Joy Practice: Post-Mortems

Ciao tutti!

I gotta tell you, it’s been rough. So, I’m taking a step back to see the bigger picture. Doing so reminded me of an incident that took play some time ago. At the time, I’d recently gotten over an illness that was probably more a result of stress than a virus, and had to cancel a very important meeting. I felt really bad about canceling that meeting. I pride myself in showing up when I say I will show up and doing what I say I will do. Call it integrity. With my health, however, I do not mess around. Ask anyone who knows me or has worked with me, I’d rather you get better at home than be sick at work or in a meeting. Still, part of me felt badly for having to cancel in the first place. So I did a post-mortem on the cancellation to see what my angst was all about.

“Ask anyone who knows me or has worked with me, I’d rather you get better at home than be sick at work or in a meeting.”

My postmortems are like what we do in medicine— “Morbidity & Mortality Conferences”— where a particularly challenging or unsuccessful case is presented to healthcare professionals and questions are asked with the intent of ensuring mistakes and oversights aren’t repeated. In my case, I was looking to see what had led up to the outcome that I did not want — canceling the meeting — and what was in my power to change going forward.

“Sisters, don’t push through anything that your gut is telling you to let go of.”

I began by writing down the facts as I knew it — which also included how I felt each step of the way about the upcoming meeting. From the first solicitation, to getting the invite details, to acceptance and then finally preparation. No matter how mixed, outlandish, small or incidental, I wrote it down. I realized — as I was writing — that the meeting was never going to happen. I had an inkling of this from the beginning, but I ignored my gut because of the project’s potential and pushed through. Sisters, don’t push through or for anything that your gut is telling you is not for you.

The night before the meeting, the same gut feeling came to me but I brushed it aside. The next morning, with rain pouring and streets flooding, I left for my meeting with plenty of extra time, just in case. I waited for the train and checked my ETA. Despite my best efforts, I would be late. Very late. Embarrassingly late. Like, “you call yourself a professional??” kind of late. I had to call it. I wouldn’t make it.

I was upset.

Very upset.

But then, as I walked back into the house, a wave of relief washed over me. I was shocked. My body basically said, “Thank god you finally let that go!” I laughed out loud, releasing all the angst and energy that had been in my body, then contacted the meeting organizers to inform them that I would not be available for the project. Basically, I did what I should have done in the first place.

Here’s what I realized in that moment: 1) I was going to the meeting to look important; and, 2) I was subconsciously creating a scenario where I had to climb a mountain (or in this case, travel two hours in the rain) just for a meeting, to look accomplished. Say what?! I know you’ve done it: create wahala just so you look like a hero, or a martyr, to appear dedicated or committed. Some of us are intent on being the ever-perfect co-worker/team member/employee, daughter, mother, sister, wife, or partner much to our own detriment. None of which matters. Contrary to popular belief, you won’t attract more street cred or a badge of honor for this so-called sacrifice.

“Sacrifice doesn’t prove anything to anyone other than that you’re willing to run your body, mind, and spirit into the ground to obtain something that you might not even want.”

And that’s when it hit me. Sacrifice. I was setting up meetings, running around town, getting sick, cancelling meetings, and stressing out because some part of me believed that this is the sacrifice I had to make to be successful in my career. I’d watched people do that all my professional life— run themselves ragged then later complain over wine, drinks, lunch or dinner, about how much sacrifice they were making, often for very little in return. I didn’t want to become that way and yet here I was.

“The sacrifice payoff was powerful, and dare I say, perverse.”

Who was I trying to prove my worth to? I don’t know.

And, since when does my path have to look like everyone else’s path? Never.

The point of the post-mortem had been made. It would be up to me to see if I would put back into practice what I’d known along. To be true to myself and trust my gut. That’s real integrity. All the running around chasing after opportunities I didn’t want, and creating drama for myself was the antithesis of what I wanted to see in my life: balance and joy.

As I put my pen down on the post-mortem, I realized that there was a blessing in the cancellation. It got me to see that I was overextending myself and that I was zapping my joy by forgetting that I am already enough. Sacrifice does not prove anything to anyone other than your willingness to run your body, mind, and spirit into the ground to obtain something that you might not even want. We’ve all been there. And, thankfully, we can all do better.

So, sistas, let go of the sacrifice and the need to suffer for the sake of success. You’re already enough. J+W