What I'm Sitting With

There is a saying —maybe you've heard it— that we judge ourselves by our intentions and other people by their actions. I haven't looked up where it comes from, but it's shown up for me (and my clients) in some interesting ways.

I remember when my oldest was two or three, I got overwhelmed with frustration. I yelled. I might have slammed a door or stomped my feet. As soon as the frustration wore off, the guilt stepped in: I should have been able to maintain composure; I was a bad mom; I was failing. I was experiencing the icky underbelly of my inner world and judging myself by thoughts I'd unwittingly accepted as truth. I called my husband, and he asked the questions: Had I belittled or demeaned her? Had I caused her physical harm? No, of course not. He reminded me that plenty of parents do real harm despite having good thoughts — and we judge them by their actions, not their intentions. By that same logic, I shouldn't judge myself for an occasional "bad" thought if my actions don't match it. He also reminded me that I was allowed to be frustrated and angry, and that neither made me a bad mom. (Side note: I'm a big fan of Dr. Becky Kennedy and her concept of repair. If this resonates, I highly recommend reading Good Inside. I've repaired many times with my kids, and I've gotten much better at maintaining composure in the moment.)

It's funny looking back on how crucial that moment was to how I've developed as a parent and a leader. It was one of my first visceral encounters with the gap between inner world and outer perception; that distinction is worth hanging onto, because it shows up everywhere. It's the entrepreneur who compares their inner chaos to someone else's outward success. The leader who feels like they're failing because they're "just winging it." It's the goalpost that keeps moving, the voice that says "never enough," the thoughts we unwittingly accept as true about ourselves. We're wired to see the gap between where we are and where we think we should be; lately, in my clients, that gap gets measured against someone else's highlight reel. But felt underperformance doesn't usually track with actual expectations, or even objective capacity. It's a trap.

I suspect there's a connection here to scarcity and our need for significance —maybe next newsletter's topic— but here's what I know for sure: relentless self-expectation has a cost. It shows up as low confidence, frustration turned inward, a lot of "should"-ing on ourselves, and a noise-to-signal ratio that drowns out the truth.

There is a saying —maybe you've heard it— that we judge ourselves by our intentions and other people by their actions. I haven't looked up where it comes from, but it's shown up for me (and my clients) in some interesting ways.

I remember when my oldest was two or three, I got overwhelmed with frustration. I yelled. I might have slammed a door or stomped my feet. As soon as the frustration wore off, the guilt stepped in: I should have been able to maintain composure; I was a bad mom; I was failing. I was experiencing the icky underbelly of my inner world and judging myself by thoughts I'd unwittingly accepted as truth. I called my husband, and he asked the questions: Had I belittled or demeaned her? Had I caused her physical harm? No, of course not. He reminded me that plenty of parents do real harm despite having good thoughts, and we judge them by their actions, not their intentions. By that same logic, I shouldn't judge myself for an occasional "bad" thought if my actions don't match it. He also reminded me that I was allowed to be frustrated and angry, and that neither made me a bad mom. He was doing for me in that moment what I now try to do for others, and what I'm asking you to do for yourself. (Side note — I'm a big fan of Dr. Becky Kennedy and her concept of repair. If this resonates, I highly recommend reading Good Inside. I've repaired many times with my kids, and I've gotten much better at maintaining composure in the moment.)

It's funny looking back on how crucial that moment was to how I've developed as a parent and a leader. It was one of my first visceral encounters with the gap between inner world and outer perception; that distinction is worth hanging onto, because it shows up everywhere. It's the entrepreneur who compares their inner chaos to someone else's outward success. The leader who feels like they're failing because they're "just winging it." And more often than not, that someone else is looking back at us doing the exact same thing: reading our outward competence and assuming none of our inner chaos. It's the goalpost that keeps moving, the voice that says "never enough," the thoughts we unwittingly accept as true about ourselves. We're wired to see the gap between where we are and where we think we should be; lately, in my clients, that gap gets measured against someone else's highlight reel. But felt underperformance doesn't track with actual expectations, or even objective capacity. It's a trap.

I suspect there's a connection here to scarcity and our need for significance —maybe next newsletter's topic— but here's what I know for sure: relentless self-expectation has a cost. It shows up as low confidence, frustration turned inward, a lot of "should"-ing on ourselves, and a noise-to-signal ratio that drowns out the truth.

Progress doesn't move in a straight, visible line. It asks for a wider timeframe, a more honest accounting of where we actually are, and a willingness to question the story we're telling ourselves about the gap. That's the work I love most as a coach: helping leaders separate what's actually true from what just feels true —about themselves, and often, about the people they lead— so they can stop managing an imaginary gap and start leading from where they really stand. Sometimes, we need to give ourselves a little bit more credit for our actions; other times, we need to give others a little bit more credit for their intentions.

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P.S. A lot of what I explore in these newsletters comes back to the leadership patterns that emerge under pressure. The way you lead in those moments isn’t random. If you’re curious which pattern you tend to default to, you can take the diagnostic here.