It is an unmitigated wonder that my daughter still tells me anything.

Because as much as I do my best to simply listen, to simply be, to offer her my presence and my unconditional love, I fall short. Often. And instead, I counsel. I point out the opportunities, the possibilities, the other ways, the other paths. It has got to be annoying as all hell for the poor child.

But yet, there it is:

“What are you learning?” 

Can’t stop. Won’t stop. Because it’s a good question. Maybe the BEST question.

Here’s what we know: comparison is a teacher. A flashing red beacon that clearly and unapologetically shows us what we want as embodied by those that we compare up to and clearly shows us what we don't want as embodied by those we compare down to.

I speak and write often and at great length about how the Imposter Complex is a reliable teacher about what matters to us.

But guess what else is a teacher?

E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G

Procrastination
Discomfort
Envy
Fear
Anger
Lethargy
Worry
Perfectionism

But also:

Joy
Excitement
Ease
Pleasure
Delight
Flow
Satisfaction
And so worth repeating: joy.

Alllllllllllllll of it.

---

So the real question is:

What are you learning?

And then:

What are you going to do about it?

A couple of ideas.

Choose differently.
Change course.
Do something.
Do better.
Say no.
Say yes.
Show up.
Stand up.
Speak up.
SHINE UP.
Vote. TODAY.

Easier said than done? Could be.  But the alternative is really not acceptable, is it?

Agreed.

---

 Check out my free training on the 5 Shifts Our Clients Use to Overcome the Imposter Complex and Grow their Income and their Impact

Where I pull back the curtain on five shifts to start raising voices, rates, and hands all while being the kind, congruent, and authentic leader I know you to be.

Last week I had the sublime pleasure and honour of speaking at a conference hosting 11,000 women engineers (with a smattering of spectacular dudes).

I spoke at three separate sessions. One for collegiates, one for senior leaders, and one for everyone. Each presentation was about the Imposter Complex. How it shows up in leadership, in transitions, and, frankly, in any place where we are required to grow, expand, and evolve.

If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it ten times: I’m like the father in My Big Fat Greek Wedding who can tie every English word back to Greek origins (including “kimono”).

I do this with the Imposter Complex - behavioural traits like people-pleasing, leaky boundaries, procrastination, perfectionism, comparison, and diminishment - I clearly and unwaveringly loop them back to the Imposter Complex like it’s my job.

In each talk, I shared the twelve lies that the Imposter Complex really, really wants us to buy into. Including “You can’t trust the praise of others.” (Which can also sound like “they’re just being nice.”)

I have a whole spiel on this. About how it’s really up for us people-pleasers. How we believe that we have charmed every poor sod into thinking that we are smarter, more competent, or more capable than we actually are.

And how when we believe this lie, our pesky integrity has to set the record straight by insisting on clearing the air. Pointing out all the flaws in our copy, sloppiness of our work, gaps in our logic, missed opportunities with our clients. Call ourselves out for the Imposters that we are.

I also shared a little snippet of an article that I had read on my flight written by a software developer about her experience with the Imposter Complex. As a transgender woman, she has legitimate concerns for her safety. Her teammates know this and keep a close eye on her when they leave the lab.

She writes:

I do not exaggerate when I say, "I trust them with my life." Which sets up a little bit of cognitive dissonance. I trust these eight people with my life, yet I do not trust them to tell me when I've done a good job? How is that possible?

RIGHT? I know.

After each and every talk I delivered, there was lineup of people asking me about this specific lie. How to move past the belief that *everyone* is just being nice and then actually believe their compliments about the work and their capabilities.

You struggle with this too a little, huh?

Okay.

I’ll tell you what I told them.

The Imposter Complex shows up with no small amount of arrogance. Making the assumption that everyone is just being nice is as impossible as it is dismissive of their intelligence and free will.

Imagine lining up every last person who has ever lifted you, advocated on your behalf, complimented your work, allowed you past the velvet rope of academia, gave you a great mark, review, reference, testimonial, tweet, bit of kindness.

Go ahead. Line ‘em up against that wall over there. Ran out of wall? Imagine a bigger wall. (Make it ‘uge)

Got them all there? See them looking at you with the kindness and admiration and respect that they feel for you?

See that?

Now. Deep breath.

What if you just believed them?

Your clients have done their due diligence. Your references have checked out. You passed the test.

And?

You’re simply just not that good at fooling anyone.

Try this instead:

Dare to believe someone when they tell you how remarkable you truly are.

I dare you. And THEN say the two words feared most by the Imposter Complex: THANK YOU.

---

Click here for my free training:

Five ICONIC shifts leaders use to overcome Imposter Complex.

We were 45 minutes into our weekly video meeting when he started to transition from niggly to irate. H-Man, the three-month-old starburst of a baby. My assistant’s newborn.

Let’s pause here, I suggested.

She was grateful, but I could sense her internal struggle. She knew she could push through. She wanted to keep our meeting on track. She was driven to honour her work.
AND she wanted to soothe her babe who had gone from sleeping, to chatting with me, to play time, and was now as done as any baby was ever done with waiting.

Let’s pause here, I insisted. No longer a suggestion, but rather a final decision.

We weren’t putting out fires. We weren’t saving lives. We weren’t on the precipice of cracking the code that would change everything.

No. In fact, we were talking about getting our team on board with creating new accounting systems for my business. Which is ironic. (You’ll see why in a moment.)

So there are about 100 different directions I could take this. About how we’re trying to build a strong team where work and life balance is an actual thing. About the shame I feel in how late I was to recognize that we ought to pause. About how me even making the recommendation could be construed as patronizing, even as it was intended to be compassionate.

But I want to talk about the feeling that I could see that she was experiencing in that moment. Because it’s a feeling I know too well.

If I would just push through, then... I would feel good about that. But not THAT.

It’s a dance that plays out so very frequently with all of us.

I am exhausted, but I think I ought to push through. Because:
People are expecting...
I am expecting...
It will mean...

And in each of these narratives lies a story. Could be a true story. Could be fantasy. But I wonder. If you are exhausted and pushing through is an option rather than a necessity, isn’t it enough to recognize that as such (as in, you are CAPABLE of pushing through, but at a cost) and choosing something else instead? Something like kindness? Something like rest?

Check your narrative.

Try this out instead: Yes, I CAN do this. But that doesn’t mean I have any business doing it.

There are parts of my business that confound me. It is hard to admit. But there it is. I am baffled by projections and taxation tribulations. Largely because I have kept my head in the sand while I’ve contracted professionals who KNOW these things to HANDLE these things.

But it doesn’t feel good. It doesn’t feel whole. It doesn’t feel true. I love my business and want to know it from the inside out. So the fact that my assistant and I were talking about me off-loading a new accounting system to my team makes me chuckle at myself. That Buddha Babe H didn’t just have a message for his Mama. He had one for me too: It’s your turn to dig deeper here, Tanya. Do what you say you want to do. Be the kind of business owner you say you want to be. Figure this out. For yourself.

Just because I can get the help, doesn’t mean I should.

On the other side of me figuring it out is a sense of deep knowing I’ve been seeking for the decade I’ve been running this business. That’s what I want. That’s what I need. That’s what I should do. And can.

Just because you CAN power through, doesn’t mean you should.
Just because you CAN do that job, doesn’t mean you should.

AND

Just because you can pass off that task, doesn’t mean you should. 
Just because you can drink that extra glass of wine, doesn’t mean you should.

What serves what you say you want? What serves the greatest good? What will grow you the most? What edge needs to be explored? What honours your vision?

And again: who do you want to be on the other side of that decision?

Discernment is the key.

---

 Check out my free training on the 5 Shifts Our Clients Use to Overcome the Imposter Complex and Grow their Income and their Impact

Where I pull back the curtain on five shifts to start raising voices, rates, and hands all while being the kind, congruent, and authentic leader I know you to be.

I have so much to say that it often overwhelms me. And so I say nothing. Or I don’t know what to say, so I say too much.

Feel me?

But three things have happened over the past week that have lead me to this post.

1. Our daughter came home flushed with excitement by the challenge of writing the classic six-word story assignment derived from Hemingway’s "For sale: baby shoes, never worn."

2. I went out West and did three speaking events in as many days, reminding me about the power of presence and of saying less.

3.  It seems like the world is ripping apart at the seams, reminding me of all that DOES need to be said.

Feel me?

---

So here is my newest cheat sheet on when to say less. And when to say more.

Eight times it's better to say less:

1.  Parenting. Listen more. So, so, so much more.

2.  Coaching. My job as a coach is not to advise. It’s to ask questions that invite you to find the keys to your massive capacity yourself. My job is to make my job obsolete. 

3.  Sitting with someone in their grief. While the silence can feel oppressive and it’s clear that you mean well, it is untrue when say that you know “just how they feel." No one knows what agony lives inside that grief. Say less, listen more. Giving them a place and space to be with what is here without trying to transmute or fix anything is about as loving as it gets.

4.  Writing. Kelly Diels told me this long ago: “Write like a lover, edit like an ex." And while you’re editing, take out anything that waters down your meaning, your message, your power. Laura Belgray has a super useful resource on writing "non-sucky" copy that is super clear and concise and engaging. Remove all qualifiers that are cliché, redundant, ambiguous, pretentious or passive (AKA, cut the crap). And my pal Ben Borowski (a SIYSR retreat alum, BTW) wrote this fabulous piece on how words like obviously and simply are loaded with judgment and are super triggering. Just don’t.

5.  Offering advice. Before you offer someone advice, ask yourself first: “Is this piece of advice for them, or is it for me?” Is it true THEY need to have a hard conversation with their spouse, or is that for you? Wisdom we wish to impart to others is often a reminder our soul wants us to recollect. That’s what my #CueCards are all about. Trust me on that one.

6.  Apologizing. Don't justify, rationalize, or make excuses. Nobody's got time for that. And roads need to get mended. It’s simple: Own up to what you did with specificity. Accept responsibility. Commit to not doing it again. And – here’s the really important part - don’t do it again.

And while we’re talking about apologizing, let’s take saying less one step further. Never EVER apologize for who you are. Just don’t. (And for some added inspiration, conjure this remarkable rabble-rouser.)

8. Speaking.I revisited my friend Julie's counsel every time I took the front of the room last week: "Trust the intelligence in the room." No matter how learned my teachings may be, nor how useful my processes are, nor even how impactful my words may well be, the REAL intelligence lives in the room. My job as speaker, teacher, facilitator, and leader is to feel for it. Not to talk over it, but to make space for it. Trust it. That’s where the real resonance is at.

---

And two places you can afford to say more:

1.    Injustice. Think there are no solutions for the shootings that we are seeing over and over, so often that we are getting whiplash from shaking our heads? Here are 25. And many, if not all, have everything to do with us saying more. Intelligently. Head-shaking isn’t enough. “Our silence is not revolutionary” says Janelle Hanchett. Our silence is not benign. Speak up, speak out and risk the vulnerability hangover. You will survive it.

2.  "I love you." Life is short, friends. Be specific. Let's try this instead: 

“I love you because you want so much for me.”
“I love you because your empathy is everything right with the world.”
“I love you because your laughter lifts everyone up.”
“I love you because your soul work inspires my soul work.”
“I love you because you are truth and integrity and bedrock incarnate.”

I repeat: Life is short. Make every word count for something. Something like everything.

Feel me?

---

 Check out my free training on the 5 Shifts Our Clients Use to Overcome the Imposter Complex and Grow their Income and their Impact

Where I pull back the curtain on five shifts to start raising voices, rates, and hands all while being the kind, congruent, and authentic leader I know you to be.

No dress rehearsal, this is our life. - Gord Downie (Ahead By A Century)

Canada is dead smack in the middle of a multiple-day hangover.

You see, on Saturday night, time stood still for our nation as we sang together and cried together as we watched the Tragically Hip’s final concert, streamed live from their hometown of Kingston, Ontario. Frontman Gord Downie was diagnosed in May with glioblastoma, an incurable brain cancer.

We were gutted when we heard the news. Gutted then stunned when he responded to the diagnosis with the courageous decision “to take his group on one last tour”, as Eddie Veder said in his tribute to the band on Saturday night in Chicago, inviting the crowd at his concert to send up energy and dedicating “Light Years” to Gord. A song, of course, about the death of someone close.

"Your lights reflected now, reflected from afar," he sang. "We were but stones. Your light made us stars."

From backyards and docks and, we tweeted #CourageForGord, shared our favourite Hip songs and memories and marveled at just how good he looked, in his shimmery metallic suits, feather boas and preposterously fantastic tall hats, our beloved unofficial poet laureate with his very own stage presence and that soul of a troubadour.

We reveled in the depth and breadth of the canon of songs he’s written, dotted with his brand of social and environmental activism, listening for references to uncertainty and endings.

We held our breath and gripped hands when he paused to dab his eyes with his handkerchief, then found his way to another rousing hit. We looked knowingly at each other as he looked at his imaginary watch, reminded as ever just how fleeting this time really is.

We sent him our silent prayers, that he know, really know the impact he’s had on us, the way his words helped form our identity. Our nation’s. Our own.

I came across this quote in an exquisite and well-circulated article about the collective grief around Prince's death earlier this year.

“[There] are individuals who managed to figure out the unique gift that the universe gave them when they incarnated, and they put that in the service of their goals…

And when we see these people, we invariably call them larger than life. Life is large, but most of us don’t take up nearly the space the universe intended for us. We take up this wee space ‘round our toes, which is why when you see somebody in the full flow of their humanity, it’s remarkable. They’re at least a foot bigger in every direction than normal human beings, and they shine, they gleam, they glow. It’s like they swallowed the moon.”

Yes. It IS like that. It most certainly is.

We didn’t get that chance when our Prince and Bowie left us. Or Garcia. Or Cobain.

We didn’t get the chance to thank them for being models of possibility before they left us. For embodying what it looks like to swallow the moon. For their art.

We didn’t get the chance to thank them for the way they shaped who we are and how we see ourselves.

Like millions of other Canadians, we gathered in a friend's backyard, turning outdoor spaces into private concert venues. (Top image, Gord Downie giving it his all. Bottom left, my daughter is transfixed. Bottom right, a Canadiana moment: a canoe filled with cheer.)

Gord Downie and the Tragically Hip gave us that chance. Our brilliant, extraordinary, glitterstar of a man, with the shit-eating mischievous grin of a small town rascal and the eyes of an ancient sage, who sang and danced and pantomimed his way through pain and emotions few of us could even begin to fathom. For him. For us.

Our Gord.

So today and for the coming days, forgive us if we don't get the budget reports in on time. Or if we don't return your call straight away. Or we take an extra long lunch. I think you’ll find us hydrating. Reflecting. Deep in awe. In sorrow. In wonder. In gratitude.

And I can only hope, with an eye out for the unique gift that the universe gave US when we incarnated, so we put that in the service of our goals.

No dress rehearsal, my friends. This IS our life.

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 Check out my free training on the 5 Shifts Our Clients Use to Overcome the Imposter Complex and Grow their Income and their Impact

Where I pull back the curtain on five shifts to start raising voices, rates, and hands all while being the kind, congruent, and authentic leader I know you to be.