STRONGER TOGETHER: Choose your influences wisely

"STRONGER TOGETHER" is a weekly column where Tanya explores key issues. This week, Tanya discusses the importance of being selective about who we listen to, and why credibility, experience and proven results matter more than popularity when seeking advice and guidance.

By IMPACT Community Services Managing Director Tanya O'Shea

We live in a world where influence is everywhere.

Social media feeds, podcasts, books, YouTube videos, articles and conversations all compete for our attention. Every day, someone is telling us what to eat or how to invest, train, lead, parent, build a business or live our ‘best life.’

The question is not whether we are being influenced. The reality is that we all are. The real question is therefore whether we are being influenced by the right people and the right information.

Too often, we accept advice because it is popular rather than because it is credible. Someone has a large Instagram following, speaks confidently, has written a book or is recommended by a person we trust, so we assume they must know what they are talking about.

Yet popularity and expertise are not the same thing.

Research suggests that we are naturally drawn to confidence. We often interpret confidence as a sign of competence, even when there is little evidence to support it. The challenge is that confidence can be persuasive without necessarily being accurate. In today's world, confidence often gains more attention than expertise.

Before accepting advice, it is worth pausing to ask a few simple questions.

Where is this advice coming from? Is this person best placed to speak on the topic? What qualifications, experience or expertise do they have? Most importantly, have they achieved outcomes that align with the goals I am working towards?

The older I get, the more selective I become about whose advice I seek.

If I wanted to improve my fitness, I would seek guidance from someone who has demonstrated a long-term commitment to health and wellbeing. If I wanted to become a better leader, I would learn from someone who has successfully led people through challenging situations. If I wanted financial advice, I would want to hear from someone with both the qualifications and a proven track record.

For me, three indicators help determine whether someone is worth listening to.

First, credibility. Do they possess the knowledge, qualifications or expertise relevant to the subject?

Second, experience. Have they done the work, faced challenges firsthand and successfully navigated the obstacles they are advising others to overcome?

Third, results. Have they achieved success? What outcomes have they achieved that demonstrate their approach actually works?

When credibility, experience and results align, advice is far more valuable. In a world overflowing with opinions, content creators and influencers, one of the most valuable skills we can develop is the ability to choose our influences wisely. After all, the quality of our decisions is often determined by the quality of the voices we allow to shape them. And over time, those decisions shape the direction of our lives. In a world filled with competing opinions, those who fail to choose their influences wisely may find their future being shaped by priorities that were never truly their own.

"STRONGER TOGETHER" is a weekly column where Tanya explores key issues. This week, Tanya discusses the quiet strength of leadership and why listening can be more powerful than speaking first.

By IMPACT Community Services Managing Director Tanya O'Shea

When people think about confident leaders, they often picture someone commanding attention, speaking first and filling every silence with certainty.

For many years, leadership has been associated with visibility, charisma, gravitas and volume. We tend to celebrate the people who dominate the conversation, confidently express their opinions and appear to have all the answers. Yet some of the most effective leaders I have encountered possess a very different quality: they lead with quiet confidence.

Early in my career, I assumed confidence was something that had to be demonstrated outwardly. I believed leaders needed to be decisive in every moment, have answers to every question and project certainty regardless of the circumstances. Over time, I learned that some of the strongest leaders do the opposite. They create space. They listen. They ask thoughtful questions. They remain calm when others become reactive.

Quiet confidence is often misunderstood for being reserved or passive. In reality, it is neither. It is the confidence that comes from knowing your values, understanding your strengths and being comfortable enough with yourself that you do not need to constantly prove your worth. It allows you to contribute with purpose rather than react for attention.

In today's fast-paced world, there is pressure to move quickly, respond immediately and be constantly visible. But leadership is not a competition to see who can speak first or the loudest. The leaders who earn the greatest trust are often those who take the time to understand before they seek to be understood.

I have found that some of the most meaningful breakthroughs occur when leaders slow down long enough to listen deeply. When people feel genuinely heard, they are more likely to contribute ideas, challenge assumptions and engage in solving complex problems. This creates stronger teams, better decisions and healthier workplaces.

Calmness has also become an increasingly important leadership capability. When leaders remain grounded during uncertainty, they provide stability for others. Their presence communicates confidence without needing to say a word. In challenging situations, people are naturally drawn to those who can maintain perspective and focus on solutions rather than amplify the noise.

As I reflect on the leaders who have influenced me most, very few were the most charismatic or outspoken. Instead, they were people who demonstrated consistency, humility, curiosity and self-awareness. They built trust through their intentional actions rather than their volume.

Perhaps the future of leadership is not about becoming more visible or more vocal. Perhaps it is about becoming more intentional.

Because confidence does not always need to announce itself. Sometimes the most powerful person in the room is the one who listens first, speaks thoughtfully and helps others find their voice.

That is the quiet strength of leadership.

"STRONGER TOGETHER" is a weekly column where Tanya explores key issues. This week, Tanya discusses the importance of stepping outside your comfort zone, embracing challenges and discovering new strengths as she prepares to undertake the Kokoda Trek in support of the Royal Flying Doctor Service.

By IMPACT Community Services Managing Director Tanya O'Shea

There is something deeply satisfying about working towards a meaningful goal.

I have always believed that growth begins at the edge of your comfort zone. While new challenges can test us physically, emotionally and mentally, they also teach us resilience, humility and perseverance. They remind us that we are capable of far more than we often give ourselves credit for.

When I was asked to take on my latest challenge, I didn't spend much time thinking about it. I simply said yes.

Yes to walking for days up steep inclines and through rugged terrain, dense jungle and unpredictable weather.

Yes to sleeping on the ground on a small air mattress.

Yes to bathing in creeks and not washing my hair for an entire week.

Yes to mud, wet feet, sore muscles and the possibility of a few leeches along the way.

And yes to wearing the same clothes day after day, washed only in creek water.

In August, I will undertake the Kokoda Trek in Papua New Guinea, a challenge that will test both my physical endurance and mental strength. I know there will be setbacks, discomfort, aching muscles, tired legs and moments of self-doubt. It will almost certainly force me to dig deeper than I have before and remind me why challenges matter so much. They reveal strengths we never knew we possessed.

As I prepare for Kokoda, my physical training has intensified. Long walks with a weighted pack, strength training and building my endurance have all become part of the routine. Equally important, however, has been preparing mentally for the challenge ahead. While physical fitness is essential, I know that resilience, determination and mindset will ultimately get me through the nine-day trek.

Yet every training session reminds me why I am doing this.

As a proud Ambassador for the Royal Flying Doctor Service (RFDS), I have the privilege of seeing the extraordinary impact this organisation has on communities across regional, rural and remote Australia. For many Australians, the RFDS is more than a healthcare provider; it is a lifeline.

Whether delivering emergency medical retrievals, primary healthcare, mental health support or preventative services, the RFDS ensures that distance is never a barrier to accessing quality health care.

My Kokoda journey is therefore about much more than completing a trek. It is about raising vital funds and awareness for an organisation that helps ensure that Australians living in regional and remote communities can access the care they need, when they need it most.

I invite you to support this journey by making a donation, sharing the campaign or helping spread the word about the incredible work of the RFDS. Every contribution, no matter how large or small, makes a difference. Together, we can help ensure that quality healthcare reaches every Australian, no matter where they call home.

"STRONGER TOGETHER" is a weekly column where Tanya explores key issues. This week, Tanya discusses how happiness isn’t something we arrive at after achieving milestones, but a practice found in embracing the ordinary rhythms of everyday life.

By IMPACT Community Services Managing Director Tanya O'Shea

We spend a lot of our lives chasing happiness.

We tell ourselves it’s waiting somewhere ahead: after the next milestone, when things settle down, when the pressure finally lifts. Happiness becomes a destination, something just out of reach.

But a simple Zen koan offers a different perspective:

What does one do before enlightenment? Chop wood, carry water.

What does one do after enlightenment? Chop wood, carry water.

At first, it feels almost underwhelming. Surely enlightenment, that ‘awakening’ filled with a sense of clarity, peace, contentment, should change everything. And yet, the message is disarmingly simple: the work of life doesn’t change. What shifts is how we experience it.

Happiness, it suggests, isn’t found in escaping the ordinary. It’s found in fully inhabiting it.

We often attach happiness to big, temporary moments: achievements, recognition, breakthroughs. But those moments are fleeting. Life is mostly built in the ‘in‑between’: the routines we keep, the responsibilities we carry, the small acts of discipline and connection that quietly shape our days and how we experience them.

Chop wood. Carry water.

For me, “chopping wood and carrying water” isn’t dramatic. It’s found in the consistent behaviours that sit outside the noise of the day; the habits that don’t demand attention but quietly shape how I show up. It’s the discipline of movement, the rhythm of showing up again and again and again. It’s also the slower moments. Pilates is a gift I found when I could no longer run anymore. For me, it is the space where strength meets flow, and breath becomes the anchor. There’s a sense of letting go, a kind of stillness in those sessions that’s hard to find anywhere else. No chaos.

No deadlines. No decisions waiting to be made. Just movement, control, and presence. That space, where effort meets calm, has become my version of a happy place. Not because it’s extraordinary, but because it strips everything back to what’s real. I’m not thinking about what’s next or what’s unresolved. I’m simply there. Fully experiencing the moment.

And that’s the shift the koan points to.

Before we understand this, routine can feel like something to get through on the way to happiness. After we understand it, the routine becomes the practice of happiness itself.

It doesn’t mean abandoning ambition or settling for less. It means recognising that wellbeing isn’t deferred to some future state. It’s built into how we engage with what’s already in front of us.

Because most of life won’t feel like a highlight reel. It will feel like repetition. Responsibility. Effort.

Chop wood. Carry water.

And perhaps happiness isn’t something we eventually arrive at.

Perhaps it’s something we practice, quietly and consistently, in the middle of the life that we already have.

"STRONGER TOGETHER" is a weekly column where Tanya explores key issues. This week, Tanya discusses how the simple but powerful lessons from Spencer Johnson's Peaks and Valleys remind us to stay grounded in success, purposeful in challenge, and aware that our everyday choices shape the highs and lows we experience.

By IMPACT Community Services Managing Director Tanya O'Shea

Some books are complex and layered. Others are disarmingly simple. Peaks and Valleys by Spencer Johnson sits firmly in the latter category, offering a short parable with a message that lingers long after the final page.

At its core, the book is built on a metaphor we instinctively understand: life is a series of peaks and valleys. Peaks represent the moments when things are going well, such as success, progress, or a sense of ease. Valleys, in contrast, are the harder seasons: setbacks, uncertainty, and struggle. These aren’t interruptions to life. They are life in its rawest form.

What Johnson does so effectively is shift our focus. Rather than avoiding valleys or clinging to peaks, he invites us to see the connection between them. The choices we make in our good times often sow the seeds for future challenges, while the decisions we make in difficult times create the conditions for future success.

There is a quiet danger in every peak: complacency.

When life improves and pressure eases, it’s easy to forget what got us there. The early mornings become late nights. One missed training session becomes a week. We say no to catching up with a friend “just this once,” and suddenly connection slips down the list. Slowly, almost invisibly, the disciplines that lifted us out of the valley begin to erode.

It’s rarely one defining decision. It’s the quiet accumulation of small ones.

There is also a reminder about gratitude. Peaks are not just about achieving more. They are about appreciating what we already have. Without that awareness, we risk chasing the next milestone while neglecting the foundations that made it possible.

Valleys, while uncomfortable, offer something equally important. They slow us down, sharpen our perspective, and reconnect us with what matters. They often bring us back to basics, such as discipline, connection and consistency, the very things that enable us to pick ourselves up and move forward.

This insight extends beyond individuals. Organisations experience peaks and valleys just as people do. Growth can breed overconfidence. Challenge can drive clarity and reinvention. The link between them is not coincidental; instead, it is shaped by mindset and behaviour. The decisions made in a valley create future peaks, and habits neglected in a peak can lead to the next valley.  

Peaks and Valleys doesn’t offer complexity; it offers awareness. Stay grounded in the highs. Stay purposeful in the lows. And most importantly, don’t abandon the behaviours that serve you just because things are finally going well.

Because the truth is simple. We don’t just experience our peaks and valleys. We help create them.

"STRONGER TOGETHER" is a weekly column where Tanya explores key issues. This week, Tanya discusses how overwhelm often strikes before we have the capacity to “set boundaries” or “say no,” and why simple, in‑the‑moment tools like the STOP strategy can help interrupt the spiral and restore a sense of control.

By IMPACT Community Services Managing Director Tanya O'Shea

We’ve all heard the advice. Set boundaries. Say no. Prioritise better.

And to be clear, those are good strategies. Important ones, even. But they often require space, clarity and energy… three things that are usually in short supply when you’re already in the spiral of overwhelm.

Because overwhelm doesn’t politely tap you on the shoulder and give you time to redesign your life. It lands all at once: emails piling up, decisions that need to be made, people demanding you prioritise their needs, thoughts racing. And in that moment, being told to “just say no” can feel about as helpful as being told to relax in the middle of a storm.

So, what can you do right now?

This is where I come back to something simple, practical and surprisingly powerful: the STOP strategy.

Not a long-term fix. Not a new system to learn. Just a circuit-breaker for the moment you feel everything closing in.

S – Stop.

Pause. Literally stop what you’re doing. Don’t push through. Don’t open another tab. Don’t respond to one more message. Overwhelm thrives on momentum; the faster you go, the less clearly you think.

T – Take a breath.

A slow, deliberate breath in… and out. Then again. This isn’t fluffy. It’s physiological. Your nervous system is in overdrive, and slowing your breath is one of the fastest ways to bring it back down.

O – Observe.

What’s actually happening for you right now?

What are you thinking? (“I’ll never get this done.”)

What are you feeling (pressure, frustration, heart racing, maybe even a bit of panic)?

No judgment. Just noticing. Because when everything feels tangled, awareness is the first step to creating space.

P – Proceed.

And here’s the key. Proceed calmly, not perfectly.

What is the next small, manageable step? Not the whole solution. Just the next right thing.

Send one email. Make one call. Write the first sentence.

Overwhelm shrinks when action becomes specific and doable.

The truth is, we can’t always prevent overwhelm. Life is full, complex and demanding, especially for those carrying responsibility at work, at home, and in our communities.

But we can interrupt it.

So yes, learn to say no. Protect your time. Build better systems.

But in the moment when it all feels like too much, don’t start with a grand plan.

Be kind to yourself and start with STOP.

"STRONGER TOGETHER" is a weekly column where Tanya explores key issues. This week, Tanya discusses why the cost leaders scrutinise least may be the one affecting their people the most: cognitive load.

By IMPACT Community Services Managing Director Tanya O'Shea

The Federal Budget continues to dominate media coverage, alongside the usual advice on how to make money stretch further. This week, I found myself reviewing a straightforward financial decision: a property valuation quote that had increased significantly since the last time we engaged the service. It prompted the usual questions: Has the scope changed? Is the market driving this? Should we test it?

That’s what good governance looks like. We interrogate cost. We compare. We justify. We ask questions for clarity.

But it struck me that while we are disciplined about financial inputs, there is one cost we almost never question with the same rigour: the cost of cognitive load.

Cognitive load is the quiet accumulation of decisions, interruptions, priorities, and competing demands that sit behind every role, but especially for those in leadership. It is the mental effort required to hold complexity, make judgments with incomplete information, and switch rapidly between challenges that all feel urgent. Unlike property, payroll or program costs, this doesn’t appear in a budget line. It doesn’t trigger a procurement process. It doesn’t get benchmarked.

Instead, we just carry it. And increasingly, we are asking people to carry more of it.

Modern workplaces have become more complex, not less. Decisions are rarely straightforward. Information is constant. Technology has enabled speed, but it has also removed the natural pauses that once allowed thinking to catch up with doing. The result is not simply “busy” people; it is cognitively overloaded people. This is not an issue related to resilience or capability. It is a structural issue. You can have highly capable, committed people still feeling stretched because the system they are operating in demands continuous attention, constant decision-making, and very little space to pause and think.

We would rarely accept a 35% increase in a financial contract without scrutiny. Yet it is entirely possible that, over time, we have allowed a similar increase in what we expect people to hold mentally, without ever recognising or naming it. And unfortunately, that has consequences.

When cognitive load is unmanaged, it shows up as slower decision-making, reduced clarity, fatigue, and, eventually, disengagement. Not because people don’t care, but because there is simply too much pressure, leading to an inability to process information at the required rate and standard.

The challenge for leaders is not to eliminate complexity (that would be unrealistic). Instead, it is to become more intentional about how much we are asking people to carry, and whether all of it is really necessary.

What can be simplified? What decisions can be removed, automated, or better supported? Where are we creating work that adds noise rather than value?

Because while financial discipline protects the organisation’s resources, attention to cognitive load protects its people.

And increasingly, that may be the more important investment.

"STRONGER TOGETHER" is a weekly column where Tanya explores key issues. This week, Tanya discusses what she calls 'weekend adulting fatigue' and why some tasks feel harder than they should.

By IMPACT Community Services Managing Director Tanya O'Shea

During my downtime, I’m starting to suspect I’ve developed a very specific, highly advanced condition: ‘Weekend Adulting Fatigue.’ Or put more simply, by the time the weekend arrives, my desire and capacity to make even basic life decisions appears to have quietly left the building. 

Instead of focusing on personal admin that is both important and necessary, I find myself doing almost anything that doesn’t resemble my weekday job.

It presents in curious ways.

Last weekend, for example, I absolutely could not bring myself to complete my enduring power of attorney paperwork. Nor could I manage the relatively low-stakes task of reviewing my bank statement and cancelling a handful of subscriptions we never use.

Instead, I baked Anzac biscuits.

Not just a quick batch. A considered batch. I researched the perfect golden syrup ratio, debated chewy versus crunchy, and stood guard at the oven like a contestant on a baking show no one invited me to.

The kitchen smelt like nostalgia and triumph.

My legal affairs, however, remain untouched.

From there, I moved seamlessly into reorganising the pantry. This felt urgent. Critical, even. Why were the lentils sitting beside the tin of corn? Why were there three open packets of rice?

I decanted. I labelled. I alphabetised, all with quiet intensity.

And therein lies the problem.

There’s a particular kind of fatigue that sets in when everything feels administratively heavy. Not physically difficult, but just… hard. Tasks like calling your mobile provider because the chatbot won’t answer your very reasonable question. Or reviewing your super statement to check how much you’re paying in fees, because you know, somewhere in the back of your mind, that you should.

We don’t avoid these things because we don’t understand them. We avoid them because they carry a strange emotional weight. They ask for decisions, analysis, accountability, and occasionally, confrontation. Even something as simple as cancelling a subscription requires energy and mental bandwidth that you can’t quite access on a Saturday afternoon.

So, we pivot.

We choose tasks with a clear beginning, middle and end. Tasks where the outcome is visible and immediate. A pantry can be sorted. Biscuits can be baked. Lawns can be mowed. A sense of accomplishment can be achieved. No fine print, no password resets, no on hold music.

But eventually, the incomplete tasks rise to the surface.

Perhaps the trick isn’t to eliminate procrastination entirely (that seems ambitious) but to recognise it with a bit of humour, and a bit less guilt. To accept that some days are for tackling the meaningful, important tasks…

…and some days are for reorganising the spice rack.

Tomorrow, I’ll tackle the will.

Today, I have excellent biscuits.

"STRONGER TOGETHER" is a weekly column where Tanya explores key issues. This week, Tanya discusses how the rapid rise of AI is fuelling fears of becoming obsolete, while highlighting the need to view change as an opportunity for growth rather than a threat.

By IMPACT Community Services Managing Director Tanya O'Shea

As the pace of change accelerates, I find myself encountering new acronyms regularly in my role. Recently, “FOBO”, short for Fear of Becoming Obsolete, surfaced in two separate conversations: one during a leadership discussion on capability and relevance, and another in the context of how AI is reshaping our work, thinking and contribution to the world. When a concept appears twice in such a short span, it usually warrants closer attention.

FOBO isn’t just theoretical; it’s deeply personal. Many of us quietly ask: Will my skills remain relevant in a rapidly changing world? AI continues to evolve at speed, redefining roles and shifting expectations in ways that can feel relentless. What once unfolded over years is now happening in months, sometimes weeks.

For many people, value has traditionally been grounded in experience and expertise. AI challenges this foundation. It can analyse information instantly and generate insights in unprecedented ways. The question is no longer just “What do I know?” but “How do I remain relevant in an ever-changing landscape?”

At the heart of FOBO is fear, which often shows up in subtle ways. Hesitation to try new AI tools, reluctance to change familiar practices, or a sense of overwhelm in trying to keep up with everything at once. Beneath conversations about performance, strategy and leadership, there can be an underlying tension: Will the world still need the skills and knowledge that I bring?

Importantly, FOBO also signals awareness. It reflects care about contribution, capability and continued impact. Many of us are navigating similar questions, and it’s worth remembering that relevance has never been static; AI has simply accelerated the pace of change. Those who thrive will be the ones who remain curious, adaptable and willing to continuously learn (and unlearn).

Critically, they will focus on what AI cannot replace: judgement, context, relationships and ethical decision-making.

There is also an opportunity for people to create reassurance and belonging. Sharing our own experiences, including uncertainty, helps normalise the conversation and builds collective confidence. In doing so, we strengthen a culture where people feel supported to grow together, rather than pressured to keep up alone.

FOBO is a natural response to rapid change. It doesn’t need to hold us back; in fact, it can become a catalyst for growth. The challenge for all of us is to lean into that discomfort, recognise the value we continue to bring, and remain open to what is next.

Because in the age of AI, relevance isn’t lost. It’s simply redefined.

"STRONGER TOGETHER" is a weekly column where Tanya explores key issues. This week, Tanya discusses the power of starting the morning with a win, whether it's through a tough session at the gym or by conquering any other mountain you choose to climb.

By IMPACT Community Services Managing Director Tanya O'Shea

There’s something powerful about doing a hard thing before most people have even had their first coffee.

For me, it’s a Monday morning leg session in my home gym. Early. Relentless. The kind that tests your resolve before the week has even properly started.

It would be easy not to go. To hit snooze. To tell myself I’ll make up for it after work. But I’ve learned that what happens in those early hours sets the tone for everything that follows.

By the time the sun is properly up, I’ve already done something challenging.

There’s a quiet confidence that comes from that. Not loud or showy, but steady. Grounding. It shifts the way the rest of the day feels. Conversations seem more manageable. Decisions feel clearer. Challenges don’t carry quite the same weight.

That early win builds momentum. It changes your mindset from reactive to proactive, from feeling like the day is coming at you, to knowing you’re already ahead of it.

And it’s not really about the gym.

It’s about discipline. About choosing effort before comfort. About proving to yourself, in a small but meaningful way, that you can do hard things, even when you’d rather not.

Those early moments create a ripple effect. When something unexpected comes your way at 10am or 2pm, you meet it differently. You don’t hesitate as much. You don’t avoid. You lean in.

Because you’ve already reminded yourself of what you’re capable of.

There’s also something symbolic about starting the week this way. Mondays can carry a weight of expectation: unfinished tasks, competing priorities, pressure to perform. But beginning with a deliberate act of effort shifts that narrative.

It becomes less about what the week demands of you, and more about how you choose to show up and the attitude that you bring during the difficult moments.

You don’t need a gym session for this to work. It might be a difficult conversation you’ve been putting off, a piece of work that requires focus, or simply getting up earlier than usual to create space to think and plan for what is coming up.

What matters is that it’s intentional, and that it stretches you.

Because when you start the day by overcoming something hard, everything that follows feels just that little bit more achievable.

And sometimes, that’s exactly what you need.

"STRONGER TOGETHER" is a weekly column where Tanya explores key issues. This week, Tanya discusses Do It For Dolly Day, and why all of us have a role to play in creating a world free from bullying and filled with kindness.

By IMPACT Community Services Managing Director Tanya O'Shea

Today, communities across Australia will come together to mark Do It For Dolly Day, a national day of action dedicated to standing against bullying and choosing kindness.

‘Do It For Dolly Day’ was established in memory of Dolly Everett, who took her own life at just 14 years of age following ongoing bullying and cyberbullying. From unimaginable loss came a powerful movement, led by Dolly’s parents, Kate and Tick.  They continue to inspire a growing community: a sea of blue and butterflies united by messages of kindness, courage and connection. 

Before Dolly died, she completed a sketch with the words ‘speak even if your voice shakes’, a powerful message that lives on through this movement.

Bullying, in all its forms, can have lasting impacts. It affects young people’s confidence, their sense of belonging and their mental health. Whether it happens face to face, online, or quietly in exclusion and isolation, bullying thrives when voices are silenced and when people feel they are facing it alone.

Do It For Dolly Day is a reminder that bullying should never happen, and no one should have to face it alone. It is also a call to action for families, schools, workplaces and communities to actively create environments where people feel safe to speak up, where their voices are taken seriously and where courage is met with care and support.

Wearing blue today is more than a gesture. It is a visible sign that we stand together. That we choose empathy over indifference. That we are willing to listen, to intervene and to speak, even when our own voice might shake, in order to protect young people before harm takes hold.

Through initiatives like Do It For Dolly Day, Dolly’s Dream provides resources, education and support to help prevent bullying and assist young people and families when bullying occurs. These efforts remind us that kindness is not passive.  It is something we practice through our actions, our words and our willingness to notice when someone might be struggling, and to say something.

Today, let’s pause and reflect on the role each of us plays. Let’s check in on the people around us. Let’s model respect, compassion and courage. And let’s remember that sometimes the bravest thing we can do is use our voice.

"STRONGER TOGETHER" is a weekly column where Tanya explores key issues. This week, Tanya discusses the reality that hard is unavoidable, and that the real choice is often which hard we’re willing to carry.

By IMPACT Community Services Managing Director Tanya O'Shea

I didn’t hear it myself.

I heard it second hand, at a family get together, when my husband and son where sharing something that they had talked about during smoko on a job site.

They’d been sitting with a group of tradies, perched on eskies chatting over lunch, when one of the other blokes started talking. He’s a plumber who’s been around a while. The kind of tradie other tradies respect. The one people listen to, not because he’s loud, but because he’s lived enough to know what matters.

At some point in the conversation, he said it simply:

“You’ve gotta choose your hard.”

It landed.

He wasn’t delivering a lecture. He was talking about bodies that don’t recover the way they used to. About backs, knees, shoulders. About mates who can’t work anymore. About the difference between short term discomfort and long-term consequences.

Getting up early is hard. Training when you’re tired is hard. Eating better is hard. Saying no to the extra beer or the second pie is hard. But so is chronic pain. So is being exhausted all the time. So is losing your livelihood because your body finally gives out.

You don’t get to avoid hard; you just decide which version you’re willing to live with.

What struck me most was that this wasn’t a motivational quote pulled from a podcast. It was wisdom passed down on a job site, shared among a group of men quietly listening to someone whose experience gave weight to his words.

There’s a lot of pressure these days to make life easier. Easier choices. Easier comfort. Easier paths. But “easy” often just delays the bill, and when it arrives, it usually costs more than we expected.

Avoiding the tough conversation feels easy until resentment settles in. Skipping the workout feels easy until your health limits your options. Putting off the decision feels easy until indecision makes it for you.

Choosing your hard isn’t about being extreme or punishing yourself. It’s about agency. About understanding that effort now often buys freedom later.

Hard work builds strength. Hard conversations build trust. Hard boundaries build peace. None of it looks impressive in the moment, but it compounds quietly over time.

So maybe the question isn’t “How do I make this easier?”

Maybe it’s “Which hard am I willing to carry?”

Because whether you’re on a job site, in a boardroom, or around a kitchen bench, you’re making choices every day.

And as a wise tradie reminded my husband and son over smoko, you don’t get to skip hard.

You just get to choose it.

"STRONGER TOGETHER" is a weekly column where Tanya explores key issues. This week, Tanya discusses what enmeshment looks and feels like and how we can re-establish boundaries in our relationships without becoming detached.

By IMPACT Community Services Managing Director Tanya O'Shea

Closeness in relationships is often seen as a strength. We value connection, loyalty and emotional support, particularly within families, teams and long-standing partnerships. But when boundaries blur and individuality is quietly eroded, closeness can turn into something more complex: enmeshment.

Enmeshment occurs when relationships lack clear emotional or psychological boundaries. When this dynamic comes into play, people may feel responsible for another’s feelings, decisions or wellbeing, often at the expense of their own autonomy. Thoughts, emotions, and identities become intertwined, making it difficult to recognise individuality or respect difference and uniqueness in others.

Unlike healthy connections, enmeshment is not always obvious. It often develops gradually, wrapped in good intentions: care, protectiveness, shared history. Over time, however, it can create subtle pressure to align to a certain way of thinking, respond in particular ways, or prioritise harmony over honesty. Disagreement may feel disloyal. Distance can feel like abandonment. Disharmony may be quietly discouraged. Individual needs may be dismissed as selfish.

In families, enmeshment can show up as difficulty making independent choices, guilt when asserting boundaries, or an unspoken expectation to solve another person’s problems or manage their emotions. In workplaces or leadership contexts, it may look like over-identification with roles or an organisation, blurred professional boundaries, or decision-making shaped by personal dynamics rather than clarity and accountability.

The cost of enmeshment is not the relationship itself, but the loss of self within it. People may feel overly anxious, resentful or emotionally exhausted without fully understanding why. Creativity, resilience and growth may become constrained when individuals cannot safely differentiate or express how they truly feel.

Healing from enmeshment does not mean withdrawing or becoming detached. It means learning that closeness and boundaries are not opposites; they can co-exist. Healthy relationships allow for both connection and separation: care without control, support without obligation, belonging without loss of self.

Developing awareness is the first step. Naming patterns, noticing discomfort, and gently experimenting with clearer boundaries can create space for healthier interaction. When people are free to be themselves, relationships do not weaken. They become more honest, more sustainable and more genuine, strengthening human connection and improving the overall quality of relationships, while allowing individuals to remain true to themselves.

"STRONGER TOGETHER" is a weekly column where Tanya explores key issues. This week, Tanya discusses the magic of sitting around a small fire and how simple rituals like this can help us to unwind and let the weight of the day gently settle.

By IMPACT Community Services Managing Director Tanya O'Shea

While attending a weekend event recently, I was reminded how mesmerising, and unexpectedly safe, it can feel to sit around a small campfire in the presence of strangers. There is something about this kind of fire that softens edges, quietens noise, and creates a shared sense of ease, even among people who have only just met.

Fire is one of the four elements, alongside air, water, and earth, that has shaped human life since the beginning. Long before it was something we turned on with a switch, fire was essential to survival. Alongside earth beneath our feet, air in our lungs and water to sustain us, fire brought warmth and light, protection, and possibility. It was where people gathered to cook, to rest, to talk. And to make sense of their world.

There is something deeply calming about sitting around a fire. Not the kind of calm that switches your mind off, but the kind that steadies it. Conversation softens. Silences lengthen. No one rushes to fill the space. The fire becomes the centre, and everything else seems to settle in around it.

A tended, contained fire asks nothing of us except attention. Its movement is constant but unhurried. Flames rise and fall, embers glow, sparks lift and fade. Watching it is a reminder that not everything needs to be driven, measured, or resolved. Some things simply ‘are’ in the moment.

In this setting, fire also creates connection. Chairs draw closer. Stories emerge that might never surface in a meeting room, in a hallway or across a table. Fire creates a shared centre, a place where people can simply be together, without expectation or performance.

In a world that prizes speed, certainty, consistency, and output, sitting around a fire can feel almost radical. It is a quiet act of resistance, perhaps even an antidote to busyness. It reminds us that rest is not laziness, and stillness is not wasted time.

In my workplace, we often talk about innovation, leadership, and change. But sometimes the most important thing we can do is slow down enough to reconnect with ourselves, with each other, and with the elements that have always grounded us: earth, air, water, and fire.

We don’t need elaborate rituals. Sometimes it’s just a small fire pit, a few people, and a simple conversation that allows the weight of the day to gently settle.

And perhaps that’s why fire still matters. As one of the elements, it reminds us that calm doesn’t have to be complicated. Sometimes it’s as simple as sitting, watching, and allowing ourselves to be present.

"STRONGER TOGETHER" is a weekly column where Tanya explores key issues. This week, Tanya discusses her learnings about change after more than 25 years at IMPACT Community Services.

By IMPACT Community Services Managing Director Tanya O'Shea

Staying in one organisation for more than 25 years isn’t something I ever planned. It’s something that happens through seasons of change (some chosen, some imposed) and a steady willingness to adapt without losing sight of why you started.

When people hear “25 years,” they often assume stability or sameness. The reality is quite the opposite. To stay relevant over that length of time, you must be prepared to change repeatedly. Roles evolve. Communities shift. Funding models, expectations, technology and workforce needs transform. If you don’t move with that change, you will fall behind.

What experience has taught me is that change is rarely a single event. It’s incremental, sometimes uncomfortable, often imperfect. There are moments when you outgrow roles, and others when roles stretch you before you feel ready. Growth doesn’t always arrive neatly packaged as opportunity; sometimes it looks and feels like disruption.

Over time, I’ve also learned that resilience isn’t about pushing through at all costs. It’s about knowing when to adapt, when to let go, and when to hold firm. Staying connected to purpose is what makes that discernment possible. When you’re clear on the “why,” you can change the “how” without losing yourself along the way.

Longevity also teaches humility. No one stays relevant alone. Learning from others, including staff, peers and community members, keeps you grounded and open. The moment you assume you already know the answers is the moment you stop being useful.

There’s a common misconception that long-term commitment to one organisation limits growth. In truth, putting down deep roots offers its own kind of learning. You gain perspective by seeing cycles repeat, by understanding context, and by recognising that quick fixes rarely endure. You also learn that relationships matter. Trust built over time creates the conditions for honest conversations and meaningful change.

In today’s labour market, rarely will someone stay in one organisation for decades. Careers aren’t meant to follow a single trajectory. But for those who do stay, the lesson is clear: longevity only works when it’s paired with curiosity, adaptability, and courage.

Change will happen whether you invite it or not. The real choice is whether you grow with it, and whether you do so while remaining true to the things that matter most.