Emily Aboud - International Women’s Day

For International Women’s Day this year, I reached out to a handful of women I deeply respect.

This is in no way a “top list.” I know so many extraordinary women — and there are countless more I don’t yet know.

These women come from different industries, backgrounds, and seasons of life. Coaches. Writers. Leaders. Career women. Creatives.

I asked them a few powerful questions about leadership, success, unlearning, and becoming.

And today, I want to introduce you to Emily Aboud - director, playwright, proud Trinidad & Tobago voice, and someone I’ve had the privilege (and family claim) of watching build worlds onstage for years.

If you asked her at dinner what she does, she’d say:

“I’m a theatre director and playwright, dabbling a little bit into film. I work on revivals of musicals but primarily new writing and adaptations.”

It sounds simple.

It isn’t.

The role of a director is leadership. Authority. Decision-making. Holding a vision and bringing a room into alignment around it.

And as she put it:

“A good director is a master of empathy.”

That line stayed with me.

Because leadership is often coded as masculine. Empathy is often coded as feminine. And yet the work requires both.

Emily spoke honestly about what that tension feels like.

“It means I have to make myself slightly more masculine in some spaces.”

She’s learned to read a room. To anticipate when misogyny creeps in. To recognize when a man might question her authority or push back on a note - not because the note is wrong, but because of who it’s coming from.

She also spoke about something more subtle.

“I find that male directors don’t need to care very much about how they dress… I don’t think that’s something I’d be able to get away with.”

So she wears trousers. Keeps it professional. Minimal makeup. Nothing that might undermine the perception of authority.

There’s something deeply telling in that.

In some ways, she says, it’s freeing not to perform femininity in the workplace.

And yet, collaborators are surprised when she turns up to an event in heels.

That balancing act. That calculation. That awareness.

It’s invisible labor.

It’s not pessimism. It’s awareness. And awareness is power.

When I asked what she’s had to unlearn, she said:

“How you are perceived is how you will be treated.”

She’s had to spend time shaping perception in order to earn trust - because a cohesive team requires belief in its director.

Male directors, she notes, often don’t have to think about that.

But she does.

And most impressively to me, she names it and shapes it, knowing and playing within the rules in order to subvert them all at once.

And still - she loves the job.

That’s what struck me most.

She loves it.

Right now, she’s stretching back into writing - not because she can’t do it, but because she wants to do it more boldly.

She’s written two plays and a libretto for an opera. All professionally performed. That alone says something.

But like many artists, she hit a moment of doubt about her storytelling.

Not a collapse. A recalibration.

And in the meantime, she kept reading. Watching. Listening.

“I’ve read a lot of bad plays in the meantime and realized, ‘hey, I can do better than that.’”

She’s inspired by friends who can sit down and draft something messy and imperfect without fear. That fearlessness is what she’s stretching toward again - not perfection, but momentum.

When I asked what success feels like in her body, her answer made me smile.

“Buying lunch instead of bringing in a packed lunch.”

I honestly think that’s one of the most true and empowering things I’ve ever heard said so simply. And honestly, I can relate.

It feels like earning more. Like ease. Like buoyancy.

And this year, she’s making a deliberate effort to tell people when she thinks they’re great - to say the thing out loud. To mirror back brilliance in the same way she hopes to see it reflected in herself.

Success feels light.

It feels buoyant.

And when I asked what she wishes more women believed, she didn’t hesitate.

“That we possess the power of empathy.”

That empathy is not weakness - it’s a superpower.

That women are often unafraid to apologize, to take responsibility, to place themselves in someone else’s shoes.

“Men walk into a room and believe they are the best for every job,” she said.

Women, she believes, have been taught to doubt whether they belong.

“It is just about belief, really.”

Do your best.

And believe that your best was genuinely enough.

I’ll leave you with her final line:

“I am a woman who includes trans women as part of an equal struggle against patriarchy.”

Clear. Inclusive. And honestly? The energy we need more of.

You can find Emily at www.emilyaboud.com.

There are so many extraordinary women in my world - and so many more beyond it - who aren’t represented in this small series.

Consider this a celebration of them, too.

And in Emily’s words:

Believe you belong in the room.