I spent the majority of my education in a setting that taught me, fiercely, to believe in myself and my own capabilities and not to let anything stand in the way of reaching my goals. I didn’t believe myself to be a feminist. In fact, growing up in such an egalitarian system, surrounded by women and girls, I didn’t really understand why feminists made such a big deal of things. I didn’t realise that my dad, by virtue of wanting all of the above for me, was in fact a feminist, and neither does he. And it wasn’t until I started to live in the real world as a fully fledged adult, released into the wild with a lot of undercooked and ill-informed but strongly held and articulately-defended views, that I realised that feminism wasn’t simply a bygone concept, and that actually the patriarchy Is A Thing, and it affects me and my choices every day.

I was in my twenties when I first realised that actually, we’re not all on an even keel. Prior to that I’d had numerous painful and traumatic experiences that should have tipped me off, but my spectacles cancelled those things out, and I told myself to toughen up, to get on with life and to be exceptional in spite of those events and circumstances. I didn’t recognise that experiences best filed under ‘me too’ had in fact dictated the most significant of life choices, and that the very building blocks of my adult life had been rearranged by those who came like thieves in the night and that I blithely complied, telling myself it was for the best.

In my 20s I didn’t get a job I deserved. Someone else got it. She was also really good and went on to do a great job. I realised, though, at that point, that there was an underlying sexism at work: decisions made by men that served to keep those men in power. I didn’t get the job because I was a threat; the other candidate did, I believe, because she did not pose that same threat. I went on to not get a range of other jobs, sometimes because I wasn’t the best candidate, sometimes because I misrepresented myself at interview, sometimes because I wasn’t the right fit. But I came to know through those processes, and through working in education where the top leadership positions still continue to be occupied more commonly by men in spite of a sector with a strong female demographic, that my femininity was not only dynamic and personal, but something to be guarded, explored, prized and, occasionally, weaponised. I learned a lot from watching other women: how to be brilliant, authentic and strong; how to (mostly) manage leadership and motherhood; how to gracefully and smartly stick it to a mansplainer without him even realising. I also saw some things I have been careful not to emulate, not least the act of aping men. I’ve also worked with men who have championed me, have sought to embrace and engage with and support my womanhood as a significant facet of my leadership, who have listened without comment and taken feedback with respect. By contrast I have worked with men who have spoken over me, belittled me, taken credit for my work, undermined my authority, acted aggressively and often, in the end, embarrassed themselves. I’ve been let down by people of both genders, and I’ve been loved and championed by both.

I’ve also led a lot of women, mostly with success, and I realise that leading women is in itself an art – thankfully not one that is exclusive to one gender, but definitely something that can be done well or badly. Some of the principles I have discovered as much by dint of experience as anything else are set out below.

1. Women are different from each other: work out what the individual needs.
2. Many women underestimate that power of their womanhood: helping them to connect authentically with themselves and ‘bring their whole self’ to the table is worth doing.
3. Flexibility is the route to equity. This applies structurally but also to patterns of thinking. Asking the question ‘What does this person need?’ is deeply important. Not every answer to this question costs money and when it does, we need to get better at addressing that.
4. Women frequently know what they need to do. They often don’t need help or a leg up: they need others to get out of the way.
5. Listening to women is easy enough, but it’s not done enough.

It’s hardly an exhaustive list and probably raises as many questions as it answers: GOOD. That’s the point. I’ve led lots of women, and these themes emerge for me as being critical to doing so with success; so much is intrinsic and instinctive that it’s hard to write into a list, to codify, to manual-ise. But if we are to enable generation after generation of incredible women to realise their potential, we need to think, talk about and act upon it, and we need to do that even as the thoughts are unfinished. As a leading woman, I walk on the dreams and sacrifices of others; I rely upon and have benefited from the feminists who walked before me, and when I look back and hand the baton to my son and daughter, I want to know that it is an ever-onward journey, and that I took my steps in it well.