Crisp Guy, Warwick (2026)

10/12/2025

The Leadership Trap I Never Saw Coming
I’ve always known I was a perfectionist.
That wasn’t news to anyone.
Least of all me.
If I was doing something, I did it properly.
And if I couldn’t do it properly, I didn’t see the point.
That wiring built my business and my adult reputation for 36 years.
People trust the guy who’s all in.
People rely on the person who never lets anything slip.
So, I wore perfectionism like a badge of honour.
But here’s the bit I’d never said out loud,
because until recently, I didn’t even know it myself:
My perfectionism wasn’t confidence.
It was fear.
Not fear of the work.
Not fear of failure.
But fear of letting go of control in a world that had already taken plenty from me.
Fear disguised as discipline.
Fear disguised as high standards.
Fear disguised as “this is just who I am.”
The world applauded it.
But inside… I was knackered.
And I didn’t know why.

Recently, I hit a strange wall.
Not physical.
Not emotional in the Instagram dramatic sense.
Just a quiet heaviness I couldn’t quite explain.
And it took me a while to understand why.
I’ve spent the last 6 months rebuilding my life brick by brick.
When the fraud was finally over…
When the court case ended…
When the person who wrecked my business was sentenced…
My body didn’t celebrate.
It didn’t relax.
It didn’t feel free.
It grabbed for control.
For the first time in my life,
I wasn’t running a business
or a team
or a crisis.
I was rebuilding… ME.
And rebuilding yourself after trauma isn’t glamorous.
It’s not neat.
It’s not inspirational in the social media sense.
It’s slow.
It’s quiet.
And most of it happens when no one is watching.
So, I controlled the only things I could:
My weight….. 45 pounds down.
My food….. clean, structured, precise.
My steps….. 10,000 a day.
My training….. boxing, training, lifting, reformer.
My sleep….. tracked, measured and monitored.
My days….. routine, routine, routine.
For the first time ever,
I needed to feel in control of something
because I’d spent three years living through something I couldn’t control at all.
And yes… it helped rebuild me.
It gave me strength.
It gave me direction.
It gave me purpose again.
But here’s the part no one talks about:
Control has a cost.
At some point, you look up and realise you’re gripping so tightly
You’re running your own life like a hostage negotiation.
You’re not tired enough to sleep,
But you’re exhausted.
You’re not sad,
But you feel heavy.
You’re not broken,
But you’re not free either.
And that’s when it hit me…

My perfectionism wasn’t strength.
It was armour I didn’t know I was wearing.
The armour I put on decades ago.
Armour that helped me survive betrayal, collapse, rebuilding, leadership, and trauma.
Armour that kept me safe.
But armour is heavy.
And sooner or later, even the strongest leaders feel the weight.
I never ever realised the impact it had on me.
Or the people around me.
Family.
Team.
Friends.
Anyone who ever thought:
“He’s intense… always on… nothing’s enough.”
Not because they judged me.
But because they couldn’t see the fear behind the drive.
Perfectionists don’t look scared.
We look focused.
We look reliable.
We look like the safest person in the room.
But we’re safe because we’re gripping everything with white knuckles.
And when you do finally loosen your grip…
You don’t fall apart.
You breathe.
That’s when vulnerability stops looking like weakness
and starts looking like leadership.
People don’t learn from your perfect days.
They learn from the days you admit you’re human.
And here’s what I’m learning, painfully, slowly, honestly:
My perfectionism helped me survive.
It won’t help me grow.

If any of this feels uncomfortably familiar, you’re not alone.
You’re not failing.
You’re not broken.
You’re just carrying armour you don’t need anymore.
And leadership, real leadership, begins the moment you put a little of it down.
Not all of it.
Just enough to breathe.

Leaders don’t need to kill their perfectionism.
We just need to turn the volume down enough to hear ourselves
and everyone else
clearly.
So here are the questions I had to face myself,
and maybe they’ll help you too:
Where am I gripping so tightly that it’s costing me more than it’s giving me?
What am I trying to control because I’m scared of what happens if I let go even a little?
What tiny corner of my life could I soften by just ten per cent?
Not a big shift.
Not a personality transplant.
Just a small easing, enough to breathe again.
Because here’s the truth I wish I’d learned sooner:
Leadership isn’t lost to burnout.
It’s lost to perfectionism long before that.
And the moment you realise it…
Things get a whole lot lighter.

If today’s story hit a nerve, share it. Not for me, for the people who are silently gripping their own armour a bit too tightly.

Lastly, if my ramblings connect with you, subscribe. I show up here every Tuesday with something honest. https://www.linkedin.com/newsletters/the-crisp-report-7376234740825358336/

14/11/2025

You never really know who’s watching… or what your words might unlock for someone else.
(Warning…. it’s contagious.)
Someone I barely knew messaged me today.
He’d been following my posts for months, quietly in the background, never liking, never commenting.
But after reading my story about rebuilding and vulnerability, he decided to share his own truth, publicly, about living with a learning difficulty he’d hidden for years because he thought it made him unemployable.
A few days later, one of his colleagues opened up to him for the first time.
They said, “I know your story, and I know you won’t judge me.”
They had been hiding too.
His courage gave her permission to be herself.
I asked him how that made him feel.
He said, “It makes me feel good that I can lead others and make them comfortable around me. Leadership isn’t a title, it’s an action anyone can take. It makes me feel good that others can be open with me.”
That line he’s got bang on, leadership isn’t taught, it’s shown.
I just sat there for a moment when I received the DM, letting it sink in.
Yes, I talk a lot about vulnerability and connection, maybe too much for some.
And there are days I look at the stats and think, is anyone even listening?
Then something like this arrives in my inbox and reminds me exactly why I keep showing up.
Because the truth is, we rarely see the full impact of honesty in real time.
When vulnerability is real, people don’t turn away.
They lean in.
And if I ever needed a reason to keep showing up… that DM was it.
Keep sharing your truth.
Someone out there needs to hear it, even if they never tell you.

Obviously, I’ve removed any names or personal details; the message mattered more than the specifics.

👉 If you like my kind of honest writing, subscribe to The Crisp Report every Tuesday at 8:30 am.
No spam. No polish and definitely No Ai….

Just real leadership lessons from 36 years of running a small business.
https://lnkd.in/eMfGagX8

14/11/2025

The Mirror Test....Part One: When You Stop Recognising Yourself
There’s a moment every leader hits, usually quietly, when nobody’s watching, where they realise they’ve started running on autopilot.

The words still sound right.
The actions still look right.
But something’s off.

You’re reacting more, listening less.
You’re sharp with the wrong people and silent with the ones who need to hear you most.

And you tell yourself it’s fine, just stress, just a phase.
That’s the lie.

That’s when you’ve failed The Mirror Test.

It’s the point where you’ve stopped noticing who you’re becoming.

I’ve been there, more than once.
When the fraud happened, I convinced myself I was holding it together.
To everyone else, I looked strong.
But inside, I was empty.
Disconnected from who I was.

Here’s the truth nobody tells you about leadership:
You can’t lead anyone if you’ve stopped being honest with yourself.

Every compromise, every suppressed emotion, every “I’ll deal with it later”, they all fog the mirror.
Until one day, you can’t see the person you started out as.

The fix isn’t another strategy or mindset hack.
It’s a pause.

A brutally honest moment in front of your own reflection.
Would I still want to work for me?....Live with me? ....Be led by me?
If the answer’s NO.... then good.
That’s the moment growth starts.

Crisp takeaway:
You can’t rebuild what you refuse to look at.
Start with the mirror.

Tomorrow, I’ll share what happens in the next Crisp Report News Letter, when someone else holds it up for you and why that might be the hardest lesson of all.

👉 Subscribe to The Crisp Report: Out every Tuesday at 8.30 am to get it first and all previous versions.
https://lnkd.in/eMfGagX8

13/11/2025

Last week, I recorded my first-ever podcast.
It was with Toni-Anne Jennings from Every Conversation Counts.
Emma Sedgwick, the co-host, sat quietly at the back of the studio, listening.

To be honest, I’d built this up in my head for weeks.
I’d seen who’d been on before, Olympians, business leaders, even someone from Steven Bartlett’s team, and thought, what am I doing here?

I’m just a bloke who got kicked in the teeth by someone he trusted and is trying to rebuild his life.

The night before, I hardly slept.
That old imposter feeling was back.
Part of me thought, what if my story isn’t good enough?

When the recording started, I kept it surface-level.
We talked, it flowed, but I didn’t go too deep.
Afterwards, on the train home, I couldn’t shake the thought that maybe it hadn’t landed.

Then I got a message from Emma.
She’d been quietly listening out of shot with my wife, Becky, who’d come for moral support.

What she wrote altered my thinking.

She said the story’s value wasn’t in what happened, it was in how I handled it.
In staying calm instead of bitter.
In protecting my team instead of tearing everything apart.
In doing the right thing when the easy thing would’ve been to burn the world down.

I didn’t see any of that.
From my side, I was just surviving.
Trying to keep going while my head was falling apart.

But from where she sat, she saw something else.
She saw strength where I saw struggle.
Leadership where I saw failure.
Integrity where I saw loss.

And that stopped me cold.

Because maybe the story isn’t about what I lost, the fraud, witness impact statement, mental health, anxiety, ptsd….
it’s about what I refused to lose.

My Honesty.
Empathy.
Self-respect.
Values.

Maybe that’s what leadership really looks like.
Not the mask. Not the highlight reel.
Just showing up when you could easily disappear.

Crisp takeaway:
The story that breaks you isn’t the one people learn from.
It’s how you handle it when it does.

My every conversation counts podcast is out early Jan 26, I’m sure I will be sharing it, connect with me and I will let you know when it’s officially out.

👉 If you like my kind of honest writing, subscribe to The Crisp Report, every Tuesday at 8:30am.
No spam. No polish.

Just real leadership lessons from 36 years of running a small business.
https://lnkd.in/eMfGagX8

12/11/2025

The Mirror Test… When Someone Cares Enough to Tell You the Truth.

Most of us like to think we’d notice if we were off. If we were short-tempered, distracted, or carrying stress in ways that leak out.

But would we?

And even if someone close to us spotted it, a partner, friend, or colleague, have we actually given them permission to tell us?

Because here’s the truth: most people won’t. Not because they don’t care, but because they don’t want to hurt us. It takes guts to hold up a mirror to someone you respect.

A few years ago, I had a friend in the IT industry, a good bloke, heart of gold, always trying to help everyone. But there was something he did that really got to me.

Every time we met, halfway through our conversation, his eyes would start darting around the room. Scanning. Looking for someone else who might need him.

He was with me, but not present with me.

He didn’t mean it badly, but it made me feel invisible. Like he was searching for someone more interesting. And when you’ve battled imposter syndrome, that small thing hits harder than it should.

I remember leaving one meeting thinking, I don’t even know why I bother. But instead of brushing it off, it stuck.

A few days later, I went on holiday. A proper break, sun, sea, and time to think. While I was away, I started reading The Go-Giver by Bob Burg.

If you haven’t read it, you should. It’s one of those deceptively simple books that makes you stop and look at how you show up for others.

One night, I woke up with a thought I couldn’t shake: You need to tell him.

The idea made me nervous. I didn’t want to embarrass him or make him defensive. Most people avoid these conversations because they’re worried how the other person will take it, and I was no different.

But I also knew he was a genuine bloke who cared about people. So the next morning, I picked up the phone.

I told him what I’d noticed. That when he looked around while talking to me, it made me feel unimportant. That it chipped away at my confidence. And that I was only telling him because I valued our friendship.

There was a long pause.

Then he said quietly, “You know what… my wife’s told me I do that loads of times, but I never really listened.”

That hit me harder than I expected.

Maybe even after 20 years of marriage, she didn’t have his permission to tell him. Maybe he didn’t believe her. Or maybe it’s just easier to dismiss feedback from the people closest to us.

He thanked me, genuinely. He said he didn’t want people to feel that way around him, and he promised to work on it. I did wonder if i would ever hear from him again....

A few weeks later, we met again, and it was different. He was fully present. No scanning, no half-listening, no distraction.

He said, “I catch myself doing it now. You made me aware.”

That one conversation taught me a lot.

Most people don’t mean to drift or disconnect. They just don’t see it, and the people around them have stopped telling them because they’ve learned it’s not worth the potential or possible fallout.

We all say we value honesty, but do we really want it when it stings? Do the people in your life feel safe enough to tell you what they see? Would they risk the awkwardness to help you grow? And if they did, would you listen?

Crisp takeaway: You can’t see the full picture when you’re always holding the mirror yourself. Sometimes the greatest gift someone can give you is the courage to show you what you’ve stopped seeing. But it only works if you let them.

👉 Subscribe here for one real conversation a week:https://www.linkedin.com/newsletters/the-crisp-report-7376234740825358336

07/11/2025

And so it begins.

1st ever podcast ….done, dusted, and in the bag.
No memory loss, no um’s or arrgh moments.
Just real conversation….and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

Massive thanks to Toni Jennings from Every Conversation Counts , she was brilliant as was the director and producer.

Can’t wait to see this one go live.

Now then… who’s next?

Ps Rebecca said it was like watching a film star be interviewed…..🤔

07/11/2025

On my way to London on the train
To Record my first ever podcast…..Every Conversation Counts with Toni-Anne Jennings.

We’ll be talking about The Crisp Guy story, the fraud, the rebuild, and the conversations that changed everything for me along the way.

Feels strange saying it out loud… three years ago I couldn’t speak about any of it.
Today, I get to.

Not as a victim.
But as someone who’s finally found his voice again.

Let’s see where this conversation goes. 🎙️

30/10/2025

When Presence Replaces Performance

Vulnerability used to mean something.
Now it’s become a bit of a performance.

Everyone’s “sharing their truth” — but half the time it’s timed, polished, and designed to get applause.

I’ve done it myself. Thought that being open meant spilling everything.
But that’s not honesty — that’s noise.

Real presence doesn’t need an audience.
It’s when you stop performing and just show up.
Fully there. No script.

People don’t follow perfection or pity.
They follow presence — because they can feel when it’s real.

These days I care less about saying the right thing, and more about being the right way.
Calm. Honest. Human.

If that message hits you too… you’ll like what I write here each week.
👉 https://www.linkedin.com/newsletters/the-crisp-report-7376234740825358336

19/10/2025

🔥 Real connections still exist....but only if you show up as your authentic self.

I met Andy Mullaney after commenting on a post about his book.
One comment ....that’s all it took to start a real conversation.

We didn’t meet to “network.”
We met because something about our stories — two people who’ve been through the fire in very different ways — felt familiar.

No agenda. No pitch.
Just two blokes talking about life, rebuilding, and how the right conversation can open doors you didn’t even know were there.

Andy shared his book with me and talked openly about his journey publishing it through Troubador Publishing, the same team he’s now kindly connecting me with as I bring Stripped Back closer to completion.

It’s another reminder that when you put yourself out there honestly, the right people show up to help you along the way.

He’s also introduced me to Richard Fisher, who’s doing powerful work connecting the police, public sector, and wider community, another link that might never have happened if I hadn’t commented on that post.

That’s how it happens.
Not through algorithms, but through honesty.
If you’ve been sitting on the sidelines waiting for the “right moment” to engage ....stop waiting.
Start showing up. Comment. Message. Be curious.
Because when you lead with who you are, not what you do, the right people find you.

Here’s the link to Andy's book, available in both physical and ebook formats, with a discount of 50% of all income he makes heading to charities as always
https://lnkd.in/eTt3J2Eh.

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16/10/2025

Every day my feed flashes the same dream. “Make £10k a month with Ai.” “Build a six-figure business overnight.”

Good luck to them. But that’s not my story.

Ai didn’t make me rich. It helped me rebuild.

Thirty-seven hours after the sentencing ended, something strange happened. My brain woke up. For three years, I’d felt nothing, no spark, no creativity, just fog during the whole of the court case.

Before that, I was the classic entrepreneur. Ideas at 3 a.m., notes on scraps of paper, voice memos in the car. Then one day, it all stopped, the day we found out David Carr, my FD of 9 years, had been systematically stealing from me since the day he started working for me in 2013.

When I finally came back to life, I had something new.... Ai. Not to replace me, but to help me catch the thoughts before they slipped away again. It became the space where I could throw my chaos, my scars, my half-formed ideas… and see what stuck. It didn’t give me money. It gave me momentum.

Before Ai, my ideas lived on scraps of paper or half-mumbled voice notes. Most disappeared. Now I throw everything into Ai... messy, unfiltered, unfinished and it gives them shape before they vanish.

It doesn’t replace emotion. It doesn’t feel my scars or the weight of the last few years. But it helps me express them and that changed everything.

This morning I woke early, brain racing. By nine a.m. I’d written a post, designed an image, and drafted two newsletters and all on my iPhone, while Becky(wife) slept. A few years ago that would have taken a week or i would have needed help or more likely it would have never happened at all. Now I move at the speed my thoughts arrive.

That’s what amplification looks like. Ai hasn’t made me less human. It’s made me more human, because now I’m showing up again.

There’s no doubt Ai will reshape plenty of roles. But the real shift isn’t about which jobs go. It’s about who grows.

The people who will thrive are the ones who use Ai to multiply their authenticity.... not mask it. The ones who let it sharpen their message, not replace their meaning.

And here’s the part most people miss. Ai only knows what you’re brave enough to share. If you’re not vulnerable with it.... if you only feed it safe scraps.... it’ll never sound like you.....It’ll sound like everyone else.

I’ve given it everything. The scars. The flaws. The raw bits most people hide. That’s why my work still sounds like me. Because I’ve let it in.

Most people won’t. They can’t even be vulnerable with their partner or their team, so the last thing they’ll do is be vulnerable with Ai. That’s why their work will always sound polished.... but never personal.

And for the critics, a simple truth: I don’t copy and paste. I check every word before it goes out. I edit for meaning, tone, and truth. Like finances, as I only know too well, there are checks and balances.... a lesson I’ve obviously learned the hard way. If it’s not my voice, it doesn’t go out. I own what I say.

The future won’t belong to Ai. It’ll belong to the humans who use it to be more human.

Ai didn’t take my voice. It gave it back.

💡 Missed an issue? Catch up on all previous editions of The Crisp Report here → https://www.linkedin.com/newsletters/the-crisp-report-7376234740825358336/

10/10/2025

No filters. No noise. No pretending.
Just truth.
If this hits, it’s because deep down — you already knew it.

Crisp Guy

10/12/2025

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