Lessons from an Elevator

Last night I returned to my former employer to celebrate a dear friend's retirement. It was so fun to reunite with old colleagues and friends who had known me since my first "real world" job after college (and bad haircut!) and supported my career growth for twenty years. Yet it was also strange to be invited back to a place I was asked to leave years ago, when my job was abruptly eliminated.

I still remember watching the elevator doors close on my last day when I left with twenty years packed into boxes. For years, I avoided the part of town where the office was located because being anywhere near the building was simply too difficult. I avoided planning lunches, dinners, or drinks at any of the spots I'd frequented for decades because I didn't want to risk running into former colleagues. It was simply too hard. Not because I'd done anything wrong, but because I hadn't.  

For a long time, I hid because I needed to heal and process my anger, hurt, shock, and shame. I had low self-confidence because I was unsure of my next career move and couldn't answer basic questions like, "How's the job search coming?"  

But once I decided to open my own coaching practice in 2020 rather than continuing to pursue a career in CSR, everything shifted. Suddenly, all of my pain turned into purpose. 

Since then, I've built a business from scratch that I'm so proud of, and I've coached over 100 leaders in organizations ranging from Fortune 100 companies to nonprofits. I've coached purpose-seeking professionals who want to resign because their personal values no longer align with their workplace. I've supported overextended leaders who are burned out but too afraid to slow down and make time for themselves because of the potential impact on their careers. I've also helped leaders who love where they work but want to elevate their skills to lead their teams more effectively. And of course, I've coached those who have lost their jobs due to a layoff or restructuring. 

Now I get to be the coach I wish I'd had during the various transitions I've experienced in my life. How cool is that?!  

I can now say that I'm thankful for the long, painful elevator ride I experienced years ago. And I'm so thankful I got to take another ride last night as a different person, one who was welcomed, embraced, and loved by so many of the people in the building who had been there the whole time.

Have you experienced a painful ending that turned into a transformative new beginning? What did you learn?