Somewhere to Put the Load Down

I was awake at 2 a.m. again.

Then 4 a.m. Same ceiling. Same loop.

I was deciding whether to leave a job I had poured myself into. For years I'd fought to shield my team from a culture that hard times had stripped bare. Somewhere along the way, it started to feel like I was fighting alone.

And I had no idea where to take that.

I couldn't ask my team. They were the people I was protecting. I couldn't confide in my bosses. They were part of what I was deciding about.

My husband was a safe place. He listened. He trusted me completely. But he didn't see why the decision was so hard, and that kind of certainty from someone who loves you can make a heavy night feel even lonelier.

That left the voice in my head. She is not a great listener at 4 a.m.

It wasn't the first time. Years earlier I'd sat in rooms where layoffs were being decided. Names on a list. Futures on a table. I had full access to all of it and nowhere to put any of it. I couldn't pass it down to my team. I couldn't hand it up to my boss.

So I carried it home. And I carried it back to work the next morning.

When I was on the team, my teammates were my people. We chewed things over out loud. We figured it out together. Then I became the leader, and the room I used to think in got smaller. I was there to support people, not to work things out in front of them. I was supposed to be the calm, certain center.

And in many ways, that's right. Some uncertainties aren't yours to hand to your team. Or your peers. Or even your boss.

But most of us got here by being the strong one. The one who carries it. The one everybody can count on.

Which is exactly why you need somewhere to set it down.

Here's what no one tells you. Being the reliable one starts to feel like your identity. Asking for help feels like breaking the deal. So you keep lifting, and you call it strength.

It is strength. It's also a weight limit.

Strong people still need a place to put the load down.

I didn't understand how much until I started building what I think of as my council.

It isn't one person. It's some friends. A few trusted former colleagues. A handful of people in other departments. Family. Coaches. Each one has a role, and the roles overlap.

They all matter.

Some of them know my industry. Some have never heard of it, which is its own gift. Some will tell me the truth kindly. Some will just pour the coffee.

I stopped trying to find one person who could be all of it. That person doesn't exist. A council works because no one seat has to hold everything.

And here's the part I didn't expect. Sometimes I'm not asking for an answer. I get answers and perspective and a good swift kick when I need one. But sometimes I just need a spot to sit with it.

You don't need a perfect council. You need one seat.

So try this week:

1. Name the load. What are you carrying that you can't say out loud at work? Write it down. Don't edit it.
2. Name one person. Not five. One friend, former colleague, coach, or family member who could hear it.
3. Say it badly. Skip the polish. "I don't know what to do about this" is a complete sentence.

Then notice what happens to the weight.

Sometimes it isn't solved. Sometimes it's just a safe place to put it down for a moment.

If this one found you on a heavy night, the Presence Over Polish newsletter is where I write to leaders like you every week. No performance. Just the real stuff. You can join at presenceoverpolish.com. And if you'd like someone in your corner, I coach leaders one-on-one. Reply and tell me what you're carrying.