I Was Only Ever Meant to Be a Dinnerlady…

The Unexpected Start of My Coaching Journey

“You never know where a path will lead especially when you weren’t “meant” to be on it.”

I’m sharing a story I’ve never told publicly before, the real beginning of my coaching journey. From becoming a teenage mum to mentoring Indigenous students supporting vulnerable women, this is the foundation of everything I do now.

When I was living in Australia, working as a midwife, I was offered a job I never saw coming.

A university had created a role for someone to support Aboriginal nursing and midwifery students, a mentor and advocate to walk beside them as they trained.

They offered it to me.

A white English woman in her late twenties, with no lived experience of being Indigenous, and no background in advocacy work.

What on earth did I know about their culture, their challenges, or what they were carrying?

Honestly? Absolutely nothing.

But the very fact they needed someone like me said everything about how under-represented Indigenous women were in the system.

And while it wasn’t called coaching at the time, that’s exactly what it was.

The Girl Who Was Taught Not to Aim Too High

Looking back now, that opportunity was worlds away from where I started.

As a little girl, I wanted to be a dinner lady.

Not because it was my dream, but because it was what I knew. My mum was a waitress. That’s what hard-working women did in my world.

My dad said I should aim a bit higher. Perhaps an air hostess.

That was his version of ambition for me.

No one was talking about university. Or midwifery. Or being a business owner. The map was small. Safe. Predictable.

And then life threw another curveball: I became a mum at 19.

That came with a whole load of assumptions.
That I wouldn’t get far.
That I’d live off the system.
That I’d already peaked.

But I was not prepared to settle for the version of me that other people had written. I was quietly, fiercely determined not to be a stereotype.
That decision became the fire behind everything I’ve done since.

From Teen Mum to Something More

I didn’t follow the path that was expected of me. I forged a new one.

I went to university. I trained as a midwife. I studied psychology. I trained in counselling and therapy because I wanted to understand what made people grow through hardship and how to hold space for them while they did.

So when I stepped into that mentoring role, I brought all of that with me, not just the academic training, but the lived experience.

I knew what it was like to be underestimated.
To be the one no one bet on.
To have to prove yourself again and again.

This Was Coaching… Long Before It Had a Hashtag

At the time, I didn’t call it coaching. Nobody did.

I was a mentor. A midwife. A support person who walked alongside women facing enormous challenges.

But looking back?

That was coaching.

Not the kind that now floods your social media feed with reels and taglines.
Not the kind with branded worksheets and client funnels.

This was real. Raw. Quiet.

Conversations in quiet study rooms, and catch-ups between lectures, the spaces where overwhelm spilled out and resilience was quietly rebuilt.

Late-night phone calls when someone was ready to give up.
Sitting beside someone who felt like they didn’t belong and helping them see they did.

Before I ever charged for a session, I’d already lived hundreds of hours of the work.

So if it looks like I came out of nowhere, I didn’t.

This work wasn’t downloaded. It was earned. In the most human, humbling, real-life way.

What Those Women Taught Me

The Indigenous students I mentored were some of the most courageous women I’ve ever met.

Many travelled hours to attend placements. Some were raising children. Most were navigating racism, cultural pressure, financial strain, and deep trauma, all within a system that wasn’t built for them.

And still, they showed up.

They wanted to be the midwives and nurses they never had. They wanted to change what care looked like in their communities.

While I didn’t share their story, I knew how it felt to carry expectation, limitation, and a quiet refusal to accept either.

That defiance, that determination to break the mould, was something we shared.

What Came Next

After that, I went on to help open a crisis unit for women experiencing domestic violence, sexual assault, addiction, and teen pregnancy.

It was intense. Heartbreaking. Necessary. And it solidified everything I now believe about strength, survival, and what women are capable of.

Again, I wasn’t there to fix them.

I was there to believe in them.

To hold space until they could hold themselves.
To help them remember who they were underneath the trauma.

That work didn’t give me a job title.
It gave me purpose.

The Moral

If you’ve ever been made to feel like you weren’t meant for more, because of your postcode, your past, your age, or your story, please know:

You don’t have to follow the story they wrote for you.

You can write your own.

And everything you’ve lived through? That’s not your baggage.

It’s your qualifications.

I’m not here because I downloaded a course and launched a website.

I’m here because I’ve lived the work and I’m still living it.

If this story resonates, I’d love to hear from you.

Leave a comment, share it with someone who needs it, or get in touch if you’re ready to start rewriting your own story.

You’re not stuck.
You’re just getting started.