Lili freezes. Her mind goes blank, heart thumping in her chest. Normally smooth and delicate, her olive skin crinkles slightly as muscle tension invades. Fists clenching the lectern, she is pinned to the stage by harsh spotlights, like a helpless insect. The black microphone attached to the lectern grows in size, threatening her with instant humiliation and a fatal set-back to career prospects.

Then her inner critics start up. “You’re bound to make a fool of yourself” predicts one. “You were crazy to agree to present at this leadership conference in the first place” chimed in the shrill voice of another. “You should have stuck to being a lawyer, it would have been much safer”. This from a third.

As the chorus grows, Lili’s confidence plummets. Acutely aware of rows of expectant faces, waiting for her to begin, the knot in her stomach expands and small beads of sweat join forces on her forehead, forming a salty, eye watering, stream. Back-lit, her straight charcoal-black hair frames dark brown eyes, normally shining and smiling, now displaying pupil dilated fear. Somehow she struggles through the remainder of her “Leading Complexity” presentation.

With the ordeal over, long slim legs safely embracing a rich, warm blue-backed stool, staring into the effervescent bubbles playing tag in her gin and tonic, Lili feels disappointed and frustrated. She read somewhere that fear of public speaking is second only to death for most people and wonders how on earth she is going to overcome this paralysing problem.

Born in Singapore with a Chinese mother and Hungarian father, Lili has just been promoted to head up organisational development in an international consulting firm with an Australian office in Sydney. In this high profile position her world has suddenly got a whole lot more complex, and presenting at international conferences comes with the territory.

Later that evening, after catching up on the events of her teenage daughter Jasmine’s day, followed by a quick phone call to son Daniel, she shares her concerns with her partner David.

‘I don’t know if I am up to this new leadership role. Just the thought of public speaking paralyses me. If I can’t overcome this irrational fear, my career will hit a dead end. Now that Daniel has flown the nest to University and I have more time on my hands I think I might get some professional help.’

George fumes, inwardly. His face flushes, further darkening naturally dark skin, hazel eyes widening beneath curly brown hair. A prickly sensation creeps through his chest. As team leader in charge of Asia-pacific sales for a medical equipment manufacturing company George is often navigating challenging ethical waters. None more so than now.

“It’s all very well for you,” he thinks, “no matter which way you dress it up, we are effectively paying a bribe and it’s not your neck that’s on the line.”

Jim, George’s manager, senses his anger. He leans back in his chair and shrugs.

‘I’m sure you will manage’, he continues, avoiding eye contact; ‘best just get on with it.’ This accompanied by a dismissive wave of his left hand.

‘Easy for you to say, you selfish bastard!’ explodes George, his stocky frame angling forward in his chair.

Realising he has crossed the line, and fearful of what he will say or do next, George takes a deep breath, then storms out, mouth contorted in a crooked grimace.

Hours later, on his third beer, George’s anger is still red hot. If his boss Jim could hear the conversation his ears would be burning. His best friend Phil interrupts him.

‘George, I don’t think I can take much more of this. Your blood pressure is sky high. You’ve stopped going to the gym and your anger is out of control. You really need to make some changes.’

Coming from someone he respects, this stops George in his tracks. Images of his wife Jill and 12 year old son Ben flicker into awareness, nudging with them a growing sense of responsibility.

“Why do I keep shooting myself in the foot like this? Maybe I do need some help …”

Jan leaves the meeting tense and rattled, sensing she has blown the opportunity to open up the first branch of FutureHorizons in south East Asia. Fully aware that nothing will happen without trust and relationship, her commitment to listen deeply and move slowly deserted her in the middle of the meeting. Jan’s old pattern of impatience turned up, uninvited; loud, forceful gestures amplified by her physical size combining to undermine all that had gone before.

On the flight home Jan settles in to her uncomfortably tight seat, the appearance of physical awkwardness offset by tightly cropped burnished copper hair and green eyes. She reflects on the two biggest challenges she faces in life; her weight and her impulsiveness, the latter limiting her effectiveness as one of the foundation owners and CEO of a fast growing start-up company. Forty six years old, Jan migrated to Australia with her English father and Scottish mother when she was seven. With her parents support and encouragement, a recipe of hard work, a measure of entrepreneurial flare, and a never-say-die attitude mixed with quantities of good luck have brought her to the brink of financial success and security.

With considerable trepidation Jan imagines what her life and business partner Sharon will think when she hears about the meeting. Last time something like this happened Sharon made it clear that a repeat would jeopardise their relationship.

“Truth be known, the way I manage conflict is creating havoc everywhere, in my personal life and for our business. I wonder where I can get help for this?” Jan ponders.

Stefan lies silently beside Carmel, his tousled wheaten blond hair and piercing blue eyes barely visible in the soft glow of an approaching dawn. He is acutely aware of Carmel’s body, her rhythmic breath moving the bedspread like a stuck wave. Physically separated by a few centimeters, they may as well be continents apart; warm bodies separated by a cold sea of disconnection, the all too familiar pattern playing out in deafening silence. Conversations about perceived wrongs and hurts that never see the light of day, echoing back and forth in Stefan’s head. Desperately wanting connection, and powerless to reach out for it, paralysed by some unknowable fear, his tall, thin-framed body tosses to and fro, eventually succumbing to restless sleep.

Aged sixty two, born in Australia to Swedish parents, divorced and estranged from three children from his first marriage, struggling to make his relationship with Carmel work, Stefan takes stock of the conflict avoidance pattern playing havoc with his life as his sleep deprived body is whisked into the middle of the city on the limited stops train he catches, like clockwork, each morning.

Arriving at his tastefully furnished office in the large Government agency where he heads up the Policy Implementation Division, Stefan’s finely sculpted nostrils flare as the aroma of freshly brewed coffee promises a fresh start to the day. Barely three invigorating sips in, however, pleasure gives way to concern when a chiming calendar alert signals a 15 minute count-down to a performance review meeting with Helen, the Department’s Chief Operating Officer, conveniently forgotten and for which Stefan is ill-prepared.

Midway through the meeting Helen’s voice takes on a serious tone.

‘I am concerned about how you are perceived by your peers. The feedback I receive from them suggests you are avoiding performance issues with a number of your direct reports. They also find you distant and somewhat arrogant at times. Given the interdependencies across the Divisions, this is quite problematic from my perspective, and needs to be addressed. I think you should consider taking on an executive coach.’