I Tried to Do It All. I Couldn’t. Here’s What’s Next.

Let’s start with a confession: I love a good analogy. I’ve written about leadership through the lens of parenting, nachos, and one time I even made a whole point about my mom’s old truck and how it shaped my career. I’ve used metaphors to make big ideas feel personal, digestible, maybe even profound. 

But lately, I’ve lost patience for the cute stuff. 

I can’t read one more LinkedIn try-hard story. 

I just can’t. Also- please stop writing them. 

In April, I stepped back from my thriving coaching practice and into the day to day fire of executive leadership. I made a pretty big splash about going back into the arena. I took a visible role leading a growing company. I was ready to practice what I’d preached as a coach. 

And you know what happened?

The analogies fell flat.

They didn’t fix broken systems.They didn’t resolve competing priorities.They didn’t motivate tired people through hard changes.

And they sure as hell didn’t soften the landing when the whole thing didn’t work out.

Yep. I’ve left the arena, wondering if my scars disqualify me or make me more useful as a coach.

I hear the voice that whispers, If you were really good, you wouldn’t have flamed out like that. So no, I’m not going to write a post about how my dog’s underbite taught me resilience. But legit, I did see that someone else did indeed write that post today. 

So why did it all fail?

It wasn’t an “I have no idea what I’m doing” kind of failure. And no, I didn't get fired. It was the kind of failure that snuck in through my calendar and cortisol levels. As I stretched myself into the spaces the organization needed me I reached my own limits for time, mental capacity and emotional resilience. The stress eroded my clarity, stamina, and confidence one meeting at a time. This is the kind of failure that’s hard to talk about when you’ve spent years helping other people lead well.

I didn’t walk away because the goals were not achievable. I walked away because I couldn’t be everything. I was not the right person for the demands of this particular role. Honestly, I underestimated the true weight of executive leadership. 

I'd been there before. I succeeded before. But that was then and this is now. My life looks different now. 

It was kind of like how, when women give birth, they tell you it’s awful. Then a few years later, they’ve forgotten just how awful, and they do it again. It was kind of like that. 

I wanted to be in the action for many reasons. Who wouldn't want to take a coaching career to the perceived next level, get a big verified win under your belt and make some decent money while at it?? 

But I forgot (or chose to ignore) just how much of me that really takes.

I was not able to be a parent to four kids, lead at the highest level in a very challenging role and still be a version of myself that I liked. 

So can I even coach now that I have this failure under my belt?

Yes. Absolutely yes. I needed that experience in order to:

1. Realign my coaching tools for the real world. No more analogies and gratuitous book references.

2. Embrace my strengths (and capacity) as a coach first. It’s not true that those who can, do, and those who can’t, teach. Teaching is a skill in its own right.

Coaching isn’t about being able to do everything your clients are doing. It’s not about who has the most frameworks or who’s read the most Brené Brown. It’s about being able to sit with someone in their messy stuff and not look away. 

As a coach, I am there for people, reminding them how to use the right tools when it’s so very hard.

I conflated being a great executive with being a great coach. They aren’t the same thing. 

Being in the arena doesn’t mean being in every arena. I know, now more than ever, that coaching truly is a gift.

Here I am now, no deep insights or pretend wisdom. 

I am just a woman with a calendar that fits and a gift for helping people do good work when it’s really hard.

~E

 PS. It took me about 4 weeks to write this article. I thought I owed the world an explanation. Then I thought, screw that, why do I need to tell anyone anything? Then I thought I'd somehow play on the Astronomer scandal and write a witty and profound piece on visibility. You can see this was turning into a thing way bigger than it needed to be. This article, written by me (not AI) feels like a pretty good way to get back into the (right) arena. 

by Elizabeth Bauer