Disrupting the Norm with Love: The Power of Truth, Trust, and Human Connection
“You become the sum of the energy you surround yourself with.” That realisation hit me like a full-body jolt—not the polite sort of insight that drifts in with a gentle breeze, but the disruptive kind that rearranges your mental furniture. It’s also the living, breathing theme that threaded through my conversation with Joanne Lockwood on her Inclusion Bites Podcast. As we traced the contours of belonging, truth-telling, and, yes, breaking the so-called ‘rules’, I found myself continually circling back to one notion: real inclusion requires disrupting the norm, beginning with fierce, uncompromising honesty—with ourselves first, then with others.
This isn’t about theory; it’s about practice—personal and professional. Whether I’m leading a boardroom or welcoming a group of strangers, what connects us isn’t politeness or credentials. It’s the raw, sometimes difficult, always rewarding act of meeting each other without disguise.
Setting the Stage: Why Connection Is My Compass
For most of my life, I’ve been preoccupied with a single, driving question: How do you get beneath the surface—to that place where people actually feel seen and want to stay? This isn’t a trivial curiosity; it’s a strategic imperative, especially as the world spins ever faster, tech isolates us, and divisiveness seems to sell.
I describe myself as a disruptor of the norm—a truth, trust, and love activator. What does that look like in practice? It’s the ability to bring strangers together and leave them feeling truly connected. This has nothing to do with social bravado or extroverted bravura. (Truth: at my core, I value solitude as much as vibrant togetherness.) It has everything to do with radical honesty and treating people as they are, not as they perform.
When Joanne invited me to join her on the Inclusion Bites Podcast, we dived straight in. Joanne isn’t simply a host; she’s a catalyst. As the founder of SEE Change Happen, she’s an advocate, an accomplished speaker, and a leader who refuses to settle for box-ticking around diversity and inclusion. She creates environments—physical and virtual—where real stories surface and old assumptions crack open.
More than [INSERT_VIEW_COUNT] people have already watched our interview on YouTube, with many more tuning in via Spotify and Apple Podcasts.
If this conversation sparks something for you—questions, pushback, or agreement—I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments below. I read every one.
Let’s unpack some hard-won truths from that exchange—some uplifting, some uncomfortable, all essential.
The Lies We Inherit, the Truths We Choose
If you had asked me years ago to list my guiding truths, ‘radical responsibility’ probably wouldn’t have made the cut. Not because I didn’t value responsibility, but because I hadn’t yet uncovered how many borrowed lies I’d been carrying.
We’re led to believe so much about what’s ‘normal’: that womanhood is incomplete without motherhood, that a good employee keeps a tidy divide between work and self, that adaptation is safer than authenticity. But stop for a moment—where do these ideas actually arise from? Joanne put it plainly, “If we’re not careful, what we find ourselves doing is creating our own lie, which then becomes a version of our truth.”
That landed. Many of these so-called truths aren’t conscious decisions; they sneak in silently, inherited from generations before us, culture, ‘significant adults’, well-meaning colleagues. I grew up, like many, absorbing notions that didn’t serve me—or anyone, really.
The first step to belonging anywhere is refusing to lie to yourself. What’s remarkable—and a little frightening—is how quickly a small self-betrayal snowballs into an identity. You tell yourself children are necessary for wholeness, or that perfection at work is a safety net, or that you’re not equipped for connection if you’re quiet or reflective. Before you know it, you’re not just living a story—you’re trapped in it.
Joanne’s take on this was insightful: “That first lie is 10 centimetres. The next, another 10. Eventually, people are so invested in the version of themselves they’ve built, there’s no way of backpedalling. The alternative feels too raw, too dangerous.”
The Power—and Cost—of Divided Selves
I spent 25 years in corporate environments, climbing, strategising, excelling. But if I’m honest, I lived a double life: one version of me for Monday to Friday, another for home. ‘Professionalism’ was just as often armouring up as it was genuine contribution. When you’re living two lives, your energy splits right alongside you. I see this everywhere now—in organisations, in friends, in strangers at networking events.
There’s a real cost to this. As Joanne put it, “We separate ourselves from our body. We push through work, collapsing at the weekend. We immerse ourselves in numbing routines—to forget, to endure, to distract.” The trouble is, the more we try to hide, the more that divided identity gnaws away at us—and the more distance we put between our real selves and any hope of genuine belonging.
My own wake-up call came when I lost my beloved cat, Lester. It was a piercing moment—suddenly, the scaffolding of corporate life made little sense without the soft responsibility of caring for another being. I suddenly saw how I’d been slogging through jobs and routines out of inertia, not authenticity. That loss cleared the path to a new life: property investing, mentorship, and, crucially, reconnecting with my own truth. In the end, I found that the world outside the norm didn’t collapse—it cracked me open to deeper connection.
Grief, Identity, and the Natural Order of Transformation
We all experience transitions—some chosen, some thrust upon us. Grief, I’ve learned, is less about the absence of a person or a role and more about mourning the identity that person or season gave us. Joanne’s experience with the loss of her father was a vivid reminder: even in estranged relationships, the ending stirs something elemental. It disrupts your understanding of who you are and the stories you’ve told about your place in the world.
For me, losing Lester illuminated this cycle acutely. There is disbelief (“did this actually happen?”), grief (“what I had is gone”), relief (“space to expand into something new, sometimes guilt-ridden but necessary”), and finally belief (“that part of my identity lives on, but it’s changed.”) These phases are universal—no matter the source of the transition.
Why do so many of us resist this cycle? Why does the idea of letting go—or even simply admitting we want to—feel so dangerous? Because the norm, however stifling, offers a measure of comfort. To disrupt it—especially with love and truth—requires stepping directly into discomfort, and, at least initially, loneliness.
Connection Is Not an Accident: Learning to Create Community
There’s a persistent myth that some people are just natural ‘connectors’, effortlessly pulling others in. But here’s my reality: I didn’t always have friends, community, or even the faintest clue how to build either. For years I was the one on the lonely couch, convinced I was abnormal for wanting something deeper than small talk.
It took years to dismantle that myth and see that true connection can be created—consciously, intentionally, and (here’s the secret) by starting with your own values. When I moved to Shropshire without a friend in sight, I got intentional. I asked: Who am I, and who do I want to surround myself with? What do I value, and am I willing to start my own table if I don’t find it?
Building community became a process of filtering for alignment—not just filling space for the sake of avoiding loneliness. Today, my circle is filled with women who value deep, honest connection, who want to show up as themselves, warts and all.
Joanne put it succinctly: “If you hang out in corporate life with corporate people, that becomes your truth. But as soon as you step into entrepreneur space, you find solace among others who’ve chosen the unusual path.” That’s critical—the people around us shape the boundaries of our audacity, our courage, and our sense of what’s ‘normal’.
Permission to Be: Truth as the Greatest Connector
One of the greatest myths we perpetuate is that belonging requires hiding, adapting, or toning ourselves down. I see this when people claim they’re ‘too introverted’ to connect, or ‘too different’ to be accepted. But here’s what I now know: the more I inhabit my own being—powerfully, quietly, sometimes loudly, but always truthfully—the more others do the same.
Joanne sees this pattern constantly: “It’s another truth we’re telling ourselves, another label we’re owning without question. If we stop, if we trace our reactions with five honest ‘whys’, we often realise we’re resisting visibility, not because it’s inauthentic, but because we haven’t practised self-trust.”
Now, I treat honesty as a sort of superpower. If I’m late, I say so. If I cut someone off in a video call, I own up. If I’m not up for a meeting, I just say it. And you know what? Far from cutting me off, it’s magnetic. People respond, “Oh, I’ve done that too.” That’s the connective tissue of humanity: not perfection, but authenticity.
Food, Marmite, and the Stories We Tell Ourselves
You might wonder what Marmite and connection have in common. Here’s the punchline: they both reveal the arbitrary rules we live by and the power of disrupting them. For decades, I told myself, “I don’t like Marmite.” But then I found myself enjoying Twiglets—Marmite’s crunchy cousin. Joanne had a similar story with foods she ‘couldn’t’ eat, habits she ‘couldn’t’ break, or identities she’d been given rather than chosen.
It’s about more than taste. Taste buds, I believe, link directly to identity: as we evolve, so does what we’re willing to try and, ultimately, to enjoy. When the stories change, so do the outcomes. I now find as much joy in making an exquisite tart tatin as I do in forging business relationships. Both require presence, listening to what’s actually needed rather than prescribed recipes—and the willingness to break out of the familiar, even in small ways.
When Two Truths Meet: Beyond Marmite, Beyond Roles
Sometimes, belonging isn’t about blending in—it’s about choosing yourself as the chosen one, then inviting others to meet you at your frequency. That’s the difference between collecting acquaintances and building real community. In the end, you cannot outsource belonging. You must begin by choosing yourself and then curating the energetic field you want to inhabit.
This isn’t always received warmly. The status quo is deeply invested in conformity. As Joanne noted, “The greater forces that push against us living authentically will do everything in their power to make us doubt.” But there’s no greater act of inclusion—personally or organisationally—than refusing to lie about who you are and what matters to you.
Bravery, Norm Disruption, and the Joy of Missing Out
People often describe moves like mine—leaving corporate life, retiring early, starting again in a new community—as brave. They use it as a compliment, sometimes tinged with curiosity, sometimes with a whiff of repressed longing. But bravery, I’ve found, is simply energy redirected: away from people-pleasing and towards living in the integrity of your own values.
The older I get, the more comfortable I am with saying, “This isn’t for me.” The joy of missing out (JOMO), replacing the fear of missing out (FOMO), is a product of clarity: if it’s not a full-body yes, I don’t go. Loneliness dissipates when you’re inhabiting your own truth, and the connections you make from that place are sustainable, reciprocal, and nourishing.
When Joanne shared her travelator analogy—about getting off the standard path and choosing your own destination—I recognised the journey instantly. There’s a cost to pressing the stop button, but there’s an even greater cost to never looking up and realising you’re not actually headed where you want to go.
A Final Reflection: Choosing the Audacity of Love
If I could leave you with one disruptive invitation, it would be this: Let your life interrupt the norms. Question not just what you believe, but why you believe it. Challenge the micro-lies that build up over years and the stories that others—family, culture, colleagues—have given you.
Permission to belong comes from within, not from the approval of others. As Joanne reminded me, “We all matter, but we have to decide that for ourselves.” The world doesn’t need more conformity; it needs more humans boldly activating truth, trust, and love.
If what I’ve shared resonates, pushes a button, or leaves you with more questions than answers, let’s talk in the comments below. None of us are meant to navigate this alone. Belonging—real, radical, joyous belonging—is an ongoing act of courage and an open door we must continually walk through.
Here’s to disrupting the norm, with love—one truth, one community, one imperfect, honest day at a time.