I didn’t grow up imagining a career in policing, I grew up on a farm and had left college trained in Business Studies! A friend had recently joined the police and couldn’t stop talking about how rewarding it was. That conversation really resonated and mattered. As a result, I joined the Special Constabulary in 1993, simply because I wanted to help my community and find out what working in the police was really like. Those first shifts changed everything. I loved the work, and it gave me the confidence to apply for the regulars in Devon and Cornwall Police in January 1995.  

For the next 22 years, I found my home in response and neighbourhood policing. Those roles shaped me, as well as ongoing operational training. I worked through the ranks and picked up experience in prisoner handling units, the command and control centre and the change management programme along the way.

One unexpected turning point came early on. After my 2-year probation, I saw that the force partnered with a local university to sponsor degree programmes for constables and sergeants. I threw my hat in the ring and qualified as I had never done a degree. That degree opened my eyes to organisational thinking, business skills, and, importantly, the possibility of leadership. It planted a seed I hadn’t considered before. 

Becoming a parent while working as a PC in command and control was another defining moment, and not an easy one. Support networks were almost non-existent back then (in the early 2000s). Aside from HR, there wasn’t much guidance, and returning to work felt oddly isolating, as if nothing had changed - but lots had! It was a jolt, but I found my footing again, moved back to response, and finished my degree as well as having my second child. 

There was a moment on patrol with a female colleague, where we had just arrested a drunk male. As as we loaded him into the van, she asked if I was planning to stay on frontline duties or consider promotion. It made me pause and think seriously about where I wanted to go next, and whether I was ready to push myself toward promotion. I applied for sergeant, got it, and soon after, welcomed my third child. 

But the real shift, the one that changed my career outlook entirely, came when I was promoted to inspector and posted as staff officer to the BCU commander. The commander became a mentor in the truest sense. She talked to me about transferable skills, about knowing my worth, and about stepping into challenge rather than waiting to be invited. She taught me how to see myself as a leader, not just someone doing a job. 

Following that, I progressed to chief inspector on response and then to superintendent - moving to different portfolio areas of partnerships, response and neighbourhood, as well as developing my senior operational experience by completing the tactical firearms cadre course, post incident management and authorising officer courses and moving onto those specialist rotas. 

Looking back, it wasn’t a straight path. It was a series of nudges, opportunities, tough moments, and the influence of people who believed in me before I believed in myself. And that, more than anything, is what shaped the career I’m proud of today. 

 
Working harder and longer to prove myself 

Like many people, I did experience blockers as I moved through my career. Some were structural, some were cultural, and some were entirely of my own making. But did I believe they were linked directly to my gender? It’s more nuanced than that. 

There were definitely times, especially when I was working part-time, where it felt like I had to work harder and longer to prove myself. To gain the same respect. To be seen as genuinely ready for certain roles. It wasn’t always explicit, but it was there in the background: the sense that flexibility meant compromise, and compromise meant you were somehow less committed. Balancing work while raising three children only sharpened that feeling. 

And then there was the other piece: the self-imposed barrier of imposter syndrome. That quiet voice that says, “Are you sure you’re good enough?” It can be far louder than any external judgment. For me, the challenge wasn’t just balancing work and home life. It was balancing ambition with confidence, and confidence with the constant pressure to ‘get it right.’ 

Looking back, some of those blockers were real, and some I built myself. Either way, they shaped me. They made me more determined, more self-aware, and more committed to creating a policing culture where no one feels they have to over-prove themselves just because they work differently, live differently, or carry more outside the workplace than others realise. 

I owe so much to the people who have mentored and sponsored me 

When I look back at the key turning points in my career, so many of them start with a simple conversation. Someone taking a moment to encourage me, challenge me, or help me see something in myself that I hadn’t quite recognised yet. 

One of those moments came when I had been a superintendent for a few years. I’d been thinking about my professional development and ended up chatting with a male colleague who was a rank above me. I’d seen an advert for a role in NPCC/NPOCC, coordinating the learning from COVID work. It felt like a huge leap, not just because of the travel and distance, but because I’d spent my entire career within Devon and Cornwall Police. Stepping into a national role felt like crossing into completely new territory. 

He told me I should apply. He reminded me that I had the skills, the experience, and the potential, so I applied and joined the Op Talla Learning Programme on secondment, and a year later I stepped into the lead role. It was transformative. Working at a national level, connecting across policing organisations and government departments. It gave me a broader perspective than I’d ever had before. It stretched me, challenged me, and importantly showed me that I belonged in those spaces. That experience lit a spark of interest at working at a national level – an opportunity of which I would return to in a few years.  

After my NPOCC secondment, I was back in force and became the secretary and then the chair of my local Police Superintendents’ Association branch. I loved supporting colleagues, and I set up an annual CPD and networking event for superintendents. Those sessions were well received and created valuable breathing space for people to share challenges and connect. 

So, when I saw a national role advertised, I grabbed the opportunity and went for it. I applied for the PSA gender representative position and was successful. With another timely nudge, this time from the then PSA Vice President, I put myself forward for my current role. And here I am. 

I owe so much to the people who have mentored and sponsored me along the way. Most have been women, but many male colleagues have played a part too. Their belief, encouragement, and willingness to open doors have shaped my journey more than they probably realise. 

Championing and sponsoring others 

I’ve supported many women and men in the workplace, particularly through mentoring and coaching. I gained my Level 3 coaching certificate to help me deliver support to a high standard. I set up a BCU-wide coaching programme to help constables prepare for sergeant, filling a gap in development support and tackling a high failure rate at promotion boards. 

Alongside a fellow female superintendent, I also put a lot of energy into championing and sponsoring women. We shared a real passion for developing others and improving representation across policing. Together, and with the support of other interested male and female volunteers, we designed and delivered a series of one-day conferences within our BCU focused on CPD, women’s development, bringing in inspiring speakers and offering practical confidence-building support. 

I’m determined to pay that forward 

Reflecting on my long (and still enjoyable!) career, I’m reminded that some of the biggest leaps we make often start with someone simply saying, “You can do this.” Those small moments of belief, a quiet nudge, a word of encouragement, a colleague taking a few minutes to listen, have changed the entire direction of my journey more than once. 

It’s why I’m determined to pay that forward. Sometimes that means mentoring. Sometimes it’s offering advice over a coffee. Sometimes it’s just being the person who says, “Why not you?” 

But I also make one simple ask of anyone I mentor: pass it on. If I support you, then somewhere down the line, you support someone else. That’s how we grow people, confidence, and opportunities across policing. 

And honestly, that chain of encouragement, of one person lifting another, might be the most powerful legacy any of us can leave.