![]() There it sits before me. An innocent thermos mug. Which I hate. And which I can’t throw out. I hate it, because every time I use it, I land up burning myself when I sip my tea from it. Because it keeps things so damn hot. And then I don’t enjoy drinking my tea. And the whole damn point of my tea ritual (my English ancestors and mother would be so proud of me) is that I get to really savor and enjoy drinking lovely hot tea throughout the morning without endless runs to the kettle. (And wow, I really am throwing those damns around here aren’t I? Can you tell I get just a leeetle wound up over my tea?? ) OK, back to the thermos mug in hand. And that’s also why I can’t throw it out. Because it really is the best thermos mug that we have - rating it on the scale of how long it will keep things hot. And, you know - landfill. Argh. Or I could just give it away to the Salvation Army or something. But….it’s a really good thermos mug. So I hate it. And it sits there. And I stare at it malevolently - not using it nearly enough as I should. And...there’s more. There’s always more, isn’t there? This thermos mug - the best one we have - also happens to be the sole physical object I still have from that awful toxic workplace that so completely crushed me that I fell apart completely and didn’t move off the couch for two months. So every time I look at it, it’s a little reminder of that. So I hate it. Of course. But I still can’t get rid of it. I mean it’s just an effing thermos mug. It’s not like it’s done anything to me. Except burn me every time I use it for my tea. So yesterday I decided, enough already. This is ridiculous. Either get rid of the damn thing or keep it and use it gladly. I pulled it off the shelf and we had a little talk. OK, I did the talking. It just sat there. Yup - it’s as crazy as it sounds. “OK thermos,” I said. “Let’s figure this out. You just want to be you. You just want to do your job and keep things hot. And I keep putting too much boiling water in you, and not leaving enough space for milk, and then when I sip, you burn my tongue. Which is so not cool. So here’s what we’re going to do: we are GOING TO FIGURE THIS DAMN THING OUT OR YOU”RE OUT! I’m only going to fill you up to here with boiling water this time. Then add the milk, and lets see if that’s the right temperature.” Thermos just sat there - duh - but grateful that I was at last getting this through my thick head. I poured in less water than I usually do. Added my milk. And sipped. Better. But still a little too hot. Poor a little off. Add a little more milk. Sip. Aaaaaah, just right. I screwed-on the lid, and had 3 hours of hot tea. It was divine. And yes, now I am going to get all profound on you. Bear with me. Because that thermos mug, just like that toxic work environment, was just being who it was. I was the one who kept on burning myself - expecting, wanting, hoping it would change. The thermos mug wasn’t trying to burn me. It was just doing it’s thing. That awful boss, that passive-aggressive teflon-coated brick, that two-faced little witch, that lily-livered doormat of a manager - they were all just human beings, coping the best way they knew how. Doing the best they could with what they had. They were just doing their thing. I was the one who kept wanting them to be something they weren’t - and couldn’t be. And so they burned me. Burned me to such a crisp that all that remained was the jewel inside of me. The jewel that had been there all along, but had needed the heat of their toxicity to burn away all the crud I had accumulated around myself in a life-time of proving, perfecting, pleasing, striving, justifying, defending, avoiding, ignoring. So who in your life, or at work, is that thermos mug. The one that keeps on burning you. That you keep on getting so frustrated with, so hurt by, but which you just can’t seem to put down or walk away from. What would happen if you just accepted him or her for exactly who they are. Stopped trying to change them. Stopped trying to please. Stopped seeking approval from. Stopped twisting yourself in knots to try and satisfy. Because you can never satisfy what they want from you. They want a personality transplant from you. And that’s not just impossible - you’ll die (figuratively or literally) in the attempt if you do try. It doesn’t mean either of you is wrong. Or that either of you is right. It just means that you either need to truly accept them for they are, and truly be OK with that. Or you need to leave them be. To stopping putting yourself into the heat of their toxicity and get yourself to a better, safer place. So yes, I’m keeping the thermos mug. Because while it still reminds me of that pain - it also reminds me of all the ways I’ve learned and grown since then. It doesn’t have to burn me anymore. And those people? They are, of course, long gone from my life. And I’m all the better for it. People can burn hot - with their fear, their anger, their hurt, their rage, their meanness, their negativity, their criticism, their unreasonableness. But they can only truly burn you if sip of their toxicity. If you take it inside you. So stop drinking from them. Struggling to know how? Drop me a line and let’s talk. In the meantime: here’s to the perfect cup of hot tea (or coffee, or whatever!) ![]() It was a typical scene. A whole ballroom full of people. Leaders from industry there as mentors and coaches to tout their wisdom and inspire the business school students. Graduate students hanging on their every word, eager to emulate their success. And as the industry people went around the room, introducing themselves and telling their stories of what they did, how they got there, and their lesson’s learned, I noticed the characteristic warning signals that I was being tempted to step out of my integrity. To follow their example and gold-plate it all. I felt my heart plummet to my stomach. My skin start crawling. A tightening and constriction across my chest. All my warning signs that the gremlins of comparison and perfectionism (aka shame) were rearing their heads. And of my ego getting ready to swing into action. To puff up and defend itself. Or - if the gremlins won out - to stay silent and small, not to be noticed. And in that moment I had a choice. Brené Brown’s mantra came to me. “Don’t puff. Don’t shrink. Just stand your sacred ground.” I kept on repeating it over and over to myself as the introductions continued. “Don’t puff. Don’t shrink. Just stand your sacred ground.” “Don’t puff. Don’t shrink. Just stand your sacred ground.” Finally, it was my turn. I was the last to speak. With my heart in my mouth, I stood up. Not quite sure what words were going to come out of my mouth, I leaned into everything I have learned. “I'm perhaps a textbook example of what not to do with your career. I followed my head instead of my heart.” And then I told them that I was a workplace bullying and toxic environment coach. I told them that - at this weekend where they were learning how to be better leaders - the chances were that half of them, at some stage in their career, were going to find themselves working with or for someone who put them down. Who diminished and demeaned them. That they were going to find themselves in difficult and toxic environments. And that the probability also existed, under the right stresses and conditions, that they could be those leaders themselves. Was it effective? I honestly don't know. What was the truth was that I stood my sacred ground on what I knew to be important to me. In that moment, as everyone was going around the room, it would have been so easy for me to have played the game of “This is what I've done with my career and isn't that great. And this is what I've learned and isn't that wonderful?” Far harder, and far more authentic, was to speak the truth in my heart. Did I reach anyone and touch their heart? Maybe I did. Maybe I didn't. But I’ve learned that success is not measured in outcomes. It is measured in “How true was I to myself.” So when you find yourself in that moment, comparing yourself to others, and having that sinking feeling that you’re coming up short, I invite you to remember this. Don’t puff. Don’t shrink. Stand your sacred ground. And if you'd like to learn how to do that, I invite you to subscribe to the “Resilience Toolkit” and get started on developing the tools you need to be able to do just that. |
Sue Mann - CoachReflections on how we reclaim and sustain our worthiness in the face of falls and challenges. Archives
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