What does power mean to you? Author Hilary Salzman shares her story of feeling stifled, finding her voice and helping others to do the same.
Hilary Salzman always knew she was different. Growing up in rural Oxfordshire, as part of an NHS family, she wasn’t interested in a medical career, but a creative one. As the youngest of three children, she didn’t feel particularly heard, so she shouted louder. When that didn’t work, she went into herself. At Sunday lunch with her paternal grandmother, who believed children should be seen and not heard, her mother pushed for the children to eat in the dining room with the rest of the family – not in the kitchen, on their own.
When Hilary progressed into a marketing career, she struggled to fit in; corporate life felt alien. When she became a mother and juggled childcare and work, she started to find her voice – but still had nagging doubts that someone else was writing her story. When her work ethic was questioned because she couldn’t make 9am meetings, she rebounded back to Sunday lunch as a child. Stifled, angry and suffering from panic attacks, Hilary left six months later.
“Deep down there is a screaming toddler wanting to be heard,” she says. “That’s probably the thing that has gone through my whole life – no matter how much I have tried to accept it or silence it – there is a very angry small child.”
When we sit down to speak, it’s a year since Hilary has published her first book – The Roar of Her Story. It’s an unapologetic exploration of helping women to find their voice and use their personal story to attract the right clients. It’s also been an act of catharsis. She writes about experiences that have been on her mind for years and details moments she has felt powerless. The process of writing the book has enabled her to understand the roots of her own story much more deeply, so that she can help others to do the same. She is, in many respects, her own target audience.
Feedback has been positive. She held a book launch, has been invited to speak at events, and it’s given her a media platform to speak about these issues. The fire she feels inside – I imagine her inner child, ‘little Hilary’, standing on a hill with a placard – has fuelled the message. She has invited readers to join a movement that says: ‘there is another way; we don’t have to push ourselves down and make ourselves small. We can do this together, find our voice, and not allow our fears to get in the way. If we share our stories, we can change things.’
“One of the big learnings from the book is that people are ready for a different kind of power,” she says. “This is about leadership based on honesty and integrity; leaders who quiet in who they are, but loud in what they say. This comes from being self-aware, tapping into values, knowing how you want to be treated and being honest about how you treat others. The response to the book has shown me that people are saying, ‘yeah, I get this and I want to do something different, too’.”
Since writing The Roar of Her Story, Hilary tells me she cares less about what others think. There are people who don’t like her message, and don’t think her content is for them (she writes Speaking in Stories on Substack). One person suggested she couldn’t use personal storytelling at work beyond her immediate team, worried how the board might take it. Others have called her ‘unprofessional’. But I guess that’s the point. She is challenging dominant narratives, punching through the ‘way things are done’ and giving permission for others to do the same. Change is challenging, because the status quo is easier – until it isn’t, right?
“I was talking to two women, recently, both of them parents,” she says. “No course can teach you the skills you learn with children: juggling, resilience, communication, patience and tolerance; amazing skills to take into the business world. But a lot of the time, people don’t even admit they have got children at home, or that they have taken time off, or that they have done something amazing, because that’s ‘outside work’.
“I read something that argued it was easier for a CEO to show up how they want to, but lower down the business, the risks become greater. Which is quite funny, because I talk to women who own their businesses – and they are still scared to be themselves.”
Hilary isn’t talking about sharing stories of being drunk the night before, but an approach where people feel comfortable to share things that are important to them; to tell stories that help them connect. Unlocking messiness along the way is part of who we are, and it allows others to see us human beings and not robots (which seems even more important now). But I understand what she means about showing up. Knowing how much to share, and how much to keep private, is a real conundrum, especially online. Not enough, and things can feel cold; too much, and well, who knows. We have all grown up at different times and with different expectations.
But I do agree that when someone is vulnerable, at least human, particularly someone in a leadership position, it makes it easier for others to be themselves. It fosters better relationships, connections and results. It’s more like shared power, a shared story.
“It’s about ‘power to’ rather than power over,” says Hilary. “The traditional idea of power is that you are a better person than those below you; you have power over them. I’m not saying every leader is like that, they aren’t. But I want to use power to make change and give that power to others. It’s the power to speak out. It’s the power to write your story. It’s the power to change your story. It’s the power to rewrite narratives that don’t serve us.”
This is a powerful message, and she is delivering it at a time when democratic power is under threat. When polarised voices are getting louder. When businesses are quieter about diversity and inclusion. It certainly feels like, in some areas of public life, we are going backwards. But with regression, comes progression: business cultures are much more open than they were 20 years ago and alongside abuses of power, grassroots movements emerge, aimed at building collective leadership. This kind of power is what Hilary is talking about. It often starts with a few people joining a community, speaking with the same voice. But we have a long way to go.
“I still think we are rewarding performance over purpose,” she says. “I still see women getting labelled as emotional and difficult. I think there is still an expectation on women – and anybody else who doesn’t feel like the system works for them – that they are the problem, and they have to fix themselves; rather than the system is broken and doesn’t properly reward what I am talking about.”
After being called ‘unprofessional’, Hilary is currently considering her second book. If the first one was about getting over the barriers to personal storytelling, the second will be about how to use those stories to get the power we want.
“There is a rebellious side to me,” she says. “If someone says I can’t do something, I’ll use that to drive me forward. When I started my own business, I remember a man telling me that it was a great idea, but he didn’t think people were going to buy it. Comments like that, and the one about being unprofessional, light fires inside me. This passion excites other people, giving them power to be passionate as well.”
Hilary’s wants us to realise that our voice is our power, a unique personal asset in our armoury. She believes sharing stories that empower others, and giving them permission to be themselves, creates a continuous cycle that changes the world. These stories don’t have to be polished; they don’t have to be perfect. They just have to be shared.
But she also wants leaders to listen better, and for them to listen to stories that aren’t their own. It’s easy to become stuck in echo chambers, but to listen – really listen – is to challenge what leadership is and to question the status quo. Leadership, she suggests, is not about having all the answers; it’s about asking the right questions and creating the conditions for others to be heard – to feel empowered.
“All my life, I wanted someone to listen to me,” she says. “That feeling of not being heard is horrible. Looking back, I don’t think that little Hilary would have believed it was possible to get to this point. But I knew I wanted to do something; I knew I wanted to have an outlet. She would be very proud of the fact that I have done it and done it my way.”
This article is part of Rupert Cornford’s Substack series called Voices For The Future.