Devotion More Reliable Than Magic
Amanda Heenan • 19 May 2026
On presence, practice and the magic that follows
The first time I watched Ilya paint, I thought he was a wizard. Ilya Ibraev, a Russian watercolour artist, has a way of conjuring light and space that seems to bypass all reasonable explanation.
That satin grey-blue appearing from nowhere. Warm and cool somehow alive in the same stroke. The water just being water, holding light the way real water holds it. I watched agog, the way you do when you can't locate the mechanism behind the miracle.
And then I tried it myself.
What followed was eighteen months of devotion — though I didn't call it that at the time. I called it practice, and frustration, and starting again, and not quite, and why won't it do what I can see. I called it early mornings and late evenings and dreams about wet edges and the moment pigment blooms into water and becomes something you didn't plan.
We live on a magical path, I think. The reservoir I drove past yesterday, its tree banks doubled in still water. The way evening light lands differently on the same field depending on the hour. The bee moving through salvia as if it invented the colour magenta. Magic is ambient, constant, entirely free — if only we would slow down enough to notice it.
But when we are learning something new, we temporarily lose access to it. We can only feel the gap — between what we see and what our hands can make, between the wizard's stroke and our own uncertain mark. And into that gap, so many voices arrive, offering to sell us the secret. The shortcut. The formula that bypasses the difficult middle.
I bought a few of those, in my time.
What I've found instead — what eighteen months of watercolour has quietly taught me — is that devotion is more reliable than magic. Not instead of it. Through it.
Because devotion does something that shortcuts cannot. It builds an interior place: somewhere the self can breathe regardless of what the day brings. Not an escape from life, but a ground within it. I have painted on difficult days, on days when external circumstances made everything feel unsteady. And the practice held me. The brush met the water, the pigment bloomed, the breath softened. Whatever was happening outside the my kitchen table studio, inside it there was this: the patient, generous, utterly reliable return of the practice itself. That place where I can breathe and feel at peace both are hard to find elsewhere.
That peace doesn't come from mastery, it comes from presence and practice.
The practice opens the perception, too. The more I painted, the more I could see. The more I could see, the more the world offered itself — light, water, the held breath of a still hour just before dark. The ambient magic I'd always felt strongly connected to, I began noticing in an amplified way, constantly, quietly, like a conversation that had deepened the more I noticed.
You don't watch the wizard from the outside forever. At some point you pick up the brush. You get it wrong. You understand why. You go back.
And one day the satin grey-blue is in your water, and you put it there, and you know — not as theory but as lived knowledge — that it cost exactly what it was worth.
I have much still to learn. I am so looking forward to it.
Magic that comes from devotion can look like wizardry. But it's just the practice of devotion — and the peace that, quietly and reliably, it brings home.
Sunrays on water: 1st try - January 2025
A Ilya Ibraev study
Sunrays on water - Study 3
Finding a colour palette that is more me
This Still Hour - May 2026
Less. is more, trust the glow to emerge
Amanda Heenan is an artist and healer based in Scotland, working under the name Art for Healing.
Exploring creativity as a way of reconnecting with ourselves, each other, and the living world
There’s an ancient lesson carried on the wings of the wasp. All summer long, the adult wasp labours to feed its larvae — bringing back morsels of meat, tending tirelessly to its growth. In return, the larva excretes a sugary substance, sweet fuel that sustains the adult. A season-long exchange. A strange, ancient symbiosis. But then the cycle ends. The larva matures, breaks free, and flies away. And the adult wasp — who gave all its energy to feed what it believed would sustain it — is suddenly left with nothing. No sweetness. No return. Many starve before the winter comes. The New Symbiosis in the Age of the Algorithm We may believe ourselves far from such a fate, but in The Age of the Algorithm, we too are caught in a cycle of feeding something that does not feed us back. Social media feeds on our attention. It studies our every digital move — the click, the pause, the hungry linger. It adapts not to know us, but to keep us. In return, it feeds us a stream of content: hyper-personalised, eerily precise, tailored to our curiosities, fears, longings, and wounds. A perfect lure. A perfect loop. But unlike the wasp, this is not mutual care. This is extraction. Far more parasitic than symbiotic. Anticipation: The Hook of Endless Scrolling Our brains are wired for anticipation — What comes next? Whether joy or outrage, awe or envy, the algorithm delivers. Each swipe, a gamble. A hit. A hook. And within this feed, we meet a curated mirror of comparison that makes us feel less than: Bodies more beautiful Lives more successful Joy more effortless Brilliance more constant All targeted to our insecurities with laser precision. In a world already aching — with war, climate crisis, political unrest, and quiet personal grief — the feed becomes a storm. Anxiety from the outside in. Despair from the inside out. The Hollowing Like the wasp, we have spent years feeding something we believed would nourish us: connection, inspiration, belonging. Yet, the more we give — time, attention, emotion — the emptier we become. Because what we serve is not in service to us. The Antidote: Art as Return Perhaps the way through this Age of the Algorithm is not to consume more, but to create more. Creativity — in all its forms — is not a luxury. It is how we remember ourselves. It steadies the mind, softens the body, and brings the spirit back into the room. Creativity is not only healing… it may be the very key to our survival. Because when we create, we are no longer feeding the machine — we are feeding the soul. An invitation Before you scroll to the next thing or back to your task list, ask yourself: what could I make today? A scribble, a soup, a sentence, a melody. Something small, something true. No audience. No outcome. Just you, feeding your own sweetness back to yourself. And who knows how that sweetness might ripple out, quietly nourishing others too.
On a rainy Saturday, I perched on my scooter outside a bleak building called a “hotel.” Two storeys of grey walls, curtains drawn tight, no softness, no welcome. Inside, asylum seekers — people who have already fled unimaginable hardship — sat like ghosts behind those curtains. I imagined their bewilderment and fear, not just of what had forced them to leave home, but of what they were now witnessing outside their windows. I was grateful to be there with my partner and two friends, people who give so much of their lives to social justice. I felt supported and in good company — and because of that, even more aware of how alone those behind the curtains must feel, unable to step outside without fear, unable to walk freely to the shops, unable to live the small, everyday freedoms that should be taken for granted. In the car park, “our side” gathered — bringing colour, music, placards, a kind of determined joy. Across the road, “the other side” stood, watched over by police. Some were almost certainly folk living with deep inequality themselves — in health, income, education. But instead of turning their anger towards the governments, billionaires, and policies that have stripped their lives bare, they had been persuaded that the real threat was the vulnerable people hidden behind hotel curtains. Among them were more organised figures: a young man in dark glasses and slicked back hair, magaphone in hand; a flag of the “Knights Templar” — symbols of old violence repurposed for new hatred. Flags, flags, flags everywhere you look. Tribal symbols to cling to. The atmosphere was noisy, tense, surreal. I held my sign — Different Roots, Shared Future — and I wondered what those inside the hotel could see or hear. Did they feel supported by our music and colour, or did all of it feel like part of the storm? I left with mixed emotions. Relief that I had stood in solidarity, but also sadness that my presence meant “choosing a side” in a theatre of division. I wanted to bring love. I wanted to bring welcome. But I also wondered: had I added to the noise, to the storm outside those ghosted windows? And yet — I know why I was there. Absence would have felt like silence. My small act of witness was not about fuelling division, but about standing for humanity in a place where humanity was under threat. Standing there in the storm, I thought of how often fear has written this script before. The huge protest in London led by “Tommy Robinson” plays this out on an even larger stage — grievance twisted into hate, division magnified and broadcast to the world. A Human Story as Old as Time It is an old story, told in many places, with many names, and it always begins the same way: with cracks in a community, widened by whispers of danger, until neighbours see only enemies across the divide. They say there were once two villages, side by side. Each longed for safety, each wished simply to endure the hunger of winters and the drought of summers. But one day a whisper came to both villages: the other means to destroy you. Fear tightened its grip. The first village sharpened its spears and built higher walls. The second village strung its bows and fortified its gates. Each looked across the valley and saw the other preparing, and took it as proof of the rumour. And so the cycle deepened. Suspicion became certainty. Certainty became hostility. And soon the two villages brought about the very destruction they feared. The battle came, the sky darkened with dust, and the earth shook beneath the weight of their anger. When it was over, both villages lay in ruins. Only then did they see the truth: that neither had ever wanted war. Fear had been the victor, and both had lost. But the story does not have to end in rubble. In the silence after the storm, there is another possibility. The walls, though broken, can be mended. The fissures that run through the earth can be filled with light. Like the art of kintsugi, where broken pottery is repaired with gold, the scars can become places of beauty. What was once cracked can shine more brightly than before. Perhaps this is the story we are being called to write now. Not one of endless fear and ruin, but one of repair, courage, and light glinting through the seams. As you read this, you too may be feeling the weight of fear and division pressing on our world. My hope is that this story might also remind us that every crack can become an opening, every act of witness a seam of gold.
There’s a lone oak tree on the shore of Loch Lomond, at a place called Milarrochy Bay. Twisted by wind and time, it stands apart—its branches reaching across the bay, as if yearning across the water for the company of other oaks on the far shore. This painting began with soft watercolour washes to hold the quiet light of sunset, followed by charcoal to draw the tree’s distinctive form, the shape of the distant mountains, and the reflections in the water. As I worked, the painting became more than a landscape. It became a meditation on solitude, on connection, and on how beauty can take root in the most unlikely shapes. To many, the tree seems alone. And yet, I found myself wondering—what if it isn’t? What if beneath the surface, its roots are still entangled with others through ancient networks of mycelium? What if even in separation, there’s a thread of kinship and memory holding it in quiet relationship? This thought stayed with me: even when we stand apart, we are rarely truly alone. Whether through shared values, quiet support, or the invisible bonds of community, we remain connected—sometimes in ways we can’t immediately see. And just like the tree, shaped by solitude, our own unusual growth might hold something beautiful for others to witness, to recognise, to feel less alone themselves. This painting is called What the Roots Remember . It’s an invitation to reflect on the connections that sustain us, even when we feel isolated. It’s a reminder that longing is not weakness—it’s a gesture of hope, of aliveness. And it’s an offering to anyone who has felt on the edge: you are part of something deeper. The roots remember. A moment to reflect: When have you felt most alone—and what, or who, reminded you that you were still connected? Are there ways your own ‘twisted branches’ have become a gift to someone else? I’d love to hear what resonates for you. Visit my growing gallery of paintings.
In a world increasingly resembling a dystopian novel—complete with a cast of characters who would make George Orwell ’s head spin—it's time for the left to don a new hat: the hat of Radical Pragmatism . We’re living in an era where authoritarianism is strutting about like it owns the place, and dissent is being silenced with all the grace of a bull in a china shop. In Trump’s America, cruelty is the new black, and in the UK, even the Labour Party seems to be doing a reluctant tango with the right, all the while constantly sanctimoniously preaching about 'balancing the books ' as if it's some sort protective shield against the impact of their decisions. Let’s talk about the cuts to welfare support for disabled people —a group that has already been thrashed by 14 years of Tory austerity and incompetence. Imagine trying to stay afloat while being held underwater. As a disabled person I experience these anticipated cuts are like a cruel game of “Guess What’s / Who's Next?”. Spoiler alert: it’s exhausting and, frankly, further disabling. And it's not just my anxiety about how the cuts will affect me as I become more dependent on them with age and illness, it's the distress of fellow disabled people. The countless people who are denied basic support and have to fight tooth and nail in applying and appealing, only to have to be on the constant look out for when it will be taken away. It’s enough to make anyone scream into a pillow, but alas, that won’t change the tide. Meanwhile, the left is caught in a whirlwind of its own making. Small differences of opinion have turned into full-blown civil wars, complete with social media skirmishes that would make even the most seasoned gladiators cringe. Take the current debate around transgender equality: conversations can feel like a minefield, and the best of intentions often get lost in the crossfire. It’s a sad state of affairs when those who want to fight for justice end up retreating into their corners, afraid to say anything that might ruffle feathers or trigger a Twitter (or whatever it's called now) mob. But here’s the kicker: broad engagement and solidarity are our best weapons against the forces of cruelty and inequality. I felt it especially this week as other people's solidarity over the benefits cut proposals has deeply moved me and, in turn, motivated me to write this piece. And that’s where Radical Pragmatism comes in. It’s time to put aside our ideological purity tests and roll up our sleeves. Can we agree to work with a variety of people—even those we don’t see eye to eye with on every issue? Absolutely! In fact, it’s essential. Imagine if we approached activism like a potluck dinner. Everyone brings their own dish, and while some might be spicy and others sweet, the goal is to create a feast that everyone can enjoy. You might not love, or even be able to eat, every dish, but having a little of everything on the table is better than a banquet of bitterness. We can engage with those who might not share our views on every single issue while still standing firm against the overarching tides of authoritarianism and inequality. So, let’s embrace Radical Pragmatism as our secret weapon. It’s about doing the best we can in a world that often feels like it’s coming apart at the seams. Sometimes that's quiet conversations and small acts of kindness, and sometimes its loud and big. Let’s build bridges instead of walls, engage instead of retreat, and remember that our ultimate goal is social justice, not ideological purity. If we can do that, we might just turn the tide and create a world where kindness and compassion are the order of the day—rather than the politics of cruelty that currently reign. After all, in this wild ride of life, we could all use a little more understanding, a little more laughter, and a lot more solidarity.
You don't need to do it alone... Conflict is an inevitable part of life, whether it arises in personal or workplace relationships. People respond to conflict in different ways – some avoid or suppress it, while others see red and flare up (that fight or flight stress response). Culturally, conflict can express itself and be experienced in different ways too. The stiff upper lip is a well-worn British stereotype, where open conflict is a thing to be avoided at all costs, but under the surface, tensions simmer and sometimes erupt. Whatever your conflict response or culture, conflict is a natural feature of relationships, and working well with conflict can lead to positive changes in those relationships. By acknowledging and addressing conflicts, we can foster growth, understanding, and improved communication in our personal and professional lives. Mediation versus Conflict Coaching Mediation is often suggested to resolve conflict, but people may see involving an external party as a sign of failure. Conflict coaching provides an alternative or supplement to mediation. Unlike mediation, which involves a neutral third party facilitating dialogue between conflicting parties, conflict coaching provides individual support to navigate conflicts effectively. Benefits of Conflict Coaching Empowerment : Conflict coaching empowers people by helping them gain a deeper understanding of their emotions, needs, and values. This self-awareness enables them to navigate conflicts with confidence and assertiveness. For example, a manager who receives conflict coaching may develop the confidence to address interpersonal issues within their team. Improved Communication: Through conflict coaching, people learn effective communication techniques such as active listening, expressing emotions constructively, and managing difficult conversations. These skills enhance their ability to express themselves and understand others' perspectives, leading to more productive dialogue. Personal Growth: Conflict coaching promotes personal growth by encouraging people to reflect on their beliefs, assumptions, and behaviour patterns. It enables them to identify areas for personal development and empowers them to make positive changes. Stronger Relationships: By working through conflicts and developing effective communication skills, people can build stronger, more resilient relationships. Conflict coaching fosters understanding, empathy, and mutual respect, which are crucial foundations for healthy and fulfilling relationships. This might involve a team undergoing conflict coaching to improve collaboration and trust. In a world where individuals embrace conflict and work well with it, relationships would thrive with well defined boundaries. People would approach conflicts with curiosity and a commitment to understanding, rather than avoiding or escalating them. Conflict would be seen as an opportunity for growth and transformation, leading to deeper connections and more harmonious interactions. Conclusion Conflict coaching offers a powerful alternative or supplement to mediation, empowering individuals to navigate conflicts with self-awareness, enhanced communication skills, and a clear view of their desired outcomes. By embracing conflict and working well with it, we can transform our relationships, fostering understanding, growth, and healthy boundaries. In a world where conflict is navigated well, we open the door to building stronger connections and creating a more harmonious society. How we can help: One-to-one support to: Be an impartial sounding board to help you unpack issues Gain insight into the points of conflict and what you need from the relationship Understand your own conflict style and its influence on your approach Develop communication skills to give feedback, express feelings, and set boundaries Building conflict-resilient teams by: Developing shared team values and understanding their implications Gaining insight into individual conflict styles within the team Facilitating giving and receiving feedback, challenging behaviours in a compassionate and respectful way, and setting personal boundaries Ready to transform your approach to conflict? Contact us today to learn more about our conflict coaching services. Co-authored by Amanda Heenan LLM BSc(Hons) and Catherine Brys PhD MBA Biographies Amanda Heenan is an experienced and passionate equality, inclusion and human rights practitioner, with a Masters degree (LLM) in employment and equality law. She has experience of working across the public, private and voluntary sectors. Amanda is accredited as a good relations practitioner (by the Centre for Good Relations) - many of her projects involve building good relations in often contentious environments. She provided interim management support to a Scottish rape crisis centre, with a focus on managing change and developing good relationships, particularly between staff and Board members. Catherine Brys is an accredited mediator and good relations practitioner. She is also an experienced workplace coach and facilitator. She holds a Postgraduate Certificate in Mediation, Conflict Resolution and Negotiation from Strathclyde University and is accredited by the Centre for Good Relations. As a coach, facilitator and consultant she has worked with individuals and teams in the private and third sector to build better relationships and unblock conflict situations. Catherine is driven by helping people feel fulfilled and achieve more impact in what they do.
It is not a great leap to imagine future historians re-defining our time as Before COVID-19 [BC-19] and After COVID-19 [AC-19]. BC-19 was an unsettling and destructive time. The gnarly old man of capitalism was in the throes of a final hedonistic, nihilistic binge: his vomit poisoning the roots of humanity and the planet. The toxic effects of his binge was seen in the growing gulf between a tiny proportion of people acquiring an ever increasing share of wealth, with a growing number in poverty and feeling disenfranchised, and frankly, ever more pissed off. People needing food banks and payday loans despite working more than one job. People turning to populism and hatred towards those seen as Other, when their real anger was directed at those who seemed to be comfortably riding a wave of liberalism. People on the liberal end of the spectrum looking on in horror at the popularity of Trump and other populist right wing politicians who berated the 'liberal elites' whilst sitting on a mountain of wealth themselves. Late BC-19 saw discussions about a second age of enlightenment bubbling up to the surface. I'm privileged to be part of this dialogue. It's held my interest even in the times when the idea was just hanging on by the fine threads of a few people keeping the pot bubbling. But all it ever takes is a few people who quietly tend to an idea, until it comes into an age and stage that it's ready to gather momentum. That feels like where we are now, like a snowball finding the right conditions to grow and go where it needs to. Yesterday saw our first public event discussing the principles of a Second Enlightenment Movement and mapping projects, policies and resources that chime with these principles. What makes this movement so appealing to me is that it is not driven by a need for funding, it is self organised and is not looking to fix stuff in itself. Its purpose is to notice, connect and amplify those projects, policies and resources that chime with its principles. It is powered by love and a wider perspective. That makes it resistant to future factionalism as one branch of a movement seeks to prove it is more 'right' than another. This is a phenomenon that has plagued many progressive movements, and has repelled me from becoming involved in any form of politics. And so, here we are, exploring the frontiers of a new age of enlightenment. When has there been a better time to lay that gnarly old man of capitalism to rest? To lovingly remember he was an idealist once, borne of the 1st Scottish and European enlightenment, driven by virtue and the need to improve himself and society. We can thank him for his service, forgive him his transgressions against people and the planet, and move towards an age where we care for each other and the planet, and thrive together. That is possible, that is achievable, but it's not going to happen because someone else holds the answer. We all hold a piece of the magic wand of change, but it only works when we deploy it together in service of each other and the planet. This is what the folk who attended our event yesterday thought it might look and feel like, and it felt good to me!
Putting a tick in a box seems like such a simple thing. Yet when we ask someone to fill out an equality monitoring form, we are asking them to confine the complexity and multiplicity of their identity into a set of labeled boxes. For me, when I tick the ‘White British’ box, I think, “Yes, but I have multiple heritages”. When I tick the ‘Disabled’ box, I feel a twinge of disconnection, when I tick the ‘Straight’ box, I think, “Yes, but it’s more nuanced than that.” When I tick the ‘No religion’ box my soul has a little chuckle. If there is a box to tick about gender identity, I think about my transgender friends, and the complexity of emotions associated with this box. These thoughts skim briefly through my mind every time I'm asked to tick those boxes. Some days how I feel about my various identities is more tricky than others, complicating my relationship with those boxes yet further. I believe this is true for most of us. And yet I, like many reading this blog, will have more insight than most into why we tick those boxes. I have even have designed some of the forms and debated about the wording of the labels. I ask myself to imagine how it feels to tick those boxes, or ask others to tick those boxes, when you don’t really know why you are being asked or what will happen to the information. As an equality and inclusion practitioner, I often advocate for collecting this data so that we have a quantifiable source to help measure and improve equality impact. We ask frontline service providers to collect this data. More and more we ask people using online services tick these boxes. But where does it all go? How much of it is analysed and used to make improvements? Data can give some powerful insights, but usually only as a starting point. It needs to be followed with understanding more about people's lived experiences. Numbers can start to tell you which groups are accessing services or opportunities, they can indicate who’s complaining and who’s missing from the picture altogether . However, to understand why, and more importantly, what can be done to make things better, the picture needs to be layered with an insight into people’s experiences and perspectives. In my experience, if collecting data is seen as ticking a compliance box, it is likely to have limited impact in terms of how it affects decision-making, leading to improvements. What determines effectiveness lays in how insight about equality is valued by organisations, and whether the people we are asking to tick those boxes see the benefit in doing so. We live in an age of ‘ big data’ , where very large sets of data are used to map trends, and these trends determine where money is spent, or predict how we will make decisions. I was recently struck by the quote "Data is the new oil”, with some claiming it is the world's most valuable resource . Viewing data from this lens, as fuel to commercial interests, reinforces the need for privacy and consent. The GDPR and updated Data Protection Bill define tighter principles to regulate the flow and use of this ‘new oil’, so that our human right to privacy isn't washed away by the the force of its flow. GDPR provides an opportunity to sharpen our focus on how we collect and use equality data, as organisations review their approach to processing personal data. However, it should also prompt us to be more critical about why we collect equality information and what we do with it. Do we see it as a way of ticking one of our own 'to-do' boxes, or do we see it as a starting point of discovery leading to better access and experience for all? Understanding the Why? and the So What? usually only comes about through a strategic investment in curiosity and exploring solutions. We should never forget the complexity behind that tick in the box, or the value of people’s identities. We should either honour this by making it really count, or not ask at all. This is the start of a conversation I’d love you to join me in, if you have a examples of good practice or a view to share please click here . It would be great to share resources and insight as the conversation develops. Links to guides and resources: Here’s a brilliant example from Ideas for Ears about using data to raise awareness about how people with hearing loss miss out in meetings and events Information Commissioner’s Office (ICO) GDPR briefing This FAQ resource gives some guidance for processing equality information relating to staff Preparing for the General Data Protection Regulation (GDPR) - 12 steps to take now European handbook on equality data This blog was inspired by a blog written by Sam Tadcastle, a master of peacemaking and empathy, who wrote: It’s an emotive thing, drawing lines on maps .
Here at Arc of Inclusion we focus on the environment. Not the global ecosystem (although we like that too), but the environment created by organisations, and the vital contribution people make to that environment. In this article, the first in a series, I'll be outlining why we think the development of an inclusive, safe and accessible environment is so very, very important. We know that identifying the tangible ingredients for getting that environmental mix just right can be pretty tricky, but that’s exactly what we aim to explore here on these pages. We know that people flourish in environments where they feel safe and included. The business case is strong - to paraphrase Richard Branson: when you prioritise your employees, your employees will take care of your clients. Whatever your view of Richard Branson, it’s fair to say that he has a healthy interest in the bottom line. Even in those organisations where the primary driver is profit, creating a safe, inclusive and accessible environment for their employees and clients makes sound business sense. When we go to work, we expect to be safe. We also hope to be supported to do our jobs to the best of our abilities, and maybe even to flourish and grow. Many organisations (profit motivated or otherwise) are driven by a strong vision and a set of core values, but too often these don’t resonate with staff, as they don’t see that vision and those values reflected in their working environment. We all know workplaces which are rammed with filing cabinets and intranets overflowing with policies and completed CPD training courses. Yes, the compliance boxes are ticked, but how far can box ticking go when it comes to creating an optimal environment where staff can thrive and give of their best? I’ve seen the power of inclusive environments where some people, people who have encountered challenges and barriers to inclusion, overcome those barriers to thrive and blossom. I’ve also witnessed environments where talented and highly motivated staff become ever more disillusioned and disengaged, and eventually either vote with their feet, or develop strategies to minimise their exposure to their work environment. Sound familiar? In recent times, we’ve witnessed a depressingly large swathe of people courageously publicly speaking up about unacceptable behaviour in the work environment, That kind of behaviour has always been unacceptable, but alarmingly, we’re now seeing how readily it was accepted. It seems most prevalent where there is often an imbalance of power and people who often feel their careers are on the line if they speak up. How honest are organisations about the unspoken rules of their working environments? I’ve spent the last couple of years preoccupied by what makes an inclusive environment, one where people are actively encouraged to thrive. I’ve been very conscious about what it feels like, from a range of different personal and professional perspectives, to be in environments which feel properly inclusive, environments which might, for example, have been thoughtful about access. I’ve contrasted that positive approach with what failure feels like when inclusion isn’t really considered., I’ve seen for myself how lack of thoughtful inclusion puts a real dampener on efforts to make good things happen. In the rest of this series, I’ll outline how finding and using the right ingredients can combine to make for a much more healthy and nurturing environment. I’ll share some of my experience, and some of the stuff I’ve learned from a diverse range of sectors and settings. Most of all, I’ll encourage you to forget box ticking, and take the time to create the right mix for a healthy and happy working environment.