Thoughts from Madeleine
Stories and plain language guides about speaking up, knowing your rights, and dealing with the systems that are meant to support you.
Someone once offered me a support plan that was clearly built for someone completely different from me. Same forms, same checklist, same assumptions. It didn’t fit, and nobody seemed to notice it didn’t fit. That’s what happens when services get built for an average person who doesn’t actually exist. Cultural dignity means recognising that people
Somewhere along the way, inclusion started getting treated like a kindness. Something generous an organisation does if it has the budget and the time. That framing makes my blood boil, honestly. Inclusion isn’t a favour. It’s a right. Being seen, heard, and respected shouldn’t depend on whether it’s convenient for someone else’s calendar this quarter.
The leaders who actually changed things for me weren’t the ones with the most polished plans. They were the ones who asked what I needed before deciding what I needed. That’s the whole difference, honestly. Inclusive leadership isn’t a style you adopt for a meeting and drop afterwards. It’s whether the people affected by a
I used to roll my eyes a bit at the word “framework.” It sounded like something you’d find in a binder nobody opens twice. I don’t feel that way anymore. A framework is just a promise written down so it can’t quietly disappear when things get busy or uncomfortable. Without one, good intentions tend to
I get frustrated when people talk about disability rights like they’re a local issue. Something one country figured out and another hasn’t gotten around to yet. Rights aren’t a postcode thing. When I look at where the strongest thinking on inclusion is coming from, it’s rarely just one place. Standards get built by people comparing
There was a period of my life where I’d rehearse a sentence in my head for days and never actually say it out loud. I knew what I wanted to ask for. I just couldn’t make myself do it. Self advocacy isn’t really about being loud or confrontational. It’s about taking control of your own life
I read a case study recently about a nurse academic, the research called her Dr H, and it hit close to home. She was smart. Qualified. Doing the work. But for years she stayed small. Underrepresented in her field, unsure if she was “leadership material,” watching other people get the opportunities because they spoke up
There’s a line from a case study I read that I can’t stop thinking about: “I constantly questioned whether I was good enough. Even when I knew my work was strong, I stayed silent, afraid of being judged.” If you’ve ever sat in a meeting with a good idea and said nothing, you know this
A 2025 evaluation of the WomenLift Health leadership program landed in front of me, and one number stuck: 78% of the women said they felt more able to lead teams and initiatives after going through structured mentorship. Not vague “empowerment” talk, an actual, measured shift in how ready they felt. One fellow said: “Before the
I stopped shrinking to fit spaces that were never designed for my full voice. I Didn’t Understand Self Advocacy, Until It Cost Me For a long time, I didn’t even know what self advocacy was. I thought working hard was enough. I thought I had to follow everyone else’s rules. I thought staying humble meant staying quiet.
Growing up, school was a miserable time in my life. I was bullied all the way through, for how I looked, for differences that were completely out of my control. I was bullied for being me. I was pushed mentally, emotionally, physically. I avoided school every chance I got. Over time I went numb to
I wish someone had taught me self advocacy when I was sixteen instead of leaving me to work it out the hard way in my twenties. Young people today are carrying so much. School stress, social pressure, family expectations, a phone that never really lets them switch off. And underneath all of it, most of them
