I was not always the easiest student.
In primary school, I had an unnatural knack for being a shit disturber. I pushed back on concepts, rhetoric, and curriculum, forcing teachers to defend their lessons. They had to convince me that what they were teaching was accurate, and what they were saying was actually true. I needed them to stand behind their lessons. Not just teach them according to the system.
For the ones who didn't have the time, it made their days longer. And understandably, more frustrating.
Fourteen.
I entered the foster care system. And had to understand very early how systems work — and what happens when you don't take active control of your place inside them.
In plan-of-care meetings, I didn't sit passively while a room full of adults decided my life. I showed up every month with a plan. Goals. Desires. Outcomes. Pushbacks. Feedback. A full agenda. I sat. I heard. I articulated.
I made them understand that no one in that room — not one person — could ever know what was best for me better than me. Even when I had a cheek full of tears.
Seventeen.
I competed for Ms. Teen Canada-World. There was one girl in my class who told me I couldn't. I went on to win the title of Ms. Teen GTA and entered the modelling industry shortly after — naturally.
But then I noticed something. A not-so-secret, but still unsettling reality: models were completely dependent on auditions and castings for their livelihood. Waiting. Hoping. Starving between jobs.
Did they really have to live like that?
I certainly didn't want to.
Nineteen.
My brother was charged in connection with one of the most covered violent incidents in Toronto's recent history. A crime so horrendous that the whole world had no choice but to decide the position they took — and that I should take it too.
But the news told a different story:
"Sister hasn't given up on accused."
Hired for one thing. Fired for the next.
In my adult years, I worked jobs. Hired for one thing, fired for the next. But kept seeing the cracks. The undeniable fractures that nobody in the room was willing to name. The things that were actually costing the business.
I'd tell founders: if you could just be honest with me about what's really going on, then I can really be of service.
But I was just the copywriter. That was the only job they hired me to do.
Then I became a parent.
School, work, travel, a new heart disease diagnosis, life. All at once. Needing help. Finding none. Carrying on just the same.
And sometimes the gap I identified was in the people closest to me. I ended a relationship because I realized that with me, they couldn't fully be who they wanted to be. Staying meant choosing to hide. To minimize. To compromise.
So I let them go. So they could be great.
Nothing is ever worth that sacrifice. Not even me.
So — I didn't stay.
In all of these ways — and so many more — people wanted me to stay in my lane. But how could I? When I had already identified real gaps that needed to be filled. And if not for me, what about the so many others in similar positions who needed someone to change directions.
So I didn't.
The other direction.
At fourteen, my mentor invited me to speak at the TDSB Student-Teacher Conference, educating newly graduated teachers on how to restructure their curriculum and build real connections with inner-city students. I gave them the blueprint for what to do when they encountered other bright and strongly opinionated students like me.
At fifteen, still in the system, the organization that owned our group home held an event to showcase the program's success to their investors, donors, and board members. I was taken to be paraded as a sparkling example. Instead, I found the president and pulled him into a real conversation about the true state of the program and what needed to change. I told him, very clearly: this program did not make me. But with the right adjustments, it could save many.
At eighteen, I soft-launched Oleta Jé Co Talent Agency in Toronto — a modelling agency dedicated to providing consistent, guaranteed work for models so they wouldn't have to depend on castings alone. At nineteen, I took it to Montreal. I went directly to businesses, handled their campaigns, brought my models, photographers, and designers to the table.
I have never been interested in watching people stay smaller than what they are capable of becoming. Not in children. Not in parents. Not in founders, not in companies, not in institutions, nor the institutionalized. I dare not accept potential at its lowest expression.
Today.
Today, I sit on the Board of Directors at DCI-Canada, ensuring that every child's rights remain protected in every conversation.
I built Neola — a trust and safety infrastructure that gives parents permission to do it all and show up fully, knowing their children are in hands so good it feels like their own.
My brother. I knew that what had happened was not the full story of his trajectory. Today, he partners with peace-building organizations. He speaks at universities. He writes articles and essays about reform, about making the time count, about what the system looks like from the inside of a federal correctional facility and what needs to change to truly drive rehabilitation.
From that same facility, he is building something with his life that most people — given everything — would not have believed possible. And many more may not accomplish in their own lives.
I believed in him at nineteen. And I still do today.
And I started Neola Husbands Advisory — helping people and institutions identify the gap between who they are and who they are becoming. Giving them the tools they need to drive the shift.
Who do you want to be?
For all the times I could have just stayed in my place. Navigated life unbothered with my blinders on. I thought about the so many others in similar positions. Will they ever get to be the best version of themselves?
On the precipice of every lane change, there is but one question I ask myself:
Who do you want to be?
The answer determines my trajectory.
Hi. My name is Neola Husbands. And I don't tend to stay in my lane. But I do look in all directions before crossing.