The Person CEOs Turn to When They Don’t Have the Answers

I’m the person CEOs come to when they realise they don’t have all the answers.

And truthfully, I always have been.

Even before I had the title, the budget, the credibility-on-paper. Before I had anyone’s official permission. I was that person.

I was a junior analyst when the CEO came to me. The business was tanking after a major migration. Everyone else was clinging to surface-level symptoms. But I saw what was really happening underneath. I found the pattern. The root cause. The blind spot no one else could name. And it wasn’t just clarity—it was revenue. Tens of millions recovered, fast.

That moment wasn’t an exception. It was the beginning of a pattern.

When we needed leverage in a negotiation, when compliance was being pushed to its limit, when our systems were fragile and our data untrustworthy—I was the one they turned to. Not because I had the loudest voice in the room. But because I had the clearest mind.

But here’s what no one talks about:

Being the go-to person has its cost.

When you’re the one with the answers, you don’t get to ask the questions. When you’re the steady one, the clear one, the decisive one—people forget that you’re human, too. You get praised for your poise, but you carry the weight. Alone.

I carried influence ten levels above my pay grade. I was asked to make judgment calls worth hundreds of millions of dollars, often without the authority, support, or compensation that should accompany that level of responsibility. I was the one expected to offer an opinion on peers' performance—and those opinions had consequences. I was in the room, but never fully protected by the power structure. The stress sat on my shoulders, and there was no margin for error.

And yet, I couldn’t let that show. So I doubled down on what I did best: clarity, insight, impact.

Insight has always been my superpower.

I don’t get distracted by noise. I don’t spin in drama. I can hold complexity, feel the tension in a system, and see the pattern inside the mess. I can abstract the complex into black and white—without losing the detail that matters.

Whether I’m analysing numbers, talent, strategy, IP, markets, or leadership dynamics, it’s the same process every time: Observation. Evaluation. Abstraction. Insight. Conclusion.

Later, as a VP, that pattern didn’t change—it just scaled. I was the one asked to assess whether our leaders were delivering, or just talking a good game. I was the one asked to make sense of a $300M acquisition, and then the one asked to replicate its success. To build a strategy. Find the next target. Craft the investment thesis. Evaluate. Recommend. Integrate.

And when I became CEO? I became the person I came to. Because I trusted myself. I trusted my judgment. I trusted my blend of intuition and intellect to lead with precision.

But even then, there were lonely moments. Moments when the decisions were too big to Google, too nuanced for the boardroom, and too complex to unpack with your team. When you’re at the top, people assume you’re supposed to know. But sometimes, the clarity doesn’t come immediately. And that kind of ambiguity is a heavy thing to carry alone.

Now, as a coach, I still serve that same role. But from a different seat. A cleaner one.

I’m the person CEOs come to when the business looks fine on paper—but something feels off. When they’re hitting their goals—but it doesn’t feel like success. When they’ve built something real—but it’s leaning too hard on them, and they don’t know how to shift it.

They come to me when:

• They’re exhausted and no longer know what they’re working toward

• Growth doesn’t equal freedom

• Income doesn’t equal value

• The path they’re on no longer fits who they’re becoming

They come because I see what they can’t yet see.

But even more than that—they come because they don’t have to perform for me. They don’t have to impress me. They don’t have to justify anything.

I don’t hold punches. I’m raw. I’m real. I’m the kind of authentic you can’t fake—the kind that gets lashed into you through deep lived experience. It makes me unthreatening. Approachable. But also unshakably trustworthy.

Because I’ve been there.

I’ve sat in your seat. I’ve carried the weight you’re carrying. I know what it takes to scale a business and stay connected to yourself. And I know what it costs when you don’t.

If you’re the person everyone else turns to, but you’re quietly wondering who you can go to—

I’m right here. And this is the work I was born to do.