I didn’t send this newsletter last month. That’s probably NBD to you, but it wasn’t to me.
First I pushed it out a week—I was writing a new talk, and running bunches of events, and wrapping up my spring group coaching program. “Things will quiet down,” I told myself.
They didn’t. Every day felt chock-full—even when it wasn’t.
Then I took my first trip home to see my family across the country in two years. “Maybe while I’m traveling I can write it,” I thought.
I didn’t. I stared at the inflight movie menu and rubbed at the mask indentations behind my ears instead.
And then finally, sitting in my brother’s spare room in Oregon, I remembered: I don’t have to do this. Let’s be honest, even if you love this newsletter, you probably didn’t even notice.
But it’s hard to admit when we’ve hit our limit—especially if you, like me, care a lot about helping others weather hard times. It feels like there’s always more you could be doing.
I see this a lot with my coaching clients who are managers.
They can get so focused on showing up for their teams—lightening their loads, advocating for more resources, being the proverbial “shit umbrella”—that they turn themselves into martyrs, throwing everything they have into keeping their teams afloat, while quietly sinking themselves. No, no. I’m fine, they’ll say, even though the water’s up to their ears.
What I’ve learned—and continue to mess up and then relearn—is that while it often feels like we’re most helpful when we put everyone else first, it’s not true. First off, it leads to burnout—because literally no one can sustain that forever. And when we’re burned out, we can’t help anyone.
Second, it warps our sense of priorities—because we’re so used to pushing through and handling things, we lose sight of what’s actually worth handling right now, and what isn’t (like me with my newsletter). This can stress your team, too, because even though you’re doing all this to lighten their load, what you’re modeling is that overworking and overloading yourself is normal.
But maybe worst of all, when we don’t allow ourselves the space to process our feelings, acknowledge our needs, and set boundaries, we actually become dangerous to our colleagues—because we start taking our unprocessed stress out on them, without even realizing it.
Here’s an example: When humans feel powerless, they tend to look for something to control. That’s not a bad thing—focusing on what’s within your control can be healthy and calming. But when we don’t realize that’s what we’re feeling, we can’t be intentional about where we go looking for control. So instead, we project that unmet need onto our teams as micromanagement: asking people for endless check-ins, expecting Slack updates every 15 minutes, being way too in the weeds on their work.
We can break these cycles.
It all starts with something very simple to say, but challenging to do: practice naming what you’re feeling (I find this feelings wheel really helpful for that). Many of us have been taught to “leave our feelings at the door” at work—so we’re often really bad at identifying what we feel. We’ll reduce everything down to one word: “stressed.” So ask yourself, what’s underneath that stress? Where is fear driving your work habits right now? What are you doing out of anger? Out of insecurity?
If you’re interested in working through these things with a supportive group of peers, I’m running a workshop on July 22 all about this. It’s called Reflect, Reset, Rebound, and it’s designed for managers and leads. More info is below.
— Sara
July 22 from 12-2:30pm ET
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