There was a moment, very early in my business, when I seriously questioned whether I should keep going. Not months in. Not years in. Weeks.

I had just started sharing my thoughts publicly through a blog. This was long before I ever imagined I’d be recording podcasts or running programs. At that point, I was simply writing. Reflecting. Putting some of my experience into words and seeing what conversations it sparked.

And then one morning an email landed in my inbox. It was long. Angry. Accusatory. A woman I had never met was accusing me of plagiarising her business idea. The tone of the email was incredibly aggressive. It was full of assumptions about my character, my intentions, my integrity. And as if that wasn’t unsettling enough, she also began posting about it on social media. She never named me directly, but it was clear who she was referring to.

I remember sitting there reading it over and over again, feeling my stomach drop. At that stage I was brand new in business. I had barely begun. I was still finding my footing, figuring out my voice, working out what this next chapter might look like. And suddenly I was being accused publicly of something that cut right to the heart of my integrity. It shook me more than I expected.

A few days later I was sitting at the side of the tennis court watching the girls at their lesson. I had a cup of tea in my hands and my mind was racing. I kept thinking, If this is happening in week two, what on earth is the rest of this journey going to look like? The truth is, I was seriously questioning whether I should continue. Not because I believed the accusation. Deep down I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong. But because it made me wonder whether I was prepared for what building something of my own might invite. Criticism. Misunderstanding. Projection from people I didn’t even know.

Up until that point in my life, I had always been capable of figuring things out on my own. I grew up as a farmer’s daughter. Independence runs deep in that upbringing. You get on with things. You solve problems. You don’t sit around waiting for someone to rescue you. That instinct carried me through my career as well. Across countries, organisations and leadership teams, I learned to rely on myself.

But sitting there that afternoon, watching the girls run across the court, I realised something quite important. Just because you can do something alone doesn’t mean you should. So I did something that didn’t come naturally to me at the time. I reached out for help. I contacted Amel and asked if we could talk.

I still remember that conversation clearly. As I explained what had happened and how shaken I felt, she listened calmly and then offered a perspective that changed everything. She gently pointed out that the situation probably had very little to do with me at all. More likely, it was about the other person’s fears, insecurities, or their own sense of threat in the space they occupied.

In other words, it wasn’t my integrity being questioned. It was someone else’s discomfort being projected. That realisation lifted a huge weight from my shoulders. But something else became clear during that conversation as well. I didn’t want to walk this path on my own.

Up until that moment, I had approached starting my business the same way I had approached many things in life: quietly, independently, figuring it out as I went. But there is a difference between independence and isolation. Independence can be empowering. Isolation can be exhausting.

High-performing women are particularly prone to this. We are used to being capable. Used to solving problems. Used to carrying responsibility. So our default is often self-reliance. We think we should be able to work things out ourselves.

But building something meaningful, whether it’s a business, a leadership path, or a new chapter in life, asks something different of us. It asks for perspective. It asks for support. It asks for proximity to people who can see things we can’t always see ourselves.

After that conversation, I made a decision. I began working with Amel. And I’ve never looked back. Not because the journey suddenly became easy. It didn’t. But because I was no longer navigating it alone.

Having someone in your corner, someone who can challenge your thinking, help you step back from the noise, and remind you of who you are when things feel uncertain, changes everything. It accelerates clarity. It shortens the time you spend stuck in your own head. And perhaps most importantly, it reminds you that growth doesn’t have to be a solitary experience.

Looking back now, that difficult moment early in my business was actually a turning point. Not because of the accusation itself. But because it forced me to acknowledge something I hadn’t fully recognised before. Transformation happens faster in intentional spaces. When you’re surrounded by people who are also growing. When you have guidance and perspective available. When you’re not trying to carry the entire journey on your own shoulders.

It’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. About how important those spaces are. And about how powerful it can be when women come together not just to network, but to genuinely support each other’s growth.

Who do you have in your corner right now?

Who do you turn to when things feel uncertain?

And are you trying to navigate your next chapter on your own when you don’t actually have to?

These are the questions I’ve been sitting with recently. And they might be worth sitting with yourself too.