Stéphanie Gateau
Joy and kindness as driving forces

Reading Time: 11 minutes

Stéphanie Gateau
ISMA 1991
Paris

CEO & Founder of Handiroad, serial entrepreneur

Stéphanie’s path to date has been one of ups and downs. She was diagnosed with a rare neurodegenerative disease and Asperger’s syndrome and her family struggled to accept her differences. At her lowest point, Stéphanie was living in emergency housing and eating at foodbanks. However, despite her reduced mobility and hearing impairment, in 2009, this single mother of 3 set up her consulting firm and went on to build a successful career in international strategy. 4 years ago, Stéphanie launched the Handiroad app and in 2019, Exportunity, with both initiatives earning her awards and recognition as an international incubator and growth specialist. She is dedicated to strengthening the legislation on disability and the French government seeks out her expertise on a regular basis.

In overcoming the harshest difficulties, Stéphanie has developed a rare ability to turn kicks in the teeth into a strength that puts her back on her feet and propels her forward with an even stronger eagerness to fight. Years of being ignored and rejected have made her resilient and innovative. However, her most admirable quality is perhaps the positive energy and sense of wonderment she exudes. Stéphanie never loses an opportunity to stress how lucky she feels and her story is a lesson in gratitude. Although she faces the day-to-day realities of ill health and the prospect of physical decline a short way ahead, Stéphanie is aware of how precious life is and the power of mind over body.
Stéphanie thanked us for showing interest in her journey and for allowing her to speak safely. After years of suffering herself, Stéphanie’s purpose is to help those in difficulty who are still too shy or ashamed to open up. “It is thanks to initiatives like the ‘Iconic Alumni portraits’ that people like me can find the energy and the motivation to move forward.”

Where do you come from?

I was lucky to grow up in the 15th arrondissement in Paris, a place where culture was accessible and visible on every street. The UNESCO headquarters, an organisation that I have always admired, was just around the corner from my home.

What were the values your parents shared with you?

Frankly, they were too busy with their jobs to be overly preoccupied by our moral upbringing. There was an expectation for my two brothers and me to be independent and just get on with it. From a very young age, we went round with the door keys around our necks. My mother drew architectural plans and was always snowed under with work. My father was an architect.

You are a super-connected serial entrepreneur. Have you always been an extrovert?

Quite the opposite! Although as a girl my hearing loss was still mild, I was permanently anxious that I would misunderstand others, so I struggled to form bonds. I felt so different from everyone else that I preferred to stay in my bubble where I was less exposed. It was only in my thirties, after being diagnosed with Asperger’s, that I understood my behaviour better.

What were your coping mechanisms?

I struggled to relate to children around me and was much more comfortable communicating with people outside my family circle. I got on well with elderly and vulnerable people and wanting to understand their differences helped me to overcome my shyness. In addition, when I was about 10 or 11, I asked my parents for a subscription to the UNESCO Courier and Le Monde Diplomatique. These publications threw the realm of possibilities wide open for me with a range of exciting and culturally diverse stories.

Can you share the details of your disability?

I suffer from a neurodegenerative disease that affects the girls and women in my family. It affects my spine, ear canals, bones and cartilage. I have difficulties breathing and will have to undergo a series of operations to have my face reconstructed. I’m not sure yet what the new one will look like but it doesn’t matter! Luckily, my hearing only deteriorated gradually so my brain had time to memorise sounds. My voice is quite normal, although I don’t always realise when I’m shouting… fortunately my kids are there to let me know!
Luckily, once again, my high functioning Asperger’s syndrome has given me fast cognitive skills. My brain uses context and visual clues to help me fill in the gaps when I can’t hear. Interestingly, some of my disabilities compensate for the others.

How did you talk about disability in your family?

Disability was a totally taboo subject and no one ever mentioned it. My mother was ashamed of her hearing aids and kept them hidden from view and my aunt, who underwent 37 operations on her spine, was considered an embarrassment to our family. My grandparents hid her when they had guests.
At the time, we didn’t know that the disease was hereditary, so my parents didn’t connect my problems with the ones other members of the family had… or perhaps they didn’t want to. As a child, I felt incapable of transgressing this code of silence, so I bottled up my pain, my bouts of paralysis and my anxiety.

When did you get a proper diagnosis?

When I was 30, I asked my wheelchair-bound aunt to take me to the specialist who was treating her. The specialist told me very bluntly there was nothing he could do to stop the disease progressing. “You will end up like your aunt”, he said. That was a tough blow, but I must admit that since then, the dozens of other consultants I met have been helpful and empathetic. Some have even ended up crying in despair over my situation and prospects.
The disease generates lots of physical and emotional pain. I have never been ashamed of my hearing issues but it often bugs me to think that I waste people’s time when they have to repeat themselves. However, my decreasing motor abilities have sent me on a complicated journey of acceptation and renunciation. I used to dance and play squash, both of which I have had to give up. When you start losing your autonomy, it is not so much your pride but your sense of dignity that takes a hit.

What gave you this international focus?

My grandmother’s husband worked for Air France so I guess she could have travelled the world for free. Yet she never left her house for fear of access issues. I grew up surrounded by disabled people who refused to imagine the possibility of joy. I know that one day I will be paralysed and, like many of the women in my family, I may spend my last years in bed staring at the ceiling. However, I have consciously decided that I will discover the world while I still can, and make the most of my valid years.

What aspirations did you have when you were studying at Audencia? Did you write off certain careers because of your disability?

When I joined Audencia, I was two years younger than my peers and I firmly believed that the world was my oyster. I already had a clear objective of working in international strategy. Audencia turned out to be the ideal school to fulfil my thirst for knowledge and international dreams.
Socially however, I tried but never really managed to acquire the social codes, so I didn’t blend in and that was hard. I didn’t need a wheelchair back then, but I discreetly leaned on tables when my legs felt weak. My hearing was getting worse and there were gaps in my notes, but I never plucked up the courage to ask teachers and students to repeat themselves. I was a mute observer, stuck in a bubble. My inability to open up about my issues exacerbated my isolation. I still vividly remember one of the most traumatic days of those years. As always, I was sitting in the first row and intensely staring at the teacher so I could lip read. He must have confused my attitude with insolence, and in front of everyone, he asked me to stop. I felt exposed and ashamed but it was very much my own fault for not speaking out.

What was the turning point when you came out of your shell?

I had signed up to meet with recruiters at one of the fairs organised by the school and, thinking how important it was to be transparent with a potential employer, for once, I found the courage to talk about my disabilities. The feedback was bitingly dismissive: “You are young, you want to work in the male-dominated sector of strategy and you are aiming for international positions; how can you achieve this when you have trouble moving about and you struggle to understand people?! Unless you change your career plan, I can promise you 25 years of unemployment.” This was a huge slap in the face but also a powerful motivation to do something about my situation. I cried my eyes out until I realised that I hadn’t come all this way for nothing. I was determined to be even more convincing and gather more skills and knowledge.
Don’t get me wrong, there are still evenings when I cry after a physically and emotionally draining day. But the idea of rising up and giving things my best shot keep me going. I can’t afford to waste time standing still.

Did the first steps of your international career stand up to your expectations?

I had a blast! When I was just 21, the British IT company I was working for sent me to the CES in Las Vegas, the Mecca for tech. I had never done any public speaking, not even at school, and here I was on stage, facing 600 attendees. When I realised that none of them knew anything about me, I felt totally at ease, liberated and exhilarated. I soon took on more responsibilities and regions to manage. My role consisted in helping large foreign corporations penetrate and grow in the French market. My added value was to accompany them with intercultural management, helping their global teams to identify subconscious bias and work in better harmony. Fighting discriminations – whether against disabled workers, women in tech, or women founders, has been a red thread throughout my career. Sadly, 30 years on, we are still working through the same issues.
I later joined a large consulting firm, but there was no participative management, and the clients ended up leaving our strategy reports to die in a drawer. I realised I needed to put people at the centre of the strategy, and I launched my own international consulting company.

How did you handle the logistics of your business trips?

As much as I wanted this lifestyle to work for me, I ended up having to accept that travelling was physically and emotionally exhausting. Taxi drivers would drop me at the airport with my wheelchair and probably expected me to carry my suitcase between my teeth. When I attended professional fairs, I wasted a stupid amount of time trying to locate doors that I could open. Often, after a 6-hour trip, I would check into a certified wheelchair-accessible hotel, only to find myself stuck in front of a lift too narrow for my wheelchair. Frustratingly, there wasn’t a one-stop shop to help me with my planning needs.

Is this what led you to launch Handiroad?

Surprisingly, despite experiencing them first-hand, I didn’t realise straight away that I was bound to work on disability issues. The lightbulb moment actually came from my 5-year-old son, as he struggled to push my wheelchair across the pavement. It was physically challenging for him, he was fed up and he snapped: “Why don’t they make a Waze app for disabled people?”
I thought the idea was smart but I was a busy single working mum and I had already launched an incubator for startups interested in export. However, when I questioned my network, the feedback I received was overwhelmingly encouraging. The concept would serve my personal needs as well as those of the 25 million people facing mobility challenges in France from the disabled to the elderly but also parents with buggies for example… The Covid-19 lockdown period opened up people’s eyes about the stress induced by the lack of mobility. It affects our access to employment, health, entertainment… I realised that the concept was strategically innovative and that it would allow me to channel my passion for equality.

Can you pitch Handiroad for us?

It’s an app that makes moving about easier and safer for people with reduced mobility. In order to develop it at scale and in a cost-efficient way, I grew a community of users and I speculated on their kindness. Users help each other out by locating and warning about physical obstacles as well as aggressive behaviour they have been victims of. The four core values are kindness, equality, the power of sharing and joy. Joy is often underappreciated, yet it can be life transformative. I witness it every day, for example when grandparents can finally meet their grandchildren regularly.
“Universal Design” – a theory that aims for tools to be built by all and for all, is essential to my proposition. My consulting firm’s tagline was “make the world accessible to all”, which referred to the opportunity to expand to international markets. It also worked for Handiroad, so I kept it.

What gives you a sense of purpose?

I don’t sell glamour. I sell disability, suffering and stress. Yet I feel that by addressing these issues I can create hope. This is why I always jump at the opportunity whenever I am asked to speak in public. No one uttered a word at the last talk I gave but the following day I received 6,000 messages from people telling me they found me both inspiring and too intimidating to approach … the latter I find quite baffling!

From an external point of view, it seems that our society has become much more tolerant, especially in the workplace. What is your perspective?

Fortunately, the word disability is no longer taboo in the corporate world, even though we are still in an educational phase. Action is required now because I can assure you that there is still a lot of discrimination – enough to fill a book, or two!
When a disabled person is lucky enough to find a job, the role is often disheartening and ill adapted. I was once offered a telemarketing job selling mobile phone contracts – with my hearing impairment!
Moreover, the violence against us in the workplace is still real. Ten days ago, I was in a meeting with someone who wasn’t aware of my situation. I occasionally stand but as the meeting dragged on, someone in the room, who knew me, handed me a chair and explained to the guy: “She is disabled and it can be tough for her”. His reaction was “When you are a woman, and disabled, you don’t take on a job with responsibilities, you stay at home!” Comments like this can make you feel worthless but what was worse was the fact that no one else in the meeting spoke out. Sometimes these remarks are meant to be compliments “You know what? You’re actually quite smart!”
Being disabled and a woman is a double penance; in order to optimise my chances of raising funds, I have been advised on countless occasions to recruit a man as a business partner, “and if possible, a valid one”!
Four out of five women with disabilities are victims of violence in their daily life – whether physical, emotional, sexual, financial or professional. This injustice is close to my heart. So you see, dealing with other people’s attitudes is even more difficult than carrying the disease itself. I am lucky that I can now rely emotionally on a supportive network, but even then, it can get to you.

What would be your key messages to the Audencia community? How can we be better allies?

First, I want to encourage students who feel different to be brave enough to open up. You will be amazed how it will lift a weight from your shoulders, and how much more qualitative your conversations will become. On a practical level, I would like to make the teaching staff aware that with the multiplication of online events, subtitles are crucial. To alumni who are in hiring positions, I would say that when you receive a job application from someone with a disability, you should also see their potential for adaptability and innovation. When a new hire asks for specific modifications to their work environment and equipment, remember that they are not being fussy but that they have genuine needs.
People in HR should consider setting up inclusion workshops. I designed one for my clients where everyone is asked to work with a handicap for a day (blindfolded, with noise cancelling headphones, in a wheelchair…). This is a surprisingly cost-efficient way of creating awareness, promoting kindness and bringing a team together.

What is your proudest achievement?

This the sort of question that I never ask myself because I am eternally dissatisfied. Sometimes though, I look back and I realise I have done OK for myself in some areas. During lockdown, I entered an inclusion in tech competition with 114,000 female project founders from 180 countries. The first prize went to Microsoft and the second to me. I haven’t communicated about this prize, but it was such a powerful personal win. It brought me back to my childhood, when I was dreaming of the wonders of the world and believing that I would never be allowed to step in. I am proud to have designed a coherent itinerary and closed the loop.

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