I’ve led billion-riyal strategies.

Sat across from ministers.
Delivered national plans under midnight deadlines.
Built cultures, guided boards, & transformed high-stakes rooms.

But the work that changed me was never in the "strategy decks".

It was in the silences.

The moments when a high-performing leader looked at me and said,

 “I can’t do this anymore.”

That’s where my real work began.

I didn’t become a coach.
I’ve always been one.

For over 15 years, I led national teams, crisis projects, and board-level strategies.

Center of government. Vision 2030. KPMG.
CSO. Principal. Head of PMO.

Projects worth billions.

Environments where most lasted months. I stayed years.

But what I was really doing  was ‘listening’.


Reading between the lines.
Holding space in rooms where no one else would.

I’ve sat in boardrooms where no one said what they really felt.


Ministry-level meetings.
Global consulting war rooms.
Royal Court strategy sessions.

Where decisions moved billions.
Where timelines were impossible.
Where silence felt safer than honesty.

Where leaders smiled but quietly carried doubt, exhaustion, and fear.

Those moments don’t show up in reports.

But they show up in:

Team tension no one will name
Burnout that gets labeled as “attrition”
Quiet disconnection that kills innovation
Resignations from people you thought were loyal

And that’s where I come in. 

I mentor leaders through what most avoid:

→ The unspoken weight.
→ The quiet disconnection.
→ The emotional core of leadership.
→ The pressure to hold it all together.

Because a disengaged employee costs over $14,000 annually.

And the worst part?

Companies lose $223 billion to toxic culture each year.

Culture misalignment is silent.
Until it’s not.

Studies show that up to 60% of turnover is preventable with emotionally intelligent leadership.

And now, I bring that lens into every room I walk into.

In the past 15 years, I’ve helped:

→ Teams restore trust in under 90 days
→  Companies reduce turnover by up to 60%
→ Executives shift from burnout to clarity—without losing their edge

If you're leading on autopilot
If your team looks fine but feels fractured.
If you’ve ticked every box but still feel disconnected...

You don’t need more productivity hacks.

You need emotional clarity.
You need someone who’s walked this path.

And can walk it with you.

Dm “EQ” to enquire about executive mentoring, team leadership labs, or custom EQ workshops.

Because If your team looks fine on the surface but feels fractured underneath,

That’s a  $1M+ Culture Leak.

And I’m here to help you fix it.

He went home that night
replaying every second.

What he said.
What he didn’t.
The silence.
That look.

And the question that wouldn’t leave him alone:

“Am I not enough…
or am I just not fluent in this room?”

That’s the moment most leaders break quietly.

They don’t quit.
They don’t complain.
They just start doubting themselves.

And here’s the truth no one tells you soon enough:

Upper management doesn’t test your competence.
They test your emotional steadiness.

They watch how you breathe under pressure.
How you hold silence.
How you disagree without defending yourself.

They’re not asking:
“Is this person smart?”

They’re asking:
“Can I trust this person when things get tense?”

That’s why some people rise faster
with fewer words.

Not because they know more.
But because they leak less anxiety into the room.

Emotional intelligence at that level
isn’t about being liked.

It’s about becoming safe to decide with.

And once you understand that,
everything changes.

Your voice.
Your presence.
Your place at the table.


If you’ve ever questioned yourself after an executive meeting,
this isn’t a confidence issue.

It’s a leadership language shift.

Rawan Althagafy

Founder @ Elevating Minds | EQ Leadership Expert | Center of Government | Fixing the $223B Culture Problem With EQ-Led Leadership 🎯

If this year exhausted you more than it rewarded you 
pause for a moment.

Because this isn’t about working harder next year.
And it’s not about setting “better goals.”

It’s about the quiet truth most people avoid admitting:

You didn’t lose energy because you were busy.
You lost it because too much of your effort stopped moving you forward.

You showed up.
You delivered.
You stayed consistent.

Yet something felt wrong.

Progress that required constant pushing.
Commitments that once made sense but no longer compound.
Momentum that looked active, but felt hollow.

This is the kind of fatigue that doesn’t come from pressure.
It comes from misalignment  not effort.

From negotiating with patterns that already expired.
From carrying responsibilities that quietly outgrew their value.
From staying loyal to structures that no longer support who you’ve become.

Most people will ignore this signal.
They’ll rename it “burnout.”
They’ll distract themselves with new goals.
And they’ll repeat the same cycle next year with better language.

But some will stop here.

Because they know the real shift doesn’t come from motivation.
It comes from clarity.

Clarity about what deserves access to your energy.
Clarity about what no longer does.
Clarity about what must be redesigned not pushed harder.

Next year doesn’t need more effort.
It needs cleaner alignment.

Fewer commitments.
Sharper focus.
And a pace that actually compounds.

What did this year make impossible for you to ignore?

“Rawan, you never break.”

People said this like a compliment for years.

And even I thought that was strong leadership.

I stopped myself from cracking in front of anyone.

I wasn't showing visible strain.

And I was proud of myself for that composure.

Then I started noticing the leaks.

Not in my words
but in my tone.

In decisions that felt heavier than they should.

In the fatigue that didn't match my workload.

In the tightness in my chest before meetings that I used to handle easily.

The pressure was finding exits I couldn't control.

I remember one day at the Royal Court.

A colleague asked me a simple question.

And I snapped.

Not loud. Not dramatic.

Just sharp enough that we both felt it.

She looked surprised.

I was too.

That’s when I realized:

When emotion has nowhere to go,
it shows up where you least want it.

I thought I was containing the pressure.

But in reality, I was just redirecting it.

It ruined my health.
It was constantly eating away my patience.

And I was taking it out on relationships that never deserved any of it.

I realized something at that moment.

Real strength isn’t sealing everything shut.

It’s tracing the pressure back to its source
before it spills into places it doesn’t belong.

Awareness never weakens leadership.

In fact, it stabilizes it.

Where do you notice your pressure leaking lately?

Distinguished background in building and managing PMOs to drive large-scale transformation programs across multiple sectors.
•	Senior and Decisive PMO Leader with over 13 years of illustrious
career in leading the complete PMO lifecycle with best practices and
methodologies, managing scope, schedules, budgets, resources, risks,
change, stakeholders, and vendors.
•	Advanced business acumen in advancing the business's strategic
direction through innovation and transformative leadership to ensure
continuous growth and business scalability.
•	Hands-on exposure in managing the operational aspects of business,
including people strategy, business development, financial/operational
excellence, risk, governance, culture, and key growth parameters from
a long-term perspective.
•	Leveraged prowess in steering the efforts of Vision 2030 with the
critical streams, enabling institutions to achieve their strategic objectives.
•	Documented record of strong and decisive leadership in leading
large-scale & critical projects from initiation to closure, executing
significant initiatives, and bringing new directions to organizational project
practices for tangible and intangible benefit.

My daughter asked me a question that broke me: 

"Mom, why don't you smile at home as you do at work?”

Silence.
I had no answer for her.

That’s because I had learned to regulate my emotions in meetings.

But I didn’t see what that composure was costing me.

I could sit through tense boardroom discussions without reacting.

Present strategies under pressure without cracking.

Navigate politics at the Royal Court without losing my calm.

People respected that.
I respected it too.

Until I started noticing the cost.

I was regulating everything,
but I was never processing all of it.

The emotions I managed all day didn’t disappear.

They were just being collected.

And showed up later as:

Exhaustion I couldn’t explain.
Irritability that surprised me.

I was performing at work and holding it all together.

But I was falling apart quietly at home.

And my daughter was able to spot it.
Even when I was missing out on it.

Emotional intelligence isn’t about constant control.

It’s knowing when to regulate and when to honor your emotions.

That understanding is what saved me over time.

Have you ever felt exhausted from constantly performing at work?

Many leaders don’t realize their influence has narrowed.

Not because they lost credibility.
But because they became too available.

Open calendars.
Endless check-ins.
Being copied on everything.
Answering before others finish thinking.

It starts with good intent.
Accessibility. Support. Speed.

But slowly, something shifts.

Teams stop owning.
Decisions climb upward.
Context replaces accountability.

The leader feels needed 
yet stretched, reactive, and less strategic.

What’s happening isn’t workload.
It’s compression.

Influence shrinks when leadership energy is spread across too many touchpoints.

At senior levels, availability doesn’t equal leadership.
Design does.

Clear decision lanes.
Fewer but sharper interventions.
Space for others to carry weight.

That’s how authority stays intact.
And organizations start moving again.

Where do you usually notice this first 
in decisions, in follow-ups, or in how responsibility starts to drift?

Most leaders don’t burn out.
They fade quietly inside lives they built to succeed.

He once said to me, quietly,

“I’m not overwhelmed…
I’m disappearing inside a life I built.”

Nothing in his calendar looked alarming.
No chaos.
No collapse.

From the outside, everything was working.

But something in him wasn’t.

It wasn’t the workload.
It wasn’t the pressure.
It wasn’t the endless decisions.

It was the emotional weight
of carrying expectations he had outgrown
and never stopped to question.

He had learned how to perform strength.
How to stay composed.
How to lead without letting anything leak.

And everyone applauded him for it.

Over time,
that performance became his identity.

Until one moment cracked the silence.

“I don’t remember the last time
I was leading… for myself.”

If that line stayed with you longer than it should have,
you already know why.

That’s not burnout.

That’s the quiet grief of a leader
who lost himself
while holding everything together.

We didn’t start with solutions.
We didn’t talk strategy.
We didn’t fix the outside.

We slowed down enough
to listen to what his emotions had been holding
so his leadership wouldn’t have to collapse to be heard.

And when that weight finally had space to breathe,
something softened.

Energy returned not forced, but natural.
Presence deepened not louder, but steadier.
Decisions became cleaner not reactive, but true.

Nothing around him changed.

But he did.

And because he did,
everything else followed.

If this resonated, save it.
Not because it’s poetic,
but because this is how misalignment actually shows up
before it becomes a crisis.

If you’re a senior leader
holding more than you’re naming,
and leading well while slowly disappearing 

send me “EQ” quietly.

This is emotional, decision-level work
for leaders who are ready
to come home to themselves
without losing their edge.

♻️ Repost to remind someone that EQ is key.

➕ Follow Rawan Althagafy
for leadership that doesn’t require you to disappear to succeed.

He didn’t interrupt.
He waited.

Heart racing.
Hands tight under the table.

He had the answer.
He always did.

But something told him:
Not now.

So he swallowed the words.
Again.

The meeting ended.
Everyone stood up.

And one of them 
the one with real power 
looked at him and said:

“You’re smart.
But you need to learn how to speak here.”

That sentence stays.

Not because it’s harsh.
But because it’s vague.

It makes you question everything.
Your confidence.
Your instincts.
Your place in the room.

That’s the silent wound of upper management.

You’re not rejected.
You’re not promoted either.

You’re… suspended.

Here’s what no one explains:

Executive rooms are not moved by brilliance.
They’re moved by emotional timing.

By knowing when silence is stronger than proof.
When restraint signals authority.
When one calm sentence lands harder
than ten perfect slides.

Most leaders lose themselves here.
They either over-explain…
or disappear.

But emotional intelligence at that level
is learning how to stay present
without shrinking.

To hold your ground
without forcing it.

That’s not confidence.
That’s mastery.

And it’s the difference
between being respected 
and being trusted.

If you’ve ever left a room
feeling smaller than when you entered…

You don’t need to change who you are.
You need to change how the room feels when you speak.

I call this the most dangerous leadership skill that every leader develops.

Reading rooms.

Reading the pauses.
The silence.

And even the things that people don’t say out loud.

Four years at the Royal Court taught me how to sense tension before it surfaced.

It helped me navigate politics without losing integrity.

I could walk into a boardroom and know within minutes:

Who held the real power.
What needed to be said carefully, and what needed to wait.

But there’s something I’m still learning.

I’m learning to listen to myself
when the room needs something different than what I do.

I remember a meeting where I knew the right strategic call.

But I could feel the resistance building.

I sensed that subtle shift in body language.

So, I immediately adjusted.

I found a middle ground and settled.

The meeting ended smoothly.

But I left feeling unsettled.

Not because I was wrong.

But because I'd overridden my own clarity
for the sake of keeping the room comfortable.

I know leadership requires settlement at times.

Not always.

And there’s a cost when you constantly override your own signals
for the sake of alignment.

You start losing track of what you actually believe.

You blur your own boundary lines.

I know it because I’ve been there.

But I realized over time that I can’t keep doing this.

I need that internal honesty.

Knowing when to adjust for the room,
and when to hold your ground quietly.

Even when it's uncomfortable.

So before you learn to read the room.

Learn to notice yourself first.

Because the most dangerous thing you can do
is become so good at reading everyone else
that you stop hearing yourself.

P.S. When was the last time you noticed yourself before the room?

The morning I walked into the most important meeting of my career, I was breaking.

From the outside, everything looks steady.

Clarity in my voice.
Organized thoughts.

But that clarity doesn’t mean lightness.

That morning, I remember sitting at the table while everyone discussed priorities, timelines, and outcomes.

And all I could feel was the weight I brought with me.

A conversation with my daughter that morning.

The kind that stays with you, even when you close the door.

The email I'd read at 6 AM shifted something inside.

It was an exhaustion I hadn't named yet.

No one saw it.
But I felt it in every word I chose.

For years, I believed professionalism meant emotional silence.

That strength meant leaving parts of myself outside the door.

That leadership required containment at all costs.

And I was good at it.

I presented to ministers while holding personal storms inside.

I led strategy sessions for Vision 2030 while carrying a weight no one could measure.

I sat in boardrooms at the Royal Court,
being the only woman in a room of 25,
and kept my composure even when everything inside me wanted to break.

People praised my calm.

They didn't know what it cost to stay that composed.

I’ve learned one thing from there…

𝐄𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐬.

They influence how we listen.
They shape what we rush to do and what we avoid.

Leadership doesn't break because we feel.

It breaks when we pretend we don't
and let unacknowledged weight quietly drive our choices.

The shift came when I stopped treating emotions as distractions
and started treating them as data.

When I learned to pause and ask myself:

"What am I carrying right now?"
"What's influencing this decision?"
"What needs space before I can be fully present?"

That's not a weakness.

That's 𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞.

And it's the difference between leading from presence
and leading from unprocessed pressure.

So if you're reading this before your next meeting,
then take a moment.

Ask yourself:

"What am I carrying into this room?"

And give yourself permission to name it.

Not to anyone else.
Just to yourself.

Because the most powerful leaders I know
aren't the ones who never feel the weight.

They're the ones who acknowledge it and lead anyway.

What weight are you carrying with yourself into rooms that no one ever sees?

I was presenting a billion-riyal strategy that would influence national direction when the guilt hit.

Working mothers rarely acknowledge this guilt.

The guilt that quietly shows up when leadership needs presence
and motherhood needs it too.

I've felt it in moments where I was fully delivering at work
while questioning myself internally.

Not because I wasn't doing enough.

But because I cared deeply about both.

In that room at the Royal Court, the stakes were high.

I delivered with clarity.

And the entire time, a small voice in the back of my mind whispered:

"Your daughter's school play is in two hours.
You promised you'd be there early.
You're going to walk in late again."

I actually made it in time.

But I carried the guilt both ways.

Guilt for leaving work before the conversation fully ended.
Guilt for arriving at her play just as the lights dimmed.

No one saw me as anything but committed.

But inside, I felt like I was failing both.

I thought the answer was balance.

And that’s why I was blindly chasing it for years.

Tried to split my energy perfectly down the middle.

50% mother.
50% leader.

But it doesn’t really work that way.

Because some days, leadership asks for everything.

And you give it,
because people are counting on you.

Other days, your child needs you in a way that can't wait.

And you show up,
because they're counting on you too.

Neither meant failure.

But I finally understood that time management wouldn’t help.

It was releasing the idea that presence has to look identical everywhere.

Some days, leadership asks for restraint.
Other days, motherhood asks for resilience.

And on the hardest days?

Both ask for more than you feel you have.

But that's just the reality of holding two loves at once.

I started asking myself a simple question:

“Am I present where it matters most today?”

If it’s a YES, then I’m right.

That shift didn't erase the guilt.
But it softened it.

Actually, that guilt doesn’t mean you’re failing.

It just means that you care deeply about both.

And that’s something to honor.

P.S. Do you feel overwhelmed while handling everything at home & work simultaneously?

This is what working mothers do before 9 a.m.

Stand in the kitchen half-awake,
waiting for the kettle that takes too long.

Check the time.

Calculate how late you can be before it becomes a problem.

Pack lunches you hope come back empty.

Tie shoelaces while answering questions that start with

“Mom, where’s my…”

Break up an argument.

Apologize for rushing while rushing anyway.

Stand in the bathroom for a moment longer than necessary
because it’s the only quiet you’ll get.

Then you switch.

Not gently.
Abruptly.

You straighten your back.
Lower your voice.
Push the worry somewhere deeper.

Laptop open.
Camera on.

“Good morning, everyone”

Mute yourself
while answering a question from another room.

Unmute.
Smile.
Lead.

No one sees what came before.

No one sees that you’ve already made

ten decisions
held three emotions
and swallowed one fear
before the meeting even began.

It’s not the work that’s heavy.

It’s the constant handover between who needs you and who expects you.

Mother.
Professional.
Provider.
Anchor.

With no space to set one down
before picking up the next.

Some days, you don’t feel present anywhere.

Just stretched thin across all of it.

If your mornings leave you exhausted before the day starts, it’s not because you’re failing.

It’s because you’re carrying a life
before you ever open your laptop.

If you’re a mother building a career, a business, or a life that matters to you,
I see you.

Not just the outcomes.

But the effort it takes to keep choosing it
on days when it would be easier to shrink.

And if you’re open to sharing:

What’s one small thing you do every morning that helps you feel steady before the day takes over?

I’d genuinely love to hear.

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