There are moments in life when we decide to step forward—to lead a team, to become a parent, to care for another life.
From the outside, those decisions often look noble or even aspirational. But what’s often missing in the conversation is the weight of that choice.
For me, that weight was never lost.
When I stepped into leadership roles…
When I became a mum…
When I welcomed Carla, a beautiful puppy into our lives…
I understood something deeply: this wasn’t just about me anymore.
My role was to show up—not out of just a feeling of obligation, but out of love and a conscious choice I made.
To create a safe space for growth, mistakes, expression, and discovery.
To be consistent. To be kind. To be present—especially when it was hard.
And to do it, more often than not, without applause, recognition, or reward.
Because the reward wasn’t about me.
It was in witnessing their story unfold.
Their growth, their joy, their resilience.
That has always been more than enough.
In her own unique way, Carla reminded me of this every day. She may have been the one in my care—but in so many ways, she mirrored what real care looks like. She showed up, without conditions. Just as I did for her. And in that quiet exchange, there was a kind of leadership no boardroom ever taught me.
The Illusion of the Role
Stepping into responsibility often comes with rosy-coloured glasses. Whether it’s bringing home a new puppy, accepting a leadership role, or becoming a parent—it’s easy to get swept up in the image of who we imagine ourselves to be: kind, capable, inspiring.
And in those early moments, there’s excitement. Possibility. A belief that love and good intentions will be enough.
But responsibility is never just a title or a task list. It’s a choice you renew every day—often in silence, often in sacrifice. And when the shine wears off, when the challenges arise, when your energy runs low and the reality sets in, that’s when your real character speaks.
Because being responsible for someone else’s life, in any shape or form, is not a “give it a go” kind of deal.
It leaves an imprint.
When you hold that role, your decisions, your actions—or inactions—shape someone’s experience of the world.
You might be the difference between a life of possibility… and one of fear.
Between a safe zone for expression… and a space where someone learns to hide.
What Carla's Journey Taught Me
Carla came into our lives with a story already shaped by trauma. Taken from her mother and siblings far too young, spayed before eight weeks of age, and thrust into the world without the foundations every young being deserves. But none of that made me hesitate. From the moment I saw her, I knew: she was meant to be with us.
We brought her home with excitement and love, ready to give her the life she hadn’t yet known. We held her close, played with her, made sure she felt she belonged. And like any family, we made mistakes—all of us.
Early on, she fell gravely ill from something she ate. Later, a paralysis tick nearly took her life, even though we were diligent with treatments. It was terrifying. But it revealed something profound: her resilience. Her will to live. Her strength.
Everyone in the family had their own bond with Carla. But when it came to training, we were inconsistent. I took a gentle, positive reinforcement approach. My ex-husband and daughter leaned toward command and control. I spent hours working with her, including agility training where words weren’t needed—just trust, encouragement, and gestures. Yet the mixed approaches created confusion for her. And in that, another lesson appeared.
Carla became my shadow. Maybe because I didn’t judge her the same way others did. I listened, even when it meant letting her bark to express herself from time to time. She didn’t bark all that much really, but when she did, others found it frustrating. But I saw what was really happening—a dog trying to be understood in a noisy, conflicting world. She gave herself a role, like many dogs do, of protector of home and family. Though, when it was just the two of us, the barking tended fade. She felt safe. Seen.
And that’s what most beings need. Safety. Trust. Someone who sees who they really are and shows up for them anyway.
Leadership in the Quiet Moments
Carla didn’t just share our home. She shared our lives.
She was there when I was injured and could barely walk.
She was there through sleepless nights and early mornings with working globally and when I jumped out of bed so many times at 1am as I wrote my book.
She was there when my mother had to leave our home for a nursing facility—and through the challenges and even grief that followed.
She was there when my marriage fell apart. Overnight, I became a solo parent.
She was there when no one else saw my pain and hurt… but she did.
She felt it all. The disruption. The disconnection. The heartbreak. And she stayed by my side, with love and that look she gave, letting me know she was there.
In so many ways, she bore witness to my life.
And I bore witness to hers.
She watched people come and go. She felt the loss of relationships she valued. But she stayed by my side. Through illness, surgery, financial pressure, and a massive interstate move. And I showed up for her with love and compassion—showed it every day and every way I could, including every vet visit, in every sunrise stroll, every cuddle, and in every difficult moment.
That’s the heart of real responsibility. You don’t abandon it when it gets hard. You double down on your commitment.
Leadership as Presence, Not Power
Too many step into leadership for what it offers them. The title. The influence. The validation. Like someone excitedly bringing home a puppy, they imagine what they’ll get from the experience.
But real leadership isn’t about control. It isn’t about perfection.
It’s about presence.
It’s being the one who stays when it’s hard.
It’s creating space for others to grow, stumble, and rise.
It’s making decisions that honour who someone is, not who you want them to be.
Carla never had a choice in most things. She couldn’t decide where we lived, what treatment she received, or who stayed in her life. She was often at the mercy of others’ decisions. Just like so many employees in broken systems, she felt the dysfunction even if she didn’t cause it.
But I did my best to give her voice, dignity, and agency where I could. Because that’s what caring, accountable people and leaders do.
And sometimes, what others see on the outside doesn’t match the battle happening within. Carla always looked well—vibrant, happy, full of life. But inside, her little body was working overtime. That quiet struggle is something so many people know too well.
Whether it’s physical or mental health, grief or fatigue, the hardest parts of someone’s story are often invisible. It’s why leading with presence also means leading with empathy.
The Legacy of Showing Up
Carla’s health challenges in her final years were intense—and expensive.
At one point, I was paying around $30,000 a year just to ensure she had the care she needed. And I would do it all again.
I share that number not for sympathy, but to be honest about what the cost of care can look like.
And I know—not everyone can afford that. Truthfully, neither could I at that particular time.
It was tough.
But my daughter and I made the decision to simplify our lives, to go without certain things, so we could give Carla the chance to have more time… and the quality of life she deserved.
Because that’s what love looks like: putting her health and wellbeing first.
Some people might only see the dollar figure.
But for me, the cost of not showing up… not giving her every chance… was far greater.
There were no guarantees. Carla was literally in the battle of her life.
But every time, my answer was the same: Of course.
That’s what love, commitment, and responsibility—a promise, really—needs to look like.
Along the way, Carla lost members of her support system—as did I.
But we also gained others. Kind strangers. Compassionate vets. A new community.
And through every shift, through every loss and change, I remained her constant—right to the very end.
I held her as she passed.
My daughter and I were both there—looking into her eyes, telling her she was loved… that she mattered…
That she had given us the greatest honour by trusting us with her life and love.
And I stayed with her beyond her last breath.
Not because it was easy—
It was one of the hardest moments we’ve ever faced.
But we showed up. With courage. With love. With everything we had.
Because she mattered.
Because it mattered.
Final Reflection: The Responsibility We Choose
Whether you’re leading a child, a team, or a pet—the responsibility is real. And how you show up will shape someone else’s story.
I choose to lead with love, belief, and compassion.
To create safety.
To stay, even when it’s hard.
To hold the weight of responsibility with open hands and an open heart, and to feel it all without rushing or running away.
Carla taught me that showing up takes real courage that tests you… and it also becomes your legacy.
But here’s something I’ve also learned: when you lead this way—with heart, commitment, and consistency—you will be judged. There will be those who don’t understand your choices, who wouldn’t choose the same path, and who may try to tear you down.
Let them. Their judgement is not my nor your responsibility.
What is your responsibility is staying true to your values. To the people—and lives—you’ve committed to. And to the legacy you want to leave behind.
Take a moment to ask yourself—how are you really showing up?
Not to pat yourself on the back, but to get real.
Because there is a great depth of responsibility…
And whether we realise it or not, we all leave a legacy.
The choice is yours: will it be one worth remembering?
What say you?!
