The most vulnerable words I’ve ever written. Grab your popcorn — If you need me, I’ll be hiding under a desk.
This is a story about me. About you. This is a story about the people we all have inside us. It’s a story about becoming comfortable with them. It’s a reminder that you must.
But, more than anything, this is a story about Nathalie.
It’s an uncomfortable topic for me. Perhaps one of the most. It’s the one thing about me which I know deep down to be true, but which I’ve never been able to find comfort with.
It’s the one part of who and what I am that scares me. It makes me question EVERYTHING. It makes me question whether I am good, or whether I am bad, whether I am kind, or whether I am not, whether I am selfish, or whether I am generous, whether I am moral, or whether I am anything but.
If you knew me well you’d know how uncomfortable that makes me. I’m self aware and always in control of my thoughts. My co-founder and dear friend, Oli Donoghue, once described me as “the most self aware person he knows” (amongst other less endearing qualities).
Many have described me in a similar way. I’ve always been able to see myself before others did and keep in check the things I didn’t like about who or what I was. Thats always been one of my favourite traits.
I studied psychology — I wanted to be a clinical psychologist. I stopped when I realised that my empathy drive was too high and that a career as a psychologist would likely have a profoundly adverse effect on my ability to live a happy and healthy life.
I’ve since spent time with some of the most brilliant psychologists and psychiatrists, exploring my mind and the way I see the world around me. My ability to read people at the deepest level of their cognition is one my greatest strengths and I’ve always tried to ensure I use that skill on myself before using it on others.
I’ve always enjoyed my conversations with psychologists. Not always as a patient, often as a student of the mind wanting to explore complex and often misunderstood concepts of human thought with people who are trained to think critically about it.
It’s probably time I did that in the way that matters most.
Recently I asked for a referral to a psychologist. I told my GP about my life at the time. I was experiencing difficulty processing the world around me more than I ever had and that troubled me immensely. I’ve never once been depressed nor even been close to feeling depressed, but I think I was then and I wanted to find out why.
I told my GP that I wanted to see a psychologist who treated other psychologists, a psychologist who treated Psychology Professors and Psychiatrists — someone who would see my complexity and disarm me of it. He laughed. Uncomfortably loudly. He said “you’re quite self aware, aren’t you. Kane, I don’t think you need to see a psychologist. I think you need to be challenged”
He was right.
All my life I have been in front of the pack. I’ve always found myself doing things that either nobody or few people have done, things that don’t have a process to follow, or a clear pathway. I’ve been pushed towards leadership roles my entire life, whilst simultaneously being afraid of them. I was a House Captain at School; as a child I lead every single group challenge that schooling created for me and my fellow students. Every time I would sit and watch a group of my peers struggle to organise themselves until they’d all realised it was a mess, then I would stand up and reorganise, show them what they weren’t seeing and we’d solve the problem as a team. It was just something I could always do. It didn’t always make me popular, but it always made the team succeed.
I was the first person ever to be nominated by two seperate organisations to attend a renowned youth leadership program that can lay claim to some of this country’s best leaders.
I was asked to become an Officer in the Army, despite enlisting as a Private. I lead men and women in situations that when real, meant my leadership could actually end their lives.
For someone like me, that’s fucking petrifying.
I trained for 3 years as a paramedic, but walked away from the job on day 1 when I realised that being a paramedic wasn’t about leadership or critical thinking; it was about following a set of guidelines and that wasn’t where my skills lay.
That degree and experience empowered me with a skillset that has seen me put my hand up in situations of emergency when nobody else would. On aeroplanes when people are having heart attacks, at car accidents where people are dying, in situations of violent altercations between strangers — I’ve stopped fights that could have killed people with nothing but the careful use of my voice — which the Army taught me could almost always de-escalate a violent situation, no matter how enraged a person was. That’s the single greatest skill I learned in the Army and I have used it on many occasions.
Every job, every thing I’ve ever done has been challenging or something new. I’ve started a number of new companies to do things that nobody else is doing because I saw a problem that needed to be solved and nobody else solving it. It’s that simple. There’s nothing heroic or inspiring about it. I filled a void — nothing more.
But then there’s the thing I never talk about. The thing I don’t include in the ‘fun facts about me’ when people ask. The thing I don’t know how to explain to people when I’ve just finished talking down my abilities because I struggle with praise. Just last night, in a conversation with yet another stranger, I said I had to leave and spend time with my partner, simply because I had no idea how to respond to the incredibly kind things he’d just said about me. He’ll be reading this — Sorry, I reallllllllllly suck at receiving praise so I tend to just run from it.
That thing. That thing I never talk about and which I just tried hiding again by extending the previous paragraph for longer than it needed to be……here goes……
7 years ago I received a bravery award for intervening in a violent hostage situation and potentially saving the life of a Police Officer. It’s something only a few people know about, until now I guess. I’ve actually never fully typed this out or described it to anyone. It’s something I’ve always felt is very very private.
I was a Duty Manager at a Sports Complex when I was at University. One night a man had escaped from a mental health facility nearby, stolen a car and drove it the main road outside the complex I worked at. He parked in the middle of the car park and walked in, screaming, naked from the waist up. He was scary. And he was twice my size. I instructed a staff member to call police while I distracted him with conversation about the government coming for him — one must get creative when yelling won’t work….. every single bit of me told me this man was extremely dangerous.
There were 200 young children in our complex playing basketball and if that man went any further into the facility I felt they would be in real danger.
Soon enough the police arrived. Two small statured women. But, they had batons, pepper spray and side-arms. They were better equipped to handle the situation than I. They instantly took over, stepping in front of me so that I could safely withdraw, doing their job exactly as they were trained. I stepped back some distance, far enough to be out of the man’s vision but close enough to hear what was happening. Something told me I was still needed.
Then it happened. Quicker than I can adequately explain with words. He lunged at one of the officers, grabbing her, pulling at her weapon, screaming, violently punching her in the head in a way that only drugs or mental illness can make a person do. It was gut wrenching. It still sends chills all over me when I think about it.
The officer’s partner, a young skinny blonde woman, froze stiff. She stood there with one hand on her radio and the other hand on her gun. She literally froze. I waited about 7 seconds. It felt like minutes. She didn’t move while this man kept punching her partner as she struggled, alone. He’d got her in a headlock and was choking her, audibly and physically threatening to kill her. Her partner stood there, frozen.
I grabbed the radio out of her hand, pressed the purple button (that’s the duress button) threw the radio back at her and literally threw myself at the man, ripping him off the woman and, quite impressively given the size difference, pinned him to the ground. Well, for a second. Then I was reminded he was twice my size and in a psychotic rage. He threw me off him and slammed my head into the concrete about 6 times. Then he rammed me into a metal pole. If I run my fingers through my hair I still feel the dent in my skull today. My fiancé thinks I don’t like it when he runs his fingers through my hair because I told him I was self conscious about dandruff. I just don’t like remembering that night.
Senior Constable Lisa Kane, a woman who shares my name and a trauma we will never forget, regained her breath. She got up and selflessly jumped back onto the guy to stop him from using my head to continue breaking up the concrete.
The next thing I remember, 20 plain-clothed police officers were there, guns drawn, shouting; sirens still screaming from the cars they’d abruptly exited. They’d just finished an undercover sting and were debriefing at the Police Station 2kms away when the duress alarm came in.
Lisa Kane and I became very close after that night. Albeit briefly. She showed me immense support at a time when I was struggling with what had happened more than I knew. It was a profound experience, for all of us.
Her partner was advised that she did not have the requisite skillset to be a police officer and left the force. Lisa transferred out of active duty and became a Police Prosecutor. When I studied Law the next year I would often find an excuse to pop my head into the magistrates court to see Lisa in action. I told myself it was because I was studying law and needed to observe the legal process. It wasn’t.
I liked seeing Lisa standing up there feeling powerful and strong on her terms when I’d seen someone try and take that away from her on theirs.
Wow. What a tangent. Sorry. I guess if you’ve read this far I probably owe you something. Something I’ve never shared with anyone: I can still smell his body odour. I can smell it today as if it is real. Occasionally I smell it when I wake up from a bad dream. It was a scary night.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that all my life I’ve found myself jumping into leadership without any idea of why or what I’m doing. In some ways I feel ashamed. I feel like being a leader, or the perception that I want to be a leader, somehow suggests that I think I’m better than others. That’s not it. That’s not it at all. That’s so far from it. My case of imposter syndrome makes certain of that.
There have been many other times in my life, less traumatic than that night, but just as telling of who and what I am. I have always been out in front of the pack doing things that make me feel challenged, because that’s what I’m good at. That’s where I feel most safe. I feel safest when I am not safe at all, when I could fail and when there are consequences.
My GP made me realise that I wasn’t being true to myself. A year of lockdown had me forced into a position where I hadn’t met new people to analyse or be challenged by, my company and all the innovative and risky things I once did every day was on hold as we were forced into hiding from a virus.
I had retracted into myself. I re-built a 40 year old car from the ground up — which I didn’t know I knew how to do. I didn’t talk much. I drank a lot, despite never being a big drinker. Those who loved me most saw me in a way I’d never been. That’s why I didn’t know how to process the world — I’d never experienced it as that person.
The past few months I’ve been trying to recapture the drive I had before covid. I’ve been trying to slowly re-learn how to be in a position of risk and challenge again. I’ve started putting my true self out into the world again through my writing; something I’m okay at.
That’s meant finding my old strength; leadership, but also bumping into my old fears.
I’ve started running into that thing I hate about myself — my apparent inability to become comfortable with the thing I am best at.
I’ve recently said some things publicly. Some things that people are celebrating. I’ve been publicly praised, it’s been said that I will “change the world”. Strangers are hoping I succeed. Experts and highly intelligent people are talking about me between themselves and describing me as impressive. I’ve had dozens of people message me and thank me, wish me luck and introduce me to people that can help me on my journey to tear down and rebuild what I think is a financial system and industry that ruins lives and makes the world a less nice place to be.
If you’ve ever had a case of imposter syndrome, you’ll know just how uncomfortable that last paragraph makes me. It makes me question everything. Am I doing this for the praise? Am I doing what I do for recognition? Am I doing what I’m doing for selfish gain?
Yesterday I got a message from a stranger and it has had a profound effect on me. She has no idea that I’m writing this and she will be very shocked when I send it to her for her approval. Not least of all because I promised to change her name. I haven’t. And I haven’t because you should know who she is.
Her name is Nathalie Wood. She is a young mother of 2 who lives in Sydney and she has one of those infectious smiles. She probably finds that people respond quite well to her and I wonder if she knows it’s because her smile is so reassuringly warm.
Nathalie sent me a message. A very long, personal and deeply meaningful message. She told me how much she appreciated me, how much she appreciated what I was saying and what I was doing in the world. She wanted to wish me luck. She told me her story and why what I was doing mattered to her. She told me about her family and her parents poverty, although she prefers to think of it as a humble beginning.
She asked me not to share that story because it’s something that has in the past carried shame for them and because its not her story to tell. And whilst I have kept some of the details between her and I, I have shared more than she asked me to. I have shared it because should her parents ever stumble across this story they should know that despite their humble beginnings they raised a woman who has a remarkably positive affect on the world around her and I hope that my saying so makes them feel like the two of richest people on earth.
I told Nathalie I wanted to write about her. She said I could, but not that I could identify her. She told me things about her work, her past and many employers, her experiences with the bad things I speak so frequently about. So I wrote an article in which I called her Sophie. I spent 3 hours on it. Then I deleted it. I wasn’t keeping this woman to myself. Not a fucking chance.
When I asked if I could write about her, I told her that I wanted to write something positive because writing about negative things is something that comes so easily to me and that it’s not all that challenging. I told her that I won writing awards when I was younger, but always for stories of loss and despair.
I’d been wanting to write about something good for a while. About something happy. I’d been looking but had no idea Nathalie would be that something.
On a day when I’d been reminded of my imposter syndrome, on a day when I was again questioning the thing about myself that most scares me, Nathalie said something to me that she had no idea would be the exact one thing I needed to hear from someone who owed me absolutely nothing.
It came at a time when I was most vulnerable. Being told I would change the world, that experts were talking about me and discussing how they thought I was special and clever and would achieve great things is about as scary to me as anything could be — That place is a long way to fall from.
This is what Nathalie said, word for word, warts and all:
“i think we should all focus on doing what we do well — if for you that’s writing stories of loss and despair, then hey, maybe thats what the world needs……but. if you’re intent on confusing all your followers and writing something positive… I don’t mind you sharing what I said. I’m not comfortable on the identifying me part.”
We chatted about more things I won’t share. But they were things that made her words to me authentic.
She didn’t know, but I was struggling with my biggest challenge. I was struggling with the thing I am good at; leadership of thought and of action based on my values of right and wrong and of needing to be challenged, and to challenge others — to challenge convention and to back myself even when I’m out front and there’s nobody else to look to for reassurance.
Later last night, someone else said to me “you have a lot of fans, mister” and “you have to back yourself”. It’s easier said than done.
Good leaders speak of isolation, of how isolating it is to have thoughts that few people turn into words enough that some may follow. I think every good leader, and there are a few, must come to terms with that isolation. I’m not entirely sure you can be a good leader without having imposter syndrome as well, for good leadership comes from those who don’t want it and from the people who continually question what it means about who and what they are.
In my opinion, nobody that’s ever been comfortable with leadership has ever lead to meaningful change. Those people often struggle with their own internalised suffering — a suffering they always hide. It’s no different to the most creative people who also struggle with destructive behaviour. It just goes with the territory, it seems to be linked.
Nathalie made me realise it’s time for me to get comfortable with the one thing I’m best at: Being out front. Being at risk. Being isolated. Being vulnerable to criticism but also being capable of influencing change.
I’ve always known I had that potential. People tell me all the time. I’ve heard it since I was a rebellious teen channelling my questioning of the world into poor behaviour. It started with “you’ll achieve greatness, or destroy yourself” from a maths teacher when I was 13. It followed me all through school. It was fostered in me by the only teacher who ever saw me for who and what I was. Mark Williams. He was a teacher. He was a friend. He was a safe place for me to be me. He was intelligent beyond words and he was a misfit like me in a community that only liked templates. He had a profound effect on my life but died from cancer a few years ago without me ever being able to tell him. He had just turned 50.
I wrote to his son a few years ago telling him how his father changed my life. What could be nicer for a young man without a father than to hear from someone who owed him nothing just how positively his dad had impacted the world. I haven’t had the courage to send it, yet, even though I’ve re-written it 12 times.
It’s people like Mark, like Nathalie and like so many others that tell me these things about myself that I absolutely have a responsibility to and it’s time I acted like a man and stopped hiding from it. I have a responsibility not to waste what I am good at and to step up and deal with the shame I feel for being good at something that not many people are.
Nathalie is going to fall off her chair when she reads this. But you know what, it’s time I made more people fall off their chairs. After all, I CAN do that!
I am coming for the Banks, for the financial sector, I am coming for the industry that I hate most amongst all other industries and you know what? I am not going to pretend its a secret any more. This is the greatest challenge I can see; the biggest challenge of my life. But, it needs doing.
I may fail. I may fail miserably. But I am not going to be ashamed of trying any more. Even if I’m ridiculed, criticised or made fun of. Even if I am accused of arrogance, or self-obsession, or of loving the attention. Even if I am told I am oblivious to the reality around me or that I don’t know a thing about anything. I will keep fucking going, because that IS what I am best at.
I owe it to Nathalie, to Mark Williams, to Lisa Kane. I owe it to the people who believe in me. My parents. My partners. I owe it to my co-founder who gave me four years of his life. I owe it to my investors. I owe it to May Thandi for believing in me, to Luke Sayers AM for personally investing in me when he was the CEO of PWC, to Paul Thomas, the CEO from Gateway Bank who told me I had what it takes. I owe it to Anthony Callea, my friend, who doesn’t always agree with me, but who made one of the most valuable introductions of my life. I owe it to Luke Raven, to Daniel Grioli, to Frank Russo, to Venn King. I owe it to Bradford Kelly. I owe it to Josh Carey, to James Hoadley and to dozens of people that have invested more in me than I’ve ever had the courage to invest in myself. I owe it to Nigel Bradshaw for pushing through when most others wouldn’t, simply because he liked how I thought. I owe it to Thish De Zoysa and to Eliot Hastie for ‘getting me’ when nobody else could. I owe it to Harrison Bradshaw for reminding me of what friendship really means, even when it upsets me. I owe it to Justin Weller, who still thinks he owes me for what I did for him, but who never realised was a part of making me who I am today. I owe it to one of my best friends, Andrew Sum, who I also owe half a million dollars (oops). I owe it to Danny Wallis, even though saying it is tough. I owe it to Charlie Bowes who helped me become the man I am today at a time I had no idea who I was. And, I owe it to my grandma, who taught me that it costs you nothing to be kind, even when being kind is hard.
I owe it to so many people not to waste what I am good at, we all do! But more than anything else I owe it to myself, and Nathalie reminded me of that. Even if she’s only finding out now.
So. Nathalie Wood. Thank you. From the deepest darkest corners of my being.
You are going to raise one hell of a child. Because, if you didn’t know, you are one of the rare people who is good at encouraging others to be the best that they can possibly be, and that is the greatest gift a human being can give another.
Kane Jackson.
Note: Massive thanks to Nathalie for allowing me to share her story with the world when our default setting is to keep these things private.
As per always, these are just my rambling thoughts. I have little, if any, qualification to say anything about much at all. If you are struggling with parts of yourself that you can’t seem to get on top of or understand, speaking to someone with knowledge of how us humans process thought and experiences might just help.
