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Flipping the Script
How We Turned Competition Into Collaboration (and Ended Up Married)
By Sanja and Tom Hendrick, Directors of Talent Academy
Sanja: “Tom and I ran competing businesses as public speaking trainers.”
Tom: “We’ve told this story on podcasts and at conferences so many times …”
Sanja: “… that when Cathy invited us to share it in a book, we knew we had to tell it
exactly the way we always tell it.”
Tom: “Which means you’ll hear Sanja’s version first, then mine, and then—just like our lives—you’ll see where the stories meet in the middle.”
Act 1: From Ballet to Business to Babies
(Sanja’s Side of the Story)
Ever since I can remember, I loved the stage. Ballet was my first language. I like to joke that I was on pointe before I could walk.
At 19, I was auditioning for musical theatre roles when a lift went wrong. I was dropped from above a male dancer’s head, damaging my lower back and—more heartbreakingly—my professional dance dreams.
Like a ballerina, I pivoted. I found ways to use my theatre skills in the corporate world, travelling around Australia with Commonwealth Bank’s Start Smart program, teaching financial literacy in schools from a stage instead of a theatre.
During the Adelaide Fringe, I performed a show called Disney Diaries with a friend—an improvised hour of Disney princesses navigating modern problems. After one performance, a man approached me and asked: “Could you teach my team to speak as confidently as you?”
His business card said “Defence SA”. His question sparked the idea for my first business baby—Talent Academy.
For 12 years, I taught corporate professionals to present with theatre-inspired delivery skills. Where most coaches obsessed over slides and bullet points, I focused on the missing ingredient: confidence.
Then came 2020, and my life caught COVID. COVID shut down gatherings, and my services became illegal overnight. My parents faced serious health issues. My long-term boyfriend walked out. My expensive five-year office lease kept bleeding money. I couldn’t catch a break.
And then came the hardest blow: at my annual health check, my fertility results were devastating—my AMH score was 6. I re-tested: 5. Another re-test: 4. It was like a countdown.
At 34, I was told I was close to perimenopause. I remember sitting in my car afterwards, too numb to cry. Too overwhelmed to move.
One year, multiple IVF attempts, and tens of thousands of dollars later … I had no baby and no viable business.
I decided to go out with a bang—a Christmas in July party where I’d announce I was shutting Talent Academy down. But COVID messed with that too.
It became a “Christmas in July … in August” party. After a glass (or three) of wine, I clinked a spoon on my glass and said: “If I could have everyone’s attention … Talent Academy is shutting down. Let’s celebrate while I commiserate.”
I don’t regret sacrificing the business to help my family. But it felt like jumping off a bridge.
And that’s when a hand grabbed mine and pulled me back onto solid ground.
That hand belonged to Tom—my direct competitor! Now, he’s my business partner, husband, and father of our two children. I like to say I acquired him in every sense of the word …
The point is: keeping my “enemies” closer let me have my business and my family.
Act 2: From Comedy to Corporate to Co‑Founder
(Tom’s Side of the Story)
When I was 13, I had two much older brothers. Every night at the dinner table, my awkward teenage stories were drowned out by theirs.
My mum noticed me “dribbling my words down my shirt”, starting sentences but never finishing them. She decided to fix it.
Every Tuesday night, her elderly friend Hal—an ex-radio host—would visit with a yellowed book of tongue twisters and stories. He taught me how to speak with pace, tension, character, and clarity.
Thanks to Hal, I won my first public speaking competition in Year 8. Hal passed away before I could thank him, not just for helping me win, but for changing my life.
He’d taught me something I now call “communication literacy”—the structures, patterns, and artistry behind speaking.
I studied great communicators: comedians, politicians, and TV hosts. I’d transcribe their words to uncover their patterns.
At 18, I studied law—a safe profession where I could talk a lot. I played it extra safe and decided to become a tax lawyer.
For 12 years, I buried my dream of being a public speaking coach under “safe” choices. But not a day in 12 years went by that I didn’t think: “How can this be a business?”
One day, my brother announced at the dinner table that he was ending a seven-year relationship. We thought he would marry her. So I asked why, and he said: “When the world’s at war, you should want to be fighting with the person by your side. I didn’t feel that way.”
I realised my “safe decisions” were decisions made from fear. I ended my own “safe but unhappy” long-term relationship, quit my law job, and launched my speaking business.
A month later, I met with my friend Priya (a business coach) to sanity check my business model (after quitting my job …). Priya said: “You should meet Sanja from Talent Academy—you’d love her.” (Foreshadowing) I already knew her—well, of her.
She was at the top of my “competitor analysis” file, with a note to “copy and out-do her website”.
Priya invited me to Sanja’s networking workshop. I hesitated—“She’ll think I’m stealing her material!” That was more of a confession than an excuse, but Priya twisted my arm and I went.
The first thing Sanja said when she saw me was: “What are you doing here?!”
My panicked reply: “I’m not here to steal your stuff …” It wasn’t love at first sight, yet—but fun fact: the word “Priya” means “love”. I like to think it was love that made me go.
Months later, I did steal something—Sanja’s heart.
The point is: When I stopped fighting myself and others, I was able to meet who I was supposed to find.
Act 3: From Competitors to Collaborators to Couple
Three hours after that workshop ended, we were the last two in the room, wine in hand, and nerding out about communication philosophy.
Although the conversation between two public speaking coaches was awesome (go figure), we both were extremely cagey and dubious of the other, being direct competitors and all.
Sanja: “Priya told me about you, but I couldn’t find your website. No socials or anything about you”.
What Sanja did have was a team of six female business school interns co-authoring a document called “competitor analysis”. It said: “Former tax lawyer, no website, no socials … he would be cute if he shaved the beard off.” (True story.)
Tom: “I quit my job as a lawyer to start a dream job last month. I’ve wanted to do this since I was thirteen years old. I’ve noticed a lot of public speaking coaches are from the theatre world, and I don’t think they understand that corporate people want structure, not vocal exercises. It inspired me to believe I could start this business. Life has never been better, but I’m still finding my feet.”
Sanja, mortally offended by the slight on theatre people, politely continued the conversation: “I’ve been doing this practically my whole life—theatre is my life. What are you working on?”
Tom: “I’m trying to build networks, but it’s weird. In the legal profession, everyone mingles. Even though you might be on different sides of a court case, you still say “Hi” and share ideas at networking events. But I’ve tried reaching out to a few public speaking coaches and … nothing. At best, I get ghosted; at worst, I get rejected. I was looking forward to finding someone I could share stories and communication philosophy with.”
Sanja: “Well, we should take the advice from my workshop and find ways to collaborate instead of compete.”
The following week, we sat in Sanja’s boardroom with a whiteboard, mapping out everything—markets, product ideas, and networks. We walked away both energised and slightly terrified by how much we’d shared with a direct competitor.
But life had other plans.
Fast forward to Sanja’s shutdown party, where she announced that Talent Academy was closing. Tom’s heart sank. He gave up everything for his dream and now couldn’t stomach Sanja losing hers. He thought: I want to go to war for this woman’s dream.
Tom offered to help Sanja save the business, not because of affection (that happened later) but because he could finally see himself in his competitor. He put his lawyer hat back on and negotiated her lease exit, ran workshops for her clients so she could go to medical appointments, and put his own dream business on hold to work for his competitor.
A week later, Sanja walked into the fertility clinic, and Tom was already there.
“What are you doing here?” That was the second time Sanja had said that to Tom in as many months.
“No one should go through this alone,” Tom replied.
That conversation turned into a bigger one about life, marriage, and kids. By September, we’d decided we were all in—personally and professionally.
We met in June, collaborated in July, became co-directors in August, got engaged in November, became pregnant in December, and married in February. In June, on the anniversary of the day we met, our first child was born (no IVF needed).
Today, Talent Academy is a team of 10, including 7 former competitors who, like us, chose collaboration over competition.
None of this would have been possible without finding peace.
But because we were so busy fighting ourselves and each other, we needed serious luck to be this lucky.
If Sanja didn’t extend the invitation to collaborate, if Priya didn’t convince Tom to give his competitor a go, none of this would have happened.
In our experience, war is not the way to peace.
When we stopped fighting ourselves and others, all that was left to “fight for” were dreams and ideals.
