Stress can break us, but it can also build us. The difference lies in how we understand it, manage it, and respond to it. Because on the other side of pressure is potential.

At the age of sixteen, I left home in England and set off for the great white north, Canada. I had dropped out of school, and this was my parents’ last-ditch effort to keep me in the system. They found a free ski academy in a little town called Rossland, where I would spend my mornings on the mountain and my afternoons in the classroom. The deal was simple: I had four months to get my GCSEs, and then I’d return to the UK for college.

But I had other plans.

Back in England, I had always struggled to find a sense of belonging. In Canada, I felt at home for the first time. Which meant one thing, I had a single ski season to get sponsored so I could stay. The pressure was on.

During the season, there were multiple competitions, my golden ticket to staying in the country. But the weight of that pressure crushed me. The night before competitions, I couldn't sleep. The morning of, I couldn’t eat. My body was tense, my thoughts racing, my nerves shot. Eight times out of ten, I would crash, spectacularly.

I had experienced the same thing in school exams. No matter how much I studied, my mind would go blank the moment I entered the room. Anxiety hijacked my brain and body. Once again, stress sabotaged my focus and performance.

It happened again in my mid-twenties when I stepped into entrepreneurship. In sales meetings and networking events, I’d become so worried about how I was being perceived that my mind would spiral. I'd stumble over my words, lose my train of thought, and fail to express the competence I had. Every interaction became a struggle against myself.

That’s when I began to see the pattern.

My dad and brother often called me “sensitive” a word I hated. I thought it meant weak, soft. And I didn’t feel soft. But the truth was, I was emotionally reactive. When triggered, I’d lose the ability to listen or engage calmly. I’d become defensive, turning conversations into arguments. Not because I didn’t care, but because I was overwhelmed.

I was constantly on edge, especially when I felt judged or insecure. That’s when my emotions would hijack my behaviour. It wasn’t the situation itself; it was how I felt about myself in those moments.

As a child, I carried a deep feeling of not being wanted, of being a burden. That pain built over time until it became unbearable. At one point, it was so overwhelming I considered ending my own life. With that much pain just below the surface, it didn’t take much to trigger a response. The moment I anticipated feeling judged or rejected, I lost control. I would react instead of respond. And that’s when stress becomes truly harmful; when it robs us of the ability to choose our response.