Jo Tarnawsky and the Day She Refused to Stay Quiet

There is a version of womanhood many of us are trained into early.
Be capable. Be kind. Be agreeable. Be excellent.
Do not make trouble.
Do not make waves.
Do not mistake endurance for courage.

Jo Tarnawsky lived that version fluently.

For twenty five years, she worked inside the Australian Government. Diplomat. Chief of Staff. A woman who knew the language of power because she spoke it daily. She was studious at school. Successful by every visible measure. Someone who learned, early and well, how to compromise herself so everyone else could walk away intact.

“I was conditioned to be a good girl,” she says plainly now. Not with bitterness. With clarity.

That identity worked. Until it didn’t.

The shift didn’t arrive as a revelation. It came as pressure. Workplace bullying at the highest levels. Isolation that narrowed her world. Trauma that made stillness feel safer than movement. Intimidation backed by institutional power.

What took the longest to admit wasn’t that it hurt. It was how effective it was.

“I was isolated and traumatised and intimidated by their power,” she says. “Just like they wanted me to be.”

That’s the thing about systems built on silence. They don’t need to shout. They just need you to doubt yourself long enough to stop speaking.

Jo eventually did something women are still quietly warned against doing. She stood up for herself. She announced publicly the toxic workplace the Deputy Prime Minister fostered and when her office refused to engage with her, she took the only recourse available: she sued the Deputy Prime Minister of Australia.

And then she did something that terrified her even more.

She stepped into full visibility.

A national press conference. Parliament House. Cameras. Live streams. Headlines waiting. She stood shaking in front of a wall of press, more afraid of seeing her face on television than almost anything else she could name. Except snakes.

And still, she did it.

That moment wasn’t performative. It wasn’t strategic branding. It was a woman choosing truth over palatability in real time.

“When did I stop trying to be palatable?” she asks.
“When I realized the cost of silence outweighed the cost of speaking up.”

That calculation matters. Especially for women. Especially for mothers. Especially for anyone taught that being good means absorbing harm quietly so the system doesn’t have to change.

Unlearning that belief took time.

Jo had to dismantle the idea that success requires self erasure. That leadership means smoothing edges. That womanhood is safest when it is unobtrusive. That motherhood, aging, ambition, and integrity all need to be carefully rationed so no one feels threatened.

Instead, she embraced what she calls her inner troublemaker. Not recklessness. Not rage. But good trouble. The kind that asks better questions. The kind that refuses to cooperate with harm. The kind that understands that obedience is not the same thing as integrity.

Living honestly came with real costs.

She lost the career she had worked toward her entire adult life. Fairweather friends revealed themselves quickly through silence and absence. Doors closed. Reputations shifted. Certainty evaporated.

But something else happened too.

“I know exactly who my people are now,” she says. “It’s a gift.”

In the absence of institutional protection, new relationships formed. Truer ones. People who stepped forward rather than away. Opportunities to help others in ways she never could have from inside the system. A different kind of authority. One rooted in lived experience instead of titles.

Today, Jo is in what she calls a brave new world after a lifequake.

She has peace. She has freedom. She works on issues that matter to her, with people who matter to her. Her views are unconstrained by government talking points. She lives honestly and unapologetically, not because it’s easy, but because returning to silence would cost her too much.

What grounds her when the world feels too loud isn’t performance or productivity. It’s the body. Hiking in nature. Swimming in the ocean. Cuddles with her dogs. Places where presence is the only requirement.

What feels most alive in her right now is simple and radical. Using her voice for good.

If she could speak to a younger version of herself, she wouldn’t offer warnings or strategies. She’d offer reassurance.

You are braver than you realize.
Your life will be a rollercoaster of unexpected adventures.
Enjoy the ride.

And for anyone reading this who is standing on the edge of something. A conversation. A truth. A decision that feels like it might crack everything open.

Jo offers this.

You are not alone.
There are better days ahead.
You don’t need all the answers yet.
You just need to take it one step, one day, one moment at a time.

This is the heartbeat of This Will Get Loud.

Not noise.
Not outrage for sport.

But women choosing to live honestly.
Even when it costs.
Especially when it matters. Jo Tarnawsky embodies this perfectly.

***If you’re interested in learning more about the type of leadership strategy work Jo Tarnawsky does or you would like to hire her to work with you or your organization, visit her website here.***