The Quiet Misogyny We Don’t Like to Name

Misogyny doesn’t always arrive as hostility.

More often, it appears as dismissal.

It shows up in who gets interrupted.

Whose ideas are questioned twice.

Whose experience needs validation from someone else in the room.

In leadership spaces, this subtle imbalance is easy to overlook…

Until you’re the one navigating it.

For women climbing the ranks, the challenge isn’t just the work itself.

It’s the constant need to protect credibility.

When authority can’t be challenged on competence, it often gets redirected elsewhere.

Toward tone. Toward intent. Toward personality.

Personal attacks slip quietly into professional spaces, reshaping perception and eroding trust without ever questioning capability.

This is one of the most damaging forms of misogyny.

Not confrontation, but narrative.

Not disagreement, but character erosion.

And this is where the conversation gets uncomfortable.

Misogyny isn’t always imposed.

Sometimes, it’s inherited.

Women, too, can participate in these patterns.

Questioning another woman more harshly.

Withholding support.

Repeating narratives they themselves have been harmed by.

Not out of malice, but survival.

When a system rewards scarcity, women learn to protect their place rather than expand the space.

Over time, those behaviours become normalised. Internalised. Passed along quietly.

Men, meanwhile, often rise within ecosystems of assumed trust.

School networks. Community circles. Professional bonds that open doors before questions are asked.

Opportunity flows through familiarity, not scrutiny.

Women rarely benefit from the same starting point.

Most build reputations deliberately, aware of how fragile perception can be.

And when one woman rises, the real test of leadership isn’t visibility or title…

It’s whether she chooses to recognise value in others or reinforce the very structures she once fought to overcome.

This is where mutual respect matters most.

Respect for experience over ego.

Respect for contribution over conformity.

Respect for leadership that doesn’t need to look familiar to be legitimate.

Leadership isn’t about guarding position.

It’s about guarding integrity.

True power shows up when we refuse to engage in narratives that diminish others to elevate ourselves.

When we challenge personal attacks disguised as feedback.

When we choose to see value without attaching it to gender, proximity, or fear.

The future of leadership won’t be shaped by louder voices or sharper elbows.

It will be shaped by those willing to hold the line on respect…

Even when it’s easier to stay silent.

And perhaps the most radical leadership act of all

Is choosing not to inherit the bias that once tried to limit you.

Cleared Ground. Open Heart.

2025 was intense.

It arrived with loss,

with worry I could not fix,

with nights that felt longer

than they needed to be.

People I love carried their own storms.

I watched, held space,

learned that love sometimes

means standing beside,

not stepping in.

The country trembled too.

Water rose, memories returned.

Nature reminded us

how fragile things are

and how deeply we belong to each other.

Somewhere between the breaking

and the rebuilding,

I chose to release.

Old expectations.

Old versions of strength

that asked me to harden.

Peace didn’t arrive all at once.

It came in pauses.

In honesty.

In choosing presence

over perfection.

I end this year lighter.

Ground cleared.

Heart open.

Not because it was easy,

but because I am ready

to walk forward.

Together was…

It was my favourite place

That feeling of home

Where forever felt

Almost safe

Where silence didn’t scare me

And belonging felt natural

Not earned

Just… there

And now, as time flows

I know

Expectations break you

Life is meant to be lived

Not meant to crave

The unattainable

Letting go felt like

Betrayal

Like turning my back

On something that once held me

Until it wasn’t…

Until I realised

Some endings are acts of kindness

And peace settled

Quietly

Into each moment

And finally

I knew

I was ok

Not healed

Not fixed

Just whole enough

And life began

Again

Unrooted

The howling winds

and gushing waters

of Ditwah’s wrath

ripped through

old familiar haunts

A childhood

almost swept away

by unforgiving rains

places, people

sliding

without remorse

Tea bushes

once disciplined in rows

hugging misty hills

came undone

roots loosened

like us

Hundreds displaced

thousands dead

it almost felt like

closure

Badulla, Ramboda,

Nuwara Eliya, Kandy

names that raised me

rolling in like warnings

suddenly unfamiliar

Nature reminding us

nothing is permanent

not land

not life

not people

Even the tea

that shaped the hills

could not hold them together

Built Between the Cracks

‘Why real leadership is shaped in the messy middle’

Somewhere along the way, leadership became tangled up with momentum.

Always moving forward. Always delivering. Always holding it together.

We admire leaders with smooth trajectories and upward graphs. Stories that feel neat and uninterrupted. What we don’t often talk about is how the expectation of unbroken success quietly rewires how leaders think, feel, and lead.

When success is assumed to be continuous, failure doesn’t register as a moment.

It lands as identity.

Many of us grow up believing progress should look linear. Study hard. Perform well. Move up. Repeat. There is very little room in that script for pause, uncertainty, or detours. By the time we step into leadership, the message is already embedded… faltering is not an option.

This is where overwhelm begins to take root.

Leaders shaped by this mindset become exceptionally good at endurance. They learn to absorb pressure quietly. To present clarity even when the path feels blurred. To keep moving even when their inner compass is asking for stillness. From the outside, it looks like strength. Inside, it can feel lonely.

Overwhelm often doesn’t come from the work itself.

It comes from the belief that we are not allowed to slow down.

In those moments, leadership turns performative. Decisions get heavier. Silence gets uncomfortable. Admitting doubt feels risky. Rest feels undeserved. And the simple act of being human starts to feel like a liability.

What’s rarely acknowledged is how much leadership strength is actually built in the messy middle. In the wrong calls. The misjudgements. The moments that didn’t go to plan but taught us how to recalibrate.

Experience is not just a collection of wins.

It is the sum of what we learned when things didn’t work.

Leaders who understand this lead differently. They don’t rush to appear certain. They ask better questions. They create space for teams to speak honestly without fear of consequence. In a world that moves fast and forgets faster, authenticity becomes a stabiliser.

Authentic leadership matters more now than ever.

Not as a buzzword, but as an anchor.

Teams today can sense performative confidence a mile away. They are drawn to leaders who are real, grounded, and willing to say, “I’m learning too.” In fleeting environments, authenticity is what builds trust that lasts longer than a quarter or a KPI.

Learning how not to get overwhelmed starts here.

By allowing leadership to be expansive rather than perfect.

Strength comes from recognising that pauses are not failures. Mistakes are not disqualifiers. They are contributors. Each misstep adds texture. Each lesson builds depth. Over time, that depth becomes wisdom.

Unbroken success is a myth. Life, careers, and leadership are shaped by moments of recalibration, not constant acceleration. The leaders who endure are not those who never cracked, but those who learned how to stay grounded when they did.

Maybe leadership today isn’t about proving we have all the answers.

Maybe it’s about having the courage to lead honestly when we don’t.

And perhaps the most freeing truth of all is this…

“Leadership isn’t built by never falling, but by learning how to stand with grace, again and again.”