If You've Fallen Short, Read This

There's a unique grief that comes from seeing the version of yourself you want to live up to... and not having the skills or capacity to reach it yet.

Worse, sitting back and seeing the cost of your ignorance leave a trail of scorched earth behind you.

Maybe it was the colleague who needed patience, and you snapped instead.

The teammate you pushed past their limits until they handed in their notice.

The conversation you avoided until it hardened into resentment.

Or the moment you sensed something was wrong, but felt too overwhelmed to face it... so you kept yourself busy instead.

Looking back, you didn’t mean to cause harm. Yet harm still happened.

You didn’t intend to misstep. Yet your blind spots still shaped the outcome.

Some lessons in leadership and life arrive with a heavy cost. Others are quiet and subtle.

Regardless of their size, if they go unprocessed, they linger—in your chest, jaw, and internal dialogue.

This isn’t where I hand out solutions or pretend it’ll all be okay.

It’s the part where I share space with anyone quietly bleeding from self-blame.

This isn’t advice from a podium. It’s presence from the floor.

Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned through my own reckoning... it’s that we don’t need tactics, tips, or SOPs in moments like this.

Hell, it's hard to even admit we're struggling... let alone not scream "don't fucking look at me."

I share this because I, too, have fallen off pedestals I didn’t know I was on.

I’ve sat across from people I’ve hurt.

And I’ve had to learn how to keep shame from building a home in my throat.

So instead of telling you what to do, I’ll write these words into sentences that, somehow, feel like a hug.

There’s a difference between accountability and self-punishment.

A line between “I wish I would have done that differently” and “I’m stupid for not.”

As leaders we paralyze ourselves when we fall short of the unreasonable, and oftentimes, impossible expectations we place on ourselves to be perfect.

We think that if we’re hard enough on ourselves, we’ll never make that mistake again.

Or that our shortcomings are unique and that we’re the only ones struggling with feeling inadequate.

But shame doesn’t make us better, it just makes us quieter.

Isolation doesn't help us heal, it makes it harder to accept compassion.

Falling short is inevitable. You’re human. So am I.

And growth doesn’t come from pretending it didn’t happen.

It comes from staying with yourself after it does.

So the question becomes:

How do we learn through failure... without tearing ourselves apart in the process?

How do we correct course, while still trusting in ourselves?

How do we tend to our wounds… without licking them raw?

And how do we learn to embody responsibility... without losing sight of our own humanity?

Maybe the answers to those questions are how we begin to find our way.

Especially in the moments that feel impossible.