“Ugh. I need it,” is her response when I text her on Friday
afternoon to ask if she wants to get a margarita. I do, too.
If for no other reason than to knock down a little hair of the dog,
salve for the vulnerability hangover I’ve been
nursing all week.
She meets me at the table
outdoors. I’m salivating at the chance to unload my anxiety on
her, only to discover her world has turned upside down due to the notice she
received from her company earlier in the week.
She’s been unhappy in her situation
for a while now, perhaps the victim of one of Corporate America’s most commonplace and deadly bait and switch
tactics: A new manager. It’s all done with
the best of intentions; the company reorganizes or is sold, and suddenly the leader
you had an amazing connection with is in another job, and her replacement is
not a match.
Over cucumber margaritas we discover
our heads have been pounding from the same malady: We’ve acted on
the compulsion to speak a dissenting opinion to people we believe have power
over us. The choices seem
impossible. We agree our younger selves
would have followed grudgingly, rendering ourselves helpless victims, stripped
of empowerment or flat out ignored. We’d probably complain to our friends, not realizing respect
for leadership is eroding, and with it sucking all the joy out of a role we
once coveted. Our older selves are a different
story. Years of experience in our
businesses and the business of life breed self-confidence and self-security, the
ingredients in the shot of courage we slam. We challenge the situation, ask
why, maintain our integrity at all costs; we say no when yes is the safer answer.
We can’t stay quiet if we try, because
following blindly or hitting the mute button when there’s an opening to be heard goes against the beings we’ve grown into.
But there’s no avoiding the hangover. Brene Brown, the world-famous
researcher of shame and self-worth coined the term “vulnerability hangover”, the feeling of apprehension laced with a pinch of
shame washing over us when we stretch outside of our comfort zone daring to
express a controversial, new or dissident opinion to the world.
As we talk through our situations,
we wonder how much honesty is too much? When do we need to share less of ourselves in
the name of self-preservation? I can’t answer the question over one drink on a hot, humid,
sunny afternoon, but upon further review I’ll say power
raises the stakes. When we’re dealing
with people in power, the shot of courage we take before saying our piece needs
to be potent because the risk of losing what matters to us is real, making the
hangover especially crippling. It’s so much easier to put ourselves out there in
places where we feel safe.
Eventually all hangovers
dissipate, the pounding stops, our minds ease.
We’re hydrated by the pat on the
back from a friend proud of the courage we displayed. Someone who heard us simply agrees
with our position. Or we acknowledge there was no way we were not saying what
we said, regardless of the outcome.
The best advice I’ve come across this week was shared in the hot room
at yoga. If we want our minds to be at
ease, we need to be in the present.
Worrying about the future and replaying the past can pitch us into turmoil.
Instead of ruminating on all that was said in your moment of vulnerability, take
a minute to find a safe place to speak your fears (maybe over a margarita with
a friend), and let the present move you on.
