American-Swiss psychiatrist Elisabeth Kübler-Ross first wrote about the five stages of grief in the 1960s. They were designed to help people cope with loss by giving them a checklist of human reactions to terrible things. First shock and disbelief (this can’t be happening to me), then anger (I don’t deserve this), then bargaining (if I just do X, it will go away), then profound sadness (it will never be the same), then acceptance.
It was a profound and important model, and although we know today that not everyone goes through the same cycle in the same order, it has helped millions of people understand their feelings as they process their new normal, whatever it is.
Simon Simek, in his blog A Bit of Optimism, writes about DeDe Halfhill, who spent 25 years in the Air Force, rising to the rank of colonel in a profession dominated by men. As a public affairs officer, she served as a strategic advisor to some of the military’s most senior leaders, including Chiefs of Staff and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs during critical moments of the War in Iraq.
DeDe’s first command assignment, though, threw into a pit of despair. Simek writes, “Imagine this scene: a remote air base in Iraq, the constant hum of aircraft and generators punctuating the dry desert air. A young officer, recently promoted and given her first command, sits alone in her trailer after another grueling day where nothing seems to be working. Six months into a year-long deployment, she’s crying herself to sleep night after night, questioning every decision, regretting her career choice, and feeling like an absolute failure.”
“Everything I had envisioned about who I would be as a leader did not show up in that experience,” DeDe said. She was feeling ready to give up, but then, failure is not an option in a military career. Finally, though, six months into her year-long deployment, she had an epiphany during one of her dark nights of the soul, which is where almost all epiphanies happen. (Thank you, Joseph Campbell: “The dark night of the soul comes just before revelation. When everything is lost, and all seems darkness, then comes the new life and all that is needed.”)
DeDe simply let her expectations go. She had what she calls her “mini breakdown” followed by a moment of clarity. “If I have failed—and maybe I have, maybe I’m not meant to be a commander—what impact do I really want to have? What do I want these people, who I have been entrusted to care for, to know?”
The answer came to her with surprising simplicity: “I want them to know they matter. I want them to know what they’re doing here is not in vain.”
One shift in her own thinking changed everything. Instead of trying to “lead” her troops in some way she believed she was expected to, she simply focused on showing them that they were valued. Over the course of a few months, she noticed that their demeanor with her and with each other changed. Demonstrating respect and trust builds more respect and trust. Almost as an afterthought, she says, performance increased as well. By the end of the deployment, Simek writes, “she had built a team that would ‘willingly follow her anywhere.’ What had started as her greatest professional disappointment became her proudest achievement.”
Simek goes on to say that managers get it backward; they focus on the metrics and performance when they should place more focus on making people feel valued.
But for me, the epiphany was the breakthrough and what we can all take from DeDe’s insight. Maybe we can’t change what is happening in this moment, no matter how hard we work and fight and struggle. Maybe we have been holding on to the wrong inputs, stripping the screw because we keep turning with the wrong tool.
We can all take a step back to reflect on what we can control and what we want others to take away from their experience with us. We are free to skip a lot of steps in our grief and stop being angry, trying even harder, and being sad because what we wanted to happen isn’t happening.
Let go of what “should be,” and accept what might be. You have that power.
Your Work, Your Way 