What Audiences Ask After I Share My Story
After every talk I give about resilience and adversity, there’s a Q&A. And after the Q&A, there’s the real Q&A. The one that happens in the hallway, at the signing table, in quiet conversations as the room empties. Those questions are different from the ones people ask with a microphone in their hand.
I’ve spoken to corporate audiences, associations, nonprofits, and leadership groups across the country. The topics vary, but the questions converge on the same themes. People want to know how to handle what they’re carrying. They want permission to be honest. And they want to know if what they’re experiencing is normal.
Here are the questions I get asked most often, and the honest answers I’ve developed over years of these conversations.
“How Did You Know You Were Ready to Talk About It?”
This is the most common question, and the honest answer is: I didn’t. There wasn’t a moment of readiness. There was a moment of exhaustion with the alternative. After 36 years of silence about my mother’s suicide, I was tired of carrying it. Tired of the energy it took to maintain the performance. Tired of relationships that could only go so deep because I’d built a wall around the biggest fact of my life.
Readiness isn’t a feeling. It’s a decision. You decide that the cost of silence has become higher than the cost of honesty. That’s different for everyone, and there’s no timeline that applies universally.
“Do You Ever Regret Being So Open?”
No. But I understand why people ask this. When you share something personal publicly, you lose control of the narrative. People interpret your story through their own lens. Some will misunderstand. Some will judge. A few will try to use it against you.
What I’ve found is that the people who respond negatively to your honesty were never going to be your allies anyway. The people who respond positively become deeper connections, better colleagues, and stronger supporters than you would have had if you’d stayed behind the wall.
“I’m Going Through Something Hard Right Now. What Should I Do?”
This question usually comes from someone in the hallway, spoken quietly, often with eyes that are already glassy. My answer is always the same three things:
First, get professional help. A therapist, a counselor, a support group. Whatever form works for you. This is non-negotiable. You wouldn’t set a broken bone yourself.
Second, tell one person you trust. Not everyone. Not publicly. Just one person who can know what you’re carrying so you’re not carrying it alone.
Third, lower your expectations for yourself temporarily. You’re going through something. You don’t need to be at 100%. Give yourself permission to be at 70% for a while. Your team will survive. Your career will survive. You need to survive first.
“How Do You Balance Vulnerability and Authority?”
This question comes almost exclusively from people in senior leadership roles. They understand the value of being open, but they’re worried about losing credibility or making their teams anxious.
My answer: vulnerability and authority aren’t opposites. They’re complementary. The leader who can say “I’ve been through hard things and here’s what I learned” is more authoritative than the leader who pretends nothing has ever gone wrong. People don’t follow perfect leaders. They follow real ones.
The key is calibration. You don’t share everything with everyone. You share what’s relevant, what serves the moment, and what helps the people in front of you. You don’t use a team meeting as a therapy session. But you don’t pretend to be a robot either.
“What Do You Say to People Who Think Resilience Talks Are Just Motivational Fluff?”
I agree with them, partially. Most resilience content IS motivational fluff. It’s vague. It’s generic. It tells you to “embrace the struggle” without telling you what that actually means when you’re staring at a P&L that says your business is dying.
What I try to do is different. I don’t sell resilience as a mindset hack. I share specific experiences with specific consequences and specific lessons. When I talk about losing my business, I include the financial details. When I talk about my mother’s death, I include the decades of silence and the therapy that finally broke through. Details create credibility. Generalities create eye rolls.
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