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ShahanaSeed & Co, Perth (2025)

01/10/2025

Got a problem? Let’s loosen it.

Pick something that’s been bothering you.
Phrase it like: “I can’t X.”
(e.g. “I can’t get everything done in time”)

Now run it through these four questions — and really sit with them:

What would happen if you did?
What wouldn’t happen if you did?
What would happen if you didn’t?
What wouldn’t happen if you didn’t?

Now check… is it still a problem?

It’s a bit like mental gymnastics — but notice what happens.
The problem gets wobbly. Less stuck.
Almost like you just pulled a loose thread.

30/09/2025

Day 5 of Master Practitioner training:

Prime concerns — the deep beliefs that keep us stuck.

Board break — the moment you decide they don’t get to run your life anymore.

Feels good to break through.

What’s one belief you’re ready to break?

29/09/2025

Day 4 of Master Practitioner training and we dove into values today — what drives us, what scares us, and what happens when those values collide. It's like running two very different races: one chasing dreams, the other dodging fears. That same run takes you somewhere new when it’s fueled by vision instead of escape.

Are you more of a “toward” or an “away from” person?

28/09/2025

Day three of my Master Practitioner training took us into Clare Graves’ Values Levels and my results left me feeling quite... uncomfortable. And that’s what this training is designed to do, to make us as Master Practitioners face even more of our stuff. After all, how can we guide others through transformation if we haven’t walked through the discomfort ourselves?

Today I stood face-to-face with something I find deeply uncomfortable: speaking out loud about what I’m proud of in myself. Even writing this makes me squirm. The very idea of saying “I’m proud of me” feels unsafe, like I’m waiting for someone to roll their eyes or cut me down.

Here’s the tug-of-war I’ve lived with for years: business and marketing want me to stand tall, raise my voice, share my value. But growing up in Australia? I was taught to zip it. Tall Poppy Syndrome runs deep. Stand out too much, and snip — someone cuts you back down. Talking about your own accomplishments? That was “being up yourself.” The safer option was to stay modest, stay humble, and hope someone else noticed.

But part of my growth is learning to share my pride without shame. So here’s me practicing — even if my whole body feels exposed in doing so:
I’m proud of myself for showing up here.
For posting, even when social media feels intimidating.
For letting myself learn, and be seen learning.

It still feels icky and vulnerable. But I’m saying it anyway. Because this is where growth begins.

Let’s practice this together and cheer each other on — what are you proud of?

27/09/2025

When I first took the Myers-Briggs more than 20 years ago, I tested as an ENTJ. Bold. Decisive. Extroverted. I lived at the far ends of every scale, and in those early years of my career, that version of me thrived. She could take charge, lead, and push through. I lived those traits like they were the only way forward, charging headstrong into things with my emotions leading the way.

But as life unfolded, the results shifted. On retests, I saw myself swing into other types, still extroverted, but leaning more into sensing and thinking. Practical. Grounded. Structured. I can see how I adapted to the environment I was in and how those traits carried me through seasons where logic and control felt like safety.

Over time, life offered opportunities to grow again. Trauma. Healing. Motherhood. Reflection. The pendulum began to move inward, asking me to slow down, to listen, to soften.

Today, sitting in day 2 of my Master Practitioner training, my results look very different. INFP. Introverted. Intuitive. Feeling. Perceiving. The most striking part is that my scores no longer live at the extremes. They sit closer together. And in that closeness, I’ve found something I didn’t have in my twenties: choice.

I can still call forward the fire and clarity of ENTJ when the moment demands it. I can still step into structure and logic when it’s useful. And I can rest in depth and reflection when that’s what’s needed. Today I have choice and access to the internal resources to navigate whatever life brings.

That, to me, is growth. Not becoming someone new, but becoming free to choose who I want to be in any given moment.

If you retook a personality test today, do you think your results would be the same as years ago?

26/09/2025

Today marks the first of the face-to-face training days for my Master Practitioner certification program. I am excited to be taking another step in my commitment to continue growing myself, deepening my skills, and expanding what I bring to others.

We began the day by revisiting some of the core foundations from Practitioner training, before diving straight into quantum linguistics, Cartesian coordinates, and hypnotic language patterns.

And here’s what struck me most: the very same tools that we use to create profound healing and transformation are also the tools used by governments, leaders, and authority figures. Not to empower, but to confuse, to redirect, and to shape the way we feel, act, and believe.

The words delivered from podiums and screens are not random. They’re crafted carefully, strategically, to pull at the strings of our emotions, to steer our attention, to influence behaviour. It’s language as a puppet master, guiding the crowd without them ever noticing the hands that move them.

And once I began to notice it, I couldn’t unsee it. I saw the speeches that sounded convincing, but didn’t actually say anything. The statements that soothed, while quietly bending the frame of what I believed was possible.

And the truth is, I’ve been caught by it too. Even with all my past training, I thought I was wise to it… only to realise there was more. This deepened my awareness in ways I hadn’t expected, and it showed me how subtle and powerful these patterns really are.

It makes me wonder… what happens when we all start to see the strings, and decide not to dance to them?

08/09/2025

Someone told me to bench it, and they were right. It changed how I coach.

I will be the first to admit it. When I started coaching, I was not good. I walked out of a coach training intensive with shiny new tools and no wisdom to wield them. My enthusiasm turned into diagnosis and advice. I became insufferable, on a mission to save the world, one unsolicited intervention at a time.

People felt it. First, the eye rolls. Then the avoidance. Then the line that landed like a slap: “Bench it, B***h.” Put the coach on the bench.

It hurt. It poked every hungry place in me. The helper. The fixer. The people pleaser who needed to be needed. I felt ashamed and confused. If I was helping, why did the people I loved pull away? So I shut down. For years. I hid, convinced I was a failure and maybe a fraud.

Climbing back meant turning inward. I faced my codependency. I learned emotional intelligence. I chose healthier behaviours. I met the parts of me I had outsourced to other people’s approval and began to integrate them. I stopped trying to fix and started to listen. I learned that perception is projection is not a bat to swing at others. It is a mirror to hold to myself. I began to ask before offering. I practised timing, consent, and restraint.

That benching became my rite of passage. I am a different coach now. I do not see people as broken. I see them as capable, creative, and whole, and sometimes tired from carrying old stories. My job is not to direct the play. My job is to help you trust your own moves and get back in the game.

I could not be this coach without being a bad one first. The bench taught me humility, patience, and consent. The bench turned me from a fixer into a listener and my advice into presence. I earned my voice by learning when not to use it. That changed everything.

What’s put you on the bench? What would it take to step back in?

04/09/2025

Over the last few weeks I have been posting about small moments of courage. Not glamorous. Often boring. The kind of moves that look easy from the outside and feel heroic on the inside.

Someone carried the chair and learned. Someone bought a day before replying. Someone said the rate and stopped. Someone asked for a priority, not a miracle. Someone kept the lunch hour. Someone passed the pen and stayed in the meeting.

None of that makes fireworks. It is not trendy or celebrated. And yet for my clients these “boring brave” choices challenge lifelong beliefs and habits. Old rules about staying small. Conditioning that says do more, need less, keep everyone comfortable. Taking action meant walking through the mental noise of the reasons you can’t. It meant regulating a racing heart, loosening tight shoulders, remembering to breathe. It meant an honest look at Self.

These choices often arrived after hard seasons. Burnout. Illness. Collapse. Loss of work, relationships, money, stability. They came at the moment when the cost of staying the same outweighed the fear of doing it differently. They began when someone decided to take ownership of what they could control and learn another way.

Sometimes that decision sends people to someone like me. In a quiet room we map patterns, untangle old rules, and practise regulation so the body has a steadier place to stand. That time makes it safer to try. Yet the real shift happens outside of the office, in real life, when one small choice is made on purpose today, and then repeated tomorrow.

Here is the part most people miss. Small acts retrain prediction. The first time you carry the chair or state your rate, your system predicts trouble. You do it, nothing explodes, and the brain updates the file. Next time the alarm is smaller. With repeats the choice becomes familiar, then routine, then part of who you are. Over time you get your attention back for the things that matter.

For the women in these stories, and for everyone doing the unglamorous work of change: you deserve the credit. Here’s to the cape hidden under your blazer and the micro-brave moments that make it real.

28/08/2025

I work with a client who is excellent at her job. The problem with excellence is that it attracts hats. Somewhere along the way she picked up notetaker, tech support, snack buyer, calendar wrangler, new-starter tour guide, project historian, feelings manager, and “can you just share the minutes before COB?” She wore all of them because she could, because she is kind, and because saying no felt rude.

The meeting had not even started and the pen was already inching toward her. It always did. You could see the old script lining up in her shoulders: be helpful, be tidy, capture everything while contributing brilliantly. Cute fantasy.

Before anyone asked, she used one clean sentence we had practiced. “I am here for content today. I am contributing a lot, so can we rotate notes this time?” Then she stopped talking. No biography. No guilt confetti. Two blinks. “Yep, I’ll take them,” someone said. The pen changed direction. She stayed in the meeting she was invited to, instead of running admin from the corner.

That one sentence became a small streak. When the projector died she said, “Someone should call IT”. When the Slack thread begged for a recap she posted, “Action items belong in the doc.” When the birthday card did a slow lap of the room she passed it on without also planning the cake. She even built a simple roster so minutes, facilitation, and follow-ups rotate like grown-up jobs rather than landing on the nearest competent woman.

Later she laughed at how un-dramatic it was. The brave bit was not doing the notes last week. It was not doing them this week and letting that be perfectly reasonable. Attention is a budget. If you spend it on ten side gigs, your actual role pays the price.

If you picture yourself at that table, pen hovering, which hat needs to go back on the hook today? And what one sentence will you use to put it there?

27/08/2025

I work with a client whose calendar looked like poured concrete. Blocks from 8:30 to 5:30 touched edge to edge. The slot her body kept asking for was an hour starting somewhere between noon and one. It never survived. The 12 o’clock meeting started late, ran long, and 12:30 ‘quick catchups’ snuck in and stole the time her system was begging for. Old reflex said be a team player and eat later. Later never came.

We had been practicing something boring and revolutionary. Put lunch on the calendar like a real commitment. Use your own name. Give it the full hour your body asked for. So she did exactly that. She created a daily repeating hold, 12:30 to 1:30, and even added a room so the little green bar looked official. Then she waited to see what she would do the first time a shiny invite tried to sit on top of it.

The test arrived in two days. “Quick sync at 12:30?” Old her would have accepted and inhaled a protein bar at 3. New her wrote one clean sentence. “I have a commitment 12:30 to 1:30. I can do 12:00 to 12:25 or 1:30 to 1:55.” No biography. No guilt. Two real options. The reply came back in four minutes. “Let’s do 1:30.” The earth kept spinning.

She closed the laptop at 12:30, ate actual food with a fork, walked around the block once, and came back as a human instead of a spinning chair with opinions. By Friday three things were obvious.

Afternoons stopped feeling like molasses. She was less jumpy on calls. She did not need a 3 p.m. sugar bribe to finish a paragraph. None of this required a retreat or a smoothie cleanse. It was one line in her calendar and one sentence in her mouth, repeated until it felt normal.

Later she said the brave bit was not self-care. It was self-respect. Calling lunch a commitment and letting other people work around it the way she has always worked around theirs. That small boundary paid for itself every afternoon.

If you opened your calendar right now, what would change if you gave yourself the full hour your body keeps asking for and treated it like it belongs there?

26/08/2025

I work with a client who wears "reliable" like a uniform. It’s four o’clock, the inbox is humming, Slack is doing its disco. Two pings land within five minutes: "Urgent, today please." Then, "Also urgent, EOD." Her old reflex is simple: miracle-worker mode activated, try to do both, apologise to her nervous system later. You know that buzz that says prove you are incredible and can do it all.

She stops and uses the triage we have been practicing. Sixty unglamorous seconds:
1. Name the actual outcomes.
2. Pick the one you can finish by five.
3. Ask for a decision.

On her notepad she writes: A) board slides tidy and ready to send. B) data check on last week’s numbers. She opens a message box and feels the apology novel trying to type itself: "So sorry, today is wild, I can probably…" Delete, delete. She sends one clean line:
"I can get A or B done by 5, not both. Which matters more? I’ll do the other tomorrow."

She waits. Cursor blinking. The inner committee chants be accommodating, be heroic, do not make them choose. She does nothing. Forty three seconds later the reply arrives: "Do A today, B tomorrow." No thunderclap. No tribunal. Just a normal decision from the person whose job is to decide.

She answers, "On it. A by 5, B queued for morning," closes every tab that is not A, and works like a human being instead of a fireworks show. At 5:12 the slides go out. There is no late night cleanup and no adrenaline hangover. She eats dinner sitting down and does not rehearse three imaginary apologies in the shower.

Later she says the brave bit was not speed. It was refusing the miracle worker role. She asked someone else to set a priority instead of performing the 'I can do it all' show. Multitasking, it turns out, is doing two things badly while worrying about a third.

This is how capacity grows. Not with martyrdom, but with one tidy sentence you send before the halo appears.

If you picture yourself with twenty-two tabs flashing "urgent," what changes when you ask for the priority and stop trying to be the miracle?

22/08/2025

One of my clients and I have been doing the self-worth reps. The number isn’t the problem anymore; she knows it. It’s written on a neat little Post-it on her monitor, highlighted, underlined, starred. But the reflex still lurks in the body: rate → nervous laugh → “but I can be flexible…” It’s tidy. It’s practiced. It’s habit. It’s selling herself short in a cute blazer.

Five minutes before the meeting we rehearsed the most radical plan imaginable: say the number and stop. No weather report. No mates’ rates. No tour of the budget constraints of the entire southern hemisphere.

The moment arrives. “What’s your fee?” She glances at the Post-it, inhales once, and says the number. Full stop. Then the bit everyone forgets to train for: the silence. Her inner committee sprints onstage—Be accommodating. Don’t be greedy. Fill the space. Say something, anything. Her jaw wants to chatter; her shoulders try to hike. She does nothing. She counts to five in her head like she’s defusing a bomb.

On five, the buyer says, “That works.” The earth keeps spinning. No thunderclap, no tribunal. Just a normal adult agreeing to a price.

Afterwards she tells me the brave part wasn’t the figure—it was refusing to rescue the room from completely ordinary silence. Her body got the memo: no adrenaline, just air. That’s what self-worth looks like on a Friday afternoon.

Here’s the thing about “selling yourself short”: it doesn’t end with one heroic speech. It ends with one ordinary sentence you’re willing to repeat until your nervous system believes you. Price. Pause. Breathe. Done.

If you picture yourself on that call—mic unmuted—what number stands when you stop selling yourself short?

ShahanaSeed & Co

01/10/2025

30/09/2025

29/09/2025

28/09/2025

27/09/2025

26/09/2025

08/09/2025

04/09/2025

28/08/2025

27/08/2025

26/08/2025

22/08/2025

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