Mary-Anne Murphy Mary-Anne Murphy

How Do I Say “No”?

How Do I Say “No”?

It’s easy to believe that good leadership means saying yes.
Be helpful. Be across everything. Be available.

But all those yeses add up.
Calendars overflow.
The real work gets squeezed into the edges.
You end up busy—but not focused.

Here’s what I’ve learned:
Saying no isn’t being difficult.
It’s being deliberate.

Every yes costs something.
And sometimes, that cost is too high.

What’s helped?

A Don’t Do List.
Be just as clear about what you won’t take on as what you will.
It’s simple—but powerful.

We often wear busyness like a badge.
But busy ≠ effective.
A Don’t Do List helps protect what matters most.

Here’s how I’m learning to build mine:

🔸 Start with purpose
What’s essential in your role right now?
What actually creates value?
When you know that, distractions are easier to spot—and say no to.

🔸 Notice what drains you
What meetings, tasks, or requests don’t really need you?
Track those. That’s where your Don’t Do List begins.

🔸 Practise saying no—with kindness
Saying no doesn’t mean closing the door. It might sound like:
→ “Thanks for thinking of me—I’m at capacity.”
→ “I can’t take this on now, but keep me in the loop.”
→ “I need to focus on other priorities right now.”

The shift:

Saying no isn’t stepping back.
It’s showing up better—calm, focused, and present.

Because when we prune what’s not essential, we make space to flourish—and to support others with more energy and intention.

So this week, I’m asking myself:
What belongs on my Don’t Do List?
And what might grow if I made more room?

Maybe saying no is one of the most generous things we can do—
For others. And for ourselves.

Let’s keep practising together.

Go well this week,
MA :-)


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Mary-Anne Murphy Mary-Anne Murphy

Cut Back, Grow Forward

Cut Back, Grow Forward

In leadership, it’s easy to default to more.
More doing. More meetings. More yeses.
Staying busy, staying visible, staying ahead.

But what if real growth comes from letting go?

Simon Breakspear calls it the Pruning Principle—
We grow not by adding, but by consciously choosing less.

Letting go isn’t always easy.
It means saying no to things that once mattered.
It means facing the fear that without the busyness… we might not be enough.

But here’s what I’m learning:
When I cut back—on draining meetings, unhelpful habits, or heavy expectations—

  • I find more clarity

  • More energy

  • More space to show up for what truly matters

And maybe most importantly—I’m more present.

Not perfect. Not always.
But enough to remember:
This isn’t about doing less for the sake of it.
It’s about creating room for the right things to grow.

Lately, I’ve been asking:
🔹 What am I holding that no longer serves?
🔹 What’s quietly asking to be nurtured?
🔹 What might flourish if I made more space?

Leadership moves in seasons.
Maybe this one’s about pruning—gently, bravely, with care.

And maybe that’s exactly what’s needed right now.

What are you letting go of, to grow forward?
Let’s keep learning together.

Go well this week,
MA :-)


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Mary-Anne Murphy Mary-Anne Murphy

Slower, Softer, Stronger

Slower, Softer, Stronger

I knew the half knee replacement would be tough.
What I didn’t expect was how much it would teach me—not just about healing, but about slowing down, starting over, and softening into the unknown.

It was supposed to be a fairly straightforward operation, as much as these things can be. But…

In the middle of surgery, my heart stopped.
Stillness. No rhythm. No beat.

The team acted fast—and I was brought back.
Not just to life, but to the people I love.
To breath.
To the quiet, pulsing reminder of what matters most.

This stopped being about a knee.
It became about how I want to live.

Since then, I’ve been learning to walk again.
Physically, yes—but also in how I carry myself.
There’s been a wobble in my steps and in my confidence.
I’ve questioned my strength.
I’ve had to rebuild trust in my body, in time, in myself.

And in all of it, a few quiet truths have stayed with me:

  • Make haste slowly.
    I love momentum—but healing doesn’t care for deadlines. Progress has been found in small, steady steps. Not rushing. Just trusting the pace.

  • Go at your own speed.
    Comparison is tempting. But healing, like growth, is personal. I had to walk my own path—and let that be enough.

  • Let people in.
    I’ve always valued independence, but this season reminded me: strength lives in vulnerability. Letting others help was humbling, and healing.

  • Gratitude shifts everything.
    It’s easy to focus on what’s hard. But noticing what’s improving—what’s possible—has softened my thinking and lifted the weight.

A few gentle ponderings I’m still carrying:

– What if the wobble is part of becoming steady again?
– What if slowing down is how we return to ourselves?

This experience has both softened and strengthened me.
It’s made me clearer on what matters.
Kinder toward myself.
And more connected to the kind of leader—and human—I want to be.

I’m not all the way there.
But I’m still stepping forward.
And maybe, that’s enough for now.

What’s a challenge that’s taught you something about yourself?
Let’s keep sharing.

With care,
Mary-Anne


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Mary-Anne Murphy Mary-Anne Murphy

Pause Before Pursuit

Pause Before Pursuit

I’ve noticed something.

When urgency creeps in—whether it’s to solve a problem, fix a conversation, or chase clarity—we can often forget to pause.

We rush toward action, toward certainty, toward getting it right.

But in that rush, we miss things.
The tone under the words.
The truth behind the reaction.
The quiet invitation to wait, to listen, to hold back just a little.

What if the pause is where wisdom lives?

What if the breath before the pursuit is the moment that matters most?

Lately, I’ve been practising the pause. Not perfectly, but purposefully.

Sometimes it’s one slow inhale.
Sometimes it’s a quiet question instead of a quick solution.

And often, that’s enough to shift everything.

A few questions I’m sitting with:

  • What am I assuming right now?

  • What’s the most generous explanation I haven’t considered?

  • Is this the moment to move… or the moment to listen?

The pause isn’t weakness.
It’s presence.
It’s strength held softly.
And sometimes—it’s the wisest step we can take before the next one.

Go gently,
Mary-Anne 


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Mary-Anne Murphy Mary-Anne Murphy

Let Them!

Let Them!

Have you noticed how loud the voices can get?
Not the ones that hold us with care.
The others—the sideline voices.
The ones that sit in judgement masked as concern, yet still take up far too much space in our minds.

We find ourselves bending, explaining, overthinking—trying to be understood, to be liked, to keep the peace.

It’s exhausting.

Then enters two simple words:
Let them.

Let them misunderstand.
Let them judge.
Let them choose differently.

Not out of anger.

Not because we don’t care.

But because we’re learning not to hand our worth to those who were never meant to hold it.

Some gentle questions I’m asking lately:

  • What if I stopped chasing approval that costs me my clarity?

  • Who am I giving energy to, and why?

  • What would change if I simply… let them?

A few phrases that help me re-centre:

  • That’s not mine to carry.

  • I don’t need to prove myself to people not in the arena.

  • Let them. I’ll stay true.

Leadership begins here: in how we lead ourselves.
With steadiness.
With respect.
With enough space to grow, instead of shrink.

Let them.
And keep showing up—dusty, real, and ready.

Go gently,
Mary-Anne 


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