The Other Side of the System: What It Means to Be the Family, Not the Clinician

Episode 6: The Other Side of the System: What It Means to Be the Family, Not the Clinician

Caroline has spent her career inside systems. As a paramedic, as a leader, as someone who has always known how to navigate the complexity. But a recent and deeply personal experience inside a neonatal intensive care unit shifted her perspective in a way she didn't see coming.

This episode explores what happens when you find yourself on the other side of the system, not as the expert, but as the family member trying to make sense of information that feels bigger than you can hold.

It's a conversation about the power of translation. About what happens when clinical competence meets human fear, and the gap between those two things is never bridged. And about how every single touchpoint inside a system has the opportunity to either deepen confusion or dissolve it.

The human beyond the system isn't just the clinician who wants to be more. It's also the person who never chose to be in the system at all, and desperately needs someone to help them understand it.

A perspective shift worth sitting with.

The Through-line of it all

Episode 5: The Through-Line of It All

At first glance, Caroline's career looks like it doesn't add up. Paramedic. Nutritionist. Mindset coach. Human design practitioner. General manager of a disability support provider. But look closer and there's a single thread running through all of it — the human.

In this final episode of the introductory series, Caroline connects the dots across a career that was never about the industry or the system. It was always about creating the conditions for people to access the best of themselves — in their worst moments, in their biggest transitions, and in the systems they show up in every day.

She introduces the idea of the conscious contributor — someone who is intentionally thinking about how they show up and the impact they create — and shares where the podcast is headed from here. Interviews, stories, ideas and honest conversations about what it really means to be human inside the systems we work in.

If you've been here since episode one — thank you. Now the real conversations begin.

I Couldn't Stay But I Couldn't See How To Leave

Episode 4: I couldn’t stay but I couldn’t see how to leave

There's a season in leadership where you know too much to stay — but you can't yet see what leaving looks like.

In this episode, Caroline reflects on a conversation with an older man at a family event that crystallised something she'd been quietly wrestling with for years. His belief in one career, one organisation, one path for life sat in sharp contrast to the knowing that was building inside her — that the gap between who she was becoming and who she'd need to be to stay was getting too wide to ignore.

She talks honestly about the real costs of staying inside a system that no longer fits — the moral friction, the lack of support, the slow erosion of self — and why the financial security that feels like safety can actually be the greatest risk of all.

This episode is for the leader who is sitting in that gap right now. You don't need a plan yet. You just need to know that what you're feeling is real — and that there is absolutely another side to this.

Different Human, different room

Episode 3: Different Human, Different Room

Let me be clear before we get into this one — I have not figured this out. I get it wrong regularly. I course correct constantly. What I am is willing. Willing to do the work, willing to be honest about it, and willing to keep going anyway.

So with that said.

Going back into a system after everything I'd been through should have felt familiar. Same pressures, same structures, same government-funded constraints. But it didn't feel the same — because I wasn't the same.

The shifts weren't in the system. They were in me.

I brought all of myself into the room this time. No work self versus real self. No hiding the parts that didn't feel safe to show. Just me — with clearer boundaries, sharper instincts, and a perspective that could finally see the system from above instead of being swallowed by it.

That's when I understood what conscious leadership actually is.

It's not a style. It's not a strategy. It's a state of being.

And it's available to anyone, in any system, in any role — without burning it all down first.

You can be in the system. You don't have to be of it.

The human beyond the system

And a home for me and my girls

It hit me like a lightning bolt, in the kitchen of our short term rental.

Christmas was looming, our first as just my girls and I. I had the building report in my inbox, some red flags showing up. I had the agent backflipping on the settlement plans.

In the pressure of needing somewhere to live I had made an offer on a house.

And now, my beautiful girl was showing me another property, in a different location. As soon as a saw the listing, I knew.

I had made a decision from pressure not clarity. I had chosen from what was available and familiar, not based on the next chapter of our lives that was unfolding. I’d moved in fear.

Now was the time to pivot, quickly, before getting deeper in.

I had to choose the uncertainty of finding something that was a better fit. The uncertainty of needing a rental, with less than 10 days until we were homeless, and less than 20 until Christmas.

As she walked out of that little kitchen I let the tears flow, but I also knew just exactly what I needed to do.

That night I sent the emails, I withdrew my offer, and I applied for every rental I could find.

Within two days I got a call from an agent I knew. A rental. Already approved. Inspection today. Available just in time.

Three months later, a house to buy, closer to everything and a new start.

The lesson: clarity over fear. Trust in timing and doors opening.

Now it has happened again!

I started a podcast a few weeks ago. The podcast I thought I should create. The topics I thought people would want to hear. I hit publish and I instantly knew. I’d chosen the safe option, the mainstream, the predictable.

But I had told people. Like with the offer on the house.

And in hitting publish, it was like being back in that kitchen, seeing that real estate listing.

I’d missed the clarity and instinct again. Like before there was a pivot to see that I hadn’t been able to see before.

The pivot is my next era. A place to share my writing, a new podcast, a new business venture that lights me up and is built on the foundation of what I know and how I know I am meant to work.

It’s still unfolding, just like the house buying journey did.

And I’m meeting it with trust.

The system isn’t the problem

Episode 2: When You Can't Unsee It

There's a moment that changes everything. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just a quiet, unmistakable shift in perception that means you can never go back to seeing things the way you did before.

For me, that moment happened in a Monday morning meeting in early 2020. Sitting around a table with brilliant, dedicated people — managers, clinicians, leaders — watching the system prepare for a pandemic and realising something that I couldn't articulate at the time but couldn't ignore either.

The system had become the thing everyone was protecting. Instead of the system protecting the people.

Nobody made a conscious decision for that to happen. But once I saw it, I couldn't unsee it.

This episode is about that moment. About what happens when the gap between the system and the humans inside it becomes impossible to ignore. About why this isn't a leadership failure — it's a human one. And about why the answer has to start with the human, not the system.

You can't lead people well if you're leading for the system first.

Have you ever had a moment where your entire perspective shifted and nothing looked the same again?

I'd love to know.

The gap year that wasn’t

EPISOPE 1 OF THE HUMAN BEHIND THE SYSTEM PODCAST

I didn't leave paramedicine with a plan. I left because I had to.

Fifteen years inside a system that I'd given everything to — and somewhere along the way, I'd lost myself inside it. The day I packed out my locker and drove away from the station for the last time, I didn't feel relieved. I felt numb.

What followed was the gap year I didn't know I needed. Not a holiday. An excavation. Of who I actually was underneath the uniform, the role, the system.

That gap led me through building a business, studying NLP, hypnotherapy, nutrition, and ultimately — unexpectedly — back inside a system again. A different one. But this time, as a completely different person.

And that changed everything about what was possible inside the room.

This episode is where it all starts. My story, why this podcast exists, and the one thing I wish someone had told me earlier:

You don't have to blow up your career to become someone different inside it. But you do have to do the work the system never made space for.

The system didn't change. I did.

The joy of the children

She sits there.

In a pile of sand by the little market.

Her feet buried under.

She scoops handfuls of sand to bury her feet further.

She laughs with joy.

Nearby is a small group of boys, a little older, one has a bike, they are clearly discussing something very important.

A man comes up to her.

It must be someone she knows very well.

He has a small shovel and he helps her bury her feet deeper.

She laughs again and chats to him.

She looks to be maybe 4 years old.

I walk on and pass some kids running by.

I say hello and one little boy turns to me and puts up his hand.

The universal language, a high five.

And off he runs.

“Welcome to the land of the Nubians”, our local Nubian guide says.

We are welcomed into the home of a local family, to eat dinner with them, hear their stories and ask their questions.

They live on Elephantine Island.

Nubian history dates back over 10000 years in the area that is now modern Egypt and Sudan.

The Nubian language is a spoken language, one they are working hard to keep alive with the young generations.

At home they speak it, in school/work/across the Nile in Aswan they speak and write Arabic and everyone learns English.

Dinner was beautiful.

First, Nubian lentil soup. Similar to the Lebanese one I grew up eating. Served with soda bread that they leave out in the sun to ferment and rise.

Next, chicken covered in spices, salad so fresh with herbs, Egyptian rice and targines (casseroles) of vegetables. Eggplant and zucchini.

Finally, mint tea and baklavas.

Mona is the matriarch.

You can tell she is in charge.

Her eyes are so warm.

And they are all you can see.

Her English is perfect.

She works at the Aswan University, has 4 children and you can tell she and her husband respect each other.

She speaks to us.

Shares about her life.

Shares her recipes.

The welcome is something special.

The proximity to actual daily life, unforgettable.

This is Egypt today.

Steeped in thousands of years of tradition, but with many of the modern conveniences.

As we boat back to Aswan, I remember the little girl.

Her laughter.

Her joy.

Meeting in the train station

Our United Nations met in the train station last night.

The first day together was quiet, safe, surface level.

But as the journey continues discussions have opened up.

The orange man features often.

We discuss the rise and fall of empires, origins of conflict, and the hopes and concerns for the future.

We are surrounded by the stories and artefacts of many empires on this trip.

It is a melting pot of opinions and perspectives.

Meet the players.

Jo from Oslo, Norway. Retired after a long career in public health, notably working all over the world during the AIDS epidemic.

Ania, a polish born American, retired high tech software developer who finished her career in Silicon Valley.

Jacques and Louise-Andree, from Quebec City. He a retired radiologist, and she a retired PE teacher and career advisor.

Dave and Jessica from LA. Radiologist and jack of all trades.

Karen, my fellow Aussie and a retired Learning and Development specialist.

Nabila, a travel specialist from the UK with Pakistani background.

And me.

The conversations happen at lunch tables, in the bus, and inside citadels that house no longer active mosques.

Sometimes our guide, Dalia, an Egyptian born and living in Cairo with over 10 years experience with leading travel groups, also joins in. Albeit carefully.

But there in the train station in Cairo a discussion of the way forward for America turned easily to the conflict in Sudan.

We all knew that by morning the train would have arrived in Aswan, bringing us within a few hundred kilometres of the border.

We had google happening to help us understand the “players” and opportunities to learn from each other as we discussed Africa more generally and the situation for countries such as Egypt when it comes to refugees from all directions.

These are the conversations of people much wiser and more worldly than I.

Many of whom saw the Berlin Wall fall, or remember the assassination of President Sadat of Egypt.

These conversations give me hope.

Particularly hearing the perspective of Americans, the people, not the propaganda.

So our United Nations will continue to meet, to robustly discuss, disagree, learn and take new ideas away.

It’s the gift of the trip I didn’t expect, and conversations I was long overdue to be part of.

I met her today

I met her today!

Well 2 “hers” really.

We were off early, moving towards Giza in the early haze.

Before long they were rising out of the sand.

No photo had done them justice, and mine below are the same.

The sheer majesty.

4600 years old.

Solid.

Unwavering.

Towering.

Dalia, our guide let us know the Great Pyramid was open.

So I paid the crazy fee and circumnavigated the structure to the entrance.

In I stepped, and the climb began.

Not a space for the faint-hearted or claustrophobic.

Part way up I had a moment.

My chest tightened.

My mind raced.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Finally the chamber opened.

The sarcophagus inside.

The sheer engineering in the structure overwhelming.

As if each stone block had been meticulously carved to fit together so seamlessly.

We walked the complex.

And then we met Her.

The Sphinx.

Regal.

The guard of the complex.

Nearby a marble valley temple complex, with columns of solid stone.

I was surprised at the lack of people.

A blessing of the public holiday Saturday and the fact that there was a grand opening happening for the new museum I think.

Then we headed onward.

Lunch.

At a little takeaway shop.

Egyptian falafel (made with fava beans), in Egyptian bread (reminds me of a pita pocket but with a thin Lebanese style bread).

Delicious.

And cost me 39c AUD.

I think my chat with our guide Dalia about trying local food had inspired this idea.

Then we went on to the Coptic area of Cairo and saw the hanging church. Amazing architecture from around 400AD and the place believed to have been the stoppver for Mary, Joseph and Jesus on their journey through Egypt when Jesus was a young child. 

Then to an abandoned but preserved Synogogue, but no photos here.

An interesting conversation for another time, now that Egypt isnt home to Jewish people much.

Finally we headed to the National Museum of Egyptian Civilisation.

And that’s where I found her.

Hatshepsut.

Her intact mummy.

Deep in the basement, along with 21 other New Kingdom mummies.

During ancient times when grave robbing began, these 22 mummies were taken by the priests and hidden in Dier el-Bahri (we will be there in a few days).

Now they lay in the museum.

There’s more of her to come, but what a day, what a way to begin exploring.

We finished with a rooftop drink and the pyramids lit up!

Full circle journey begins

I remember it clear as day.

Sitting in the school hall.

The Stables it was called.

Dead silence but for the rustle of papers and the scratching of the balls of pens furiously tearing across the pages.

Word after word.

Line after line.

Page after page.

The culmination of 13 years of schooling.

8 exams.

But this one was different.

Over the pages I was painting a picture of a land far away.

Of a female from history, maybe the first, to portray herself as male in order to seize power.

The female Pharaoh.

Hatshepsut.

By the time I sat the exam it was like I knew her and her world inside out.

I felt connected to her.

I could describe in detail every level of her temple.

I could document her rise to power, the intricate web of moves that landed her the top job and how she fought to keep it.

Now it’s finally time.

Time for me to step into that ancient land and connect with her physically.

To walk through the colonnades of that temple and see for myself the display of female power.

Egypt.

A land of history and mystery.

Of mythology and treasures.

Ancient beyond anything I have experienced before.

Those words I scribbled back in the early 2000s, brought to life over the next 14 days.

The next 40

Right from the moment I turned 40 I knew things were going to be different.

I could feel it.

The energy.

A recalibration.

A reclamation.

Like a reset for the second half of a beautiful life.

A feeling that things would fall away.

That space was being created.

That intentions and priorities were shifting as I moved into the next phase.

If you had told me a year ago what this first year would bring, I’d have laughed, and cried, and told you “no way!”

I could feel the energy, but the reckoning that was to come was beyond imagining.

There’s been the highest of highs.

And the absolute lowest of lows.

Regret, disappointment, struggle, mixed with joy, hope, gratitude.

Tears and laughter, sometimes simultaneously.

Most importantly, honesty, authenticity.

A dose of real.

No perfection, just messy, clumsy, sometimes very slow action towards my truth and what’s important to me.

The next chapter is unfolding.

It looks nothing like I had planned.

It has all the hallmarks of an epic life.

Here’s to me!

Here’s to the next 40!

This piece was written in 2024, just as I turned 40.

Leaping

The pounding of my heart was almost deafening in my ears.

The fear was intense.

But I could hear these little voices below.

“Come on mum.” “You can do it.”

Just moments before we had swum across the river. Being pushed by the current and fighting to help the girls from drifting off course.

As I had moved through the crystal clear, fresh water I had looked up at the cliff platform and thought, “oh that’s not too high.”

As we climbed up to the rocky edge I had begun to question my sanity.

My partner and two girls were ahead of me.

Each had stood at the edge and taken the leap, plunging the several meters into the water below.

Now, all three were below. Laughing and riding the high of that adrenaline fuelled jump.

Behind me were a group of teenage boys, eager to make the leap as well.

I could feel the edge of the rock with my toes.

See the family below.

All I could think was, “what the hell am I doing up here, I hate heights.”

But I knew I had to jump.

I wanted to jump.

The girls had done it.

The teenagers were raring to go behind me.

And so I stepped off with my eyes closed.

The couple of seconds of free fall felt like an eternity.

My heart in my mouth.

Forgetting to breathe I was so scared.

Then slap!

I hit the water hard and down I went deep under the surface.

In the next second I was up, spluttering and fighting for breath. The water had gone up my nose and given me that weird drowning feeling.

But all I could hear were the cheers of my family.

“You did it mum!”

“Woohooo mum!”

“Great job babe!”

Wow!

I had done it.

Taken the leap and faced the fear.

Flags

September 30, 2024

I could see them in the distance.

Flapping in the wind.

It looked like hundreds of them in fact.

The bus moved further down Santa Monica Boulevard.

Getting ever closer to them.

I could feel the emotions rising in me.

The flags evoking an unsettling wave, building the closer we got.

The bus pulled up. 

Right alongside the field of flags.

We descended the stairs, hopped off the bus and were told there would be 5 minutes until our connecting Hop On Hop Off Bus arrived to take us out to Santa Monica Pier.

As we stood there, she turned to me.

“Mum, what flag is that?”

My heart started to race.

“Israel”, I replied.

I could see a sign a few meters down so I stepped closer to read it.

A memorial to the lives lost on October 7, 2023 in Israel.

I moved back towards my girls.

It was exactly as I had thought.

Was it privilege that meant I hadn’t realised how close the anniversary was.

My gorgeous girl looked up at me.

“What are the flags for mum?”

“They are to remember the people killed on October 7 last year in Israel,” I replied evenly.

“Oh yes. I know about that war. And how it started.”

I leaned in closer, so we could speak quieter.

On the bus only moments earlier I had heard accents and languages from far and wide.

A French speaking family had been joking in front of us.

A German couple behind us.

There had been an Aussie family right nearby too, the accent standing out like ours.

There were also many Americans.

I knew I had to handle this conversation carefully. Balancing information for an 11 year old with caution to those around me.

“The war that started last year? Or 70 years ago?” I asked.

My girl looked at me quizzically.

“Last year on October 7.”

I carefully explained that that day had been horrific. That what happened was horrible. And in the same breath I also let her know there was so much more to the story.

That this war was in some ways an ancient war. That in other ways it had really begun over 70 years ago.

I also explained that thousands of people had died since October 7. Innocent people.

She listening to everything, wide eyed, but interested.

Our next bus pulled up, so I told her we could chat more about it tonight, once we were back at our hotel, if she wanted to.

As we drove away though, I couldn’t help but wonder if I had done my explanations justice. 

And I couldn’t shake the feeling that those flags had triggered in me.

I also wondered, how many blocks of Beverley Hills would it take to raise a flag for every Palestinian killed so far?

And how would those flags have made everyone feel.

Lunchtime in an african schoolyard

I could hear the kids.

Yelling.

Screaming.

Was it the joy of the playground or something more.

The teaching staff moved to the window.

I realised that the shouts in Twi had obviously caught their attention about something specific.

I leaned out the window next to one of the teachers, my eyes scanning the kids, trying to work out what was causing the ruckus.

And then I saw it.

Stretched up tall.

Head flat.

Striking.

A cobra.

I stared in disbelief.

Part at the snake itself, part at the crowd so close to it.

The kids were throwing things at it.

Stones, sticks, whatever they could find right by them in the playground.

The fear and excitement made the air crackle, as if it to was alive.

As I realised what was going on, a couple of the teachers ran from the room with a shovel. 

They yelled to the kids.

“Get back, get back”

First in English, then I can only guess something similar in Twi.

Thud.

Thud.

The threat was over.

The crowd erupted in cheers and laughter.

That kind of laugh that signals how scared they were just moments prior.

Within minutes the playground and staff room returned to normal. 

A quick chat and the drama was over.

I asked one of the teachers, “does that happen often?”

He replied, “yes, actually, they live in that field just over there.”

And I watched in horror as he pointed to the field I walked through every day to get to school.

In 2003 I spent 4 months living and working in Ghana, West Africa.

I was 18 years old at the time.

Share stories that keep your family safe

Those words came through the speakers.

I could feel it. Right there in my belly, rising up into my chest. Bubbling and bubbling. Visceral and deep.

Before I could even think about what I had heard that feeling was rising. Taking hold.

My mind began to race. 

Thoughts pinging like fireworks.

Until one took hold.

“FUCK THAT”

What about all the stories that need to be told that aren’t safe.

The voices from Gaza.

The voices from others in the LGBTQI+ community.

The voices of women with stories that the world need to hear. Needs to shut the hell up and listen to. To be challenged by.

Humans. Stories. Safe or not safe.

The rest of the day I could feel the knowing solidifying.

What had started in my body moved to my mind. The ideas flowing.

But the solid knowing settled deep in my body.

This is what matters.

This is my next step.

This is why I am here.

The voices of the unsafe must be heard.

The stories met with prejudice and discomfort cannot simply be left because they cause people to feel.

Safety… I’m not sure that can be my excuse.

Lessons from 10 years online

I started an online business in 2017, well really 2014. 

It was a total accident. 

I was looking for community, connection, education and understanding. 

My family was facing a health situation and I needed to make sense of the situation. 

So I began a Facebook page, then a blog and then an online business as I sought to find my way along the journey and share everything I learned with others. 

Over the years my business changed and morphed, growing with me as I grew and my life changed. 

I loved the connection, the platform to reach people. I reconnected with the joy I had always felt when speaking, writing, teaching and learning. 

This week I close the chapter.  

I wrap up my online business as I focus on other projects. 

With me I am taking so many lessons from the last 10 or so years. 

And then there’s the lessons that have come full circle in the last few months as I began new projects and created space through less time online. 

Let me share my top 3. 

Lesson 1 

Every skill you learn goes with you into the next project. Sometimes the learning is more important than the completion.  

Lesson 2 

Never underestimate the power of connection with people. Online is great, in person even better, I think. Either way, humans are born with an innate need to connect with others. 

Lesson 3 

In the words of Alexander Graham Bell 

When one door closes another door opens; but we often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door that we do not see the ones which open for us.  

Here’s to the doors opening. 

Choose your words carefully

I was standing quietly, just waiting for my girl to drop by for some words of encouragement like she always does at the end. 

That’s when I heard it. 

“Don’t focus on the centre” 

“There’s too much attacking play” 

“We need to stop handing over the ball to them” 

“No more weak passes” 

“Stop jumping in too quick” 

Something struck me. 

But I couldn’t quite put my finger on it in the moment. 

Something was off. 

I chatted with my girl, some of her team, sharing how well they had played against a tough opponent. 

And then it hit me. 

All the negatives.  

Everything the coach didn’t want her team to do. 

It was all she had mentioned. 

But I knew. 

The power of speaking what you want. 

Rather than what you don’t want. 

Our minds are powerful. Too powerful at times. 

Their biggest weakness, subconsciously our mind doesn’t recognise negatives. 

It hears a command and follows it. 

Accidentally, unintentionally, that coach had filled the heads of her players with everything she didn’t want them to keep doing, instead of focusing and speaking into what she did want them to do. 

That was what had stuck out to me. 

The language.  

(Of course! I’ve been obsessed with speaking and language since I was around 1 year old if you ask my parents.) 

I walked back over to my girl and her team. 

I took some time to share everything they had done well. 

I kept the language positive so their minds would focus and fixate on what they needed to do more of. 

So let me ask you this. 

Are you focusing on the positive or the negative? 

Are you giving yourself positive directions? 

If I asked you the question, “what do you want?”, would you answer it with a list of what you don’t want? 

Your subconscious is taking your literal commands. 

In every single moment. 

What command are you giving it next? 

What to expect

and what you won't find in this space

New conversations

It’s time to have the conversations you know you want to have.

In a safe space, that feels like a warm hug, but also the fire in your belly and the spark of innovation.

This is not the space for

Staying small.

Hiding away.

I’m ready to

Show and share with candour.

Speak and write about what matters to me.

Lead conversations about the things that really matter.

Want to join me???