Soon after I left the FBI, a friend called to see how I was adjusting to my new environment. They were still on the job and offered well-meaning opinions as to how things must be. In reality, they had no idea. What they thought was happening sounded nothing like what I was experiencing.
They figured I missed the job (no). That I missed the "mission" (too nebulous). Or certainly that I missed the people (some of them).
I was still trying to get my bearings. Going cold turkey and literally hearing the door close behind me after sprinting for 20+ years was a shock to the system. The best I could do was give them an analogy.
I had been racing down the highway for almost 30 years. I was amped up and was going way too fast. The radio was blaring and the windows were down and the amount of noise inside the car was significant.
But I had learned to deal with it. It had become like one of those white noise machines that helps you sleep. It was there but it really wasn’t there, much like background processes on a computer that the user was never aware of.
Traffic was heavy and I weaved in and out of the other cars without a second thought. I was able to see and anticipate problems ahead without losing speed. I didn’t even notice the noise anymore and it had become just background clutter that didn’t impact my abilities or distract me.
There was no deep thinking; that was rather unnecessary and there was no time for that anyway. Just anticipating and reacting to the patterns I observed.
Stressed? Not me. The heart rate might have been off the charts but this was normal. A non-stop adrenaline rush. Like riding a roller coaster over and over and over again. After awhile, even that first sudden drop didn’t even register.
And then, all of a sudden, it was over. I found myself sitting in the same car but instead of on a busy highway, I was parked along the side of the road. I wasn’t in the city but rather in some very rural area with cornfields as far as I could see. The windows were still down but the radio was off. And what I noticed immediately was that I could hear – nothing.
The silence was deafening. Unnerving. Scary.
And after a few days I began hearing a voice from within. I realized it was me. The "me" that had been tamped down and silenced for so many years, and he wanted to talk.
A lot.
So much unprocessed weight.
The things I had witnessed and never processed because they cut too deep and might take me off my game. The frustrations and righteous anger that had been cast aside in the name of being a resilient, servant leader (more like a doormat). All of the questions and feelings that never saw the light of day because they might be construed as selfish. The things that excited and hurt and confused me that had been shelved for “later.”
Well, “later” had arrived. There was no more noise or adrenaline or dopamine to hide behind and reckoning day was here.
And THAT was what it felt like.
It would be a few years before I came to grips with some of that stuff, and some of it still rears its head in the mornings when I first get up. Just like it did this morning.
What I have begun to grasp is this: silence exposes what noise suppresses.
This is important for leaders who are under a lot of pressure. It is really hard to think clearly and deeply when juggling everything they do just to survive the day-to-day. Processing and strategic thinking are replaced by non-stop reactions to ever-present stimuli.
Events. Email. Meetings. Messages. Interruptions.
Reaction over reflection.
Everything becomes a temporary patch on a relentless onslaught of information and noise. At the end of each day you find yourself asking the same question (“Did I get anything done today?”) and getting the same answer (“doesn’t look like it”), followed by another question (“but why am I so worn out?”).
Leaders can survive on noise for years and think they’re doing just fine. But that’s a mirage. There will be a reckoning. The burnout doesn’t come only from the pressure but in never having the space to process it.
I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again. If I was able to go back in time and talk to myself, I’m not sure the old me would have listened. Pride, ego, and perfectionism would have probably gotten in the way. But knowing what I know now, I wouldn’t give up trying to convince myself.
If the noise in your world never seems to stop, what you don’t need is more input. You need space to think, to process, and to hear your own voice again.
When you talk to me, the room stops spinning.
If this reflection was helpful, feel free to forward it to another leader who might appreciate it.
If something in this reflection stirred questions or feels close to where you are right now, you're welcome to book a Leadership Strategy Call - a calm, pressure-free conversation designed to help you gain clarity and a next step.
Dan
Founder, Leader First Coaching