Mental health is a critical foundation for effective financial leadership, influencing decision-making, resilience and long-term performance. Prioritising well-being isn’t a soft add-on, it’s an essential part of leading sustainably in high-pressure finance environments.
The expectation that CFOs must be the “steady hands”, calm, calculated and composed, is precisely why so few finance leaders talk about the mental toll. It's a fundamental conflict. It is also the stigma that is associated with mental health, people don’t want to be viewed as failures or not coping.
The role is intrinsically linked to stability and control. To admit to stress, doubt or emotional exhaustion is, in the traditional view, to signal a potential loss of control over the finances, which is the worst possible signal to send to the board, investors or markets.
Finance celebrates resilience and endurance. Sharing vulnerability is often misinterpreted as weakness, lack of dedication, or inability to handle the pressure, traits that could derail a career progression or lead to being overlooked for a CEO position.
Senior finance leaders are constantly fire-fighting. There’s a cultural absence of safe spaces and dedicated time to truly process and discuss these issues without it immediately becoming a performance management item.
Recognising the psychological weight
For me, the recognition of the emotional and psychological weight wasn’t a single “aha” moment, but a gradual erosion accelerated by a period of intense crisis management.
It was during my time at SANParks, specifically in the deep uncertainty of the Covid-19 hard lockdown. The demands shifted instantly from financial management to existential survival. I was managing massive budget cuts, ensuring staff salaries while tourism revenue vanished overnight and constantly having to make critical, rapid decisions with no blueprint. Make no mistake, SANParks is one of the best organisations I have ever worked with and can go back there anytime.
The moment I recognised the toll was when I realised the anxiety wasn’t switching off. I was sleeping less, constantly checking my phone and feeling a pervasive sense of dread, even during family time. My precision, my professional superpower, was being undermined by fatigue. I realised the job’s demands had moved from requiring my intellect to consuming my inner peace.
Learning that vulnerability is a form of strength was a crucial shift that came through practical experience, not theory.
The environment that taught me this was transformation. Leading complex, often emotionally charged organisational change requires buy-in, not just instruction. When I first tried to lead through precision and instruction alone, I met resistance.
The shift happened when I started being authentically honest about the challenges and my own uncertainties as a leader. Instead of presenting a perfectly polished plan, I would say,
“This is incredibly difficult. We don’t have all the answers, and I’m feeling the pressure, but if we trust each other, we can figure it out.”
My team’s resistance dropped. They saw a human, not a machine. This shared accountability built trust, allowed them to admit their own struggles, and ultimately unlocked better, more creative solutions than I could have devised alone. Vulnerability humanised the crisis and amplified collective strength.
Working through burnout and stress
I genuinely struggled with burnout and high stress, particularly during intense periods of turnaround and crisis management, like the height of the Covid-19 financial challenge at SANParks.
I reached a point where my focus was consistently poor, I was irritable with my team and family and I started dreading the sound of my alarm. My body was screaming for a pause that I felt I couldn’t afford to take.
I recognised I was relying on my own ego and control to solve problems that required a collective response and rest.
I consciously scheduled and took a few days off, unplugging completely to regain perspective. I empowered my direct reports to make decisions I had been hoarding, forcing myself to trust their capacity and expertise. This reduced my immediate workload and built their confidence. And I began speaking honestly with a trusted mentor outside of the organisation. This wasn’t professional therapy yet, but it was an essential, non-judgmental space to vent and process without organisational consequence.
