working alongside the team, nestled within the wider movement. This work challenges me, teaches me, and transforms me every single week. It’s helping me become the person I want to be, and right now, I can’t imagine doing anything else.