Confessions of a C-Suite Crybaby
I demand you to stop. Please, I’m begging you. What do you want from me!? Stop now and we’ll watch Marley & Me this weekend where you can run free. Promise! My tears ignored my desperate pleas as they continued the path down my cheek. They weaved their way through my make-up, taking my mascara along for the ride. My propensity - and ability - to control every other aspect of my life was completely lost on my H20 friends. “You don’t own us Kerri Pollard!”
This wasn’t the time or place for a crybaby. I was a member of the C-suite and bawling my eyes out in the presence of my peers while sitting in a conference room surrounded by glass, which was positioned perfectly in the epicenter of our offices. “Come one, come all! I invite you to bear witness to a female exec weeping with abandon, proving our point that women really are ‘emotional!’ Check out Kerri the Crybaby before her tears decide to dry.”
No, no one had died. Instead, the executive team was discussing pending layoffs in which the CEO kept reiterating that he didn’t trust any of us to execute them in a professional manner. Having been burned in the past, he feared that he would be the sole company villain during this super shitty exercise. The rest of us merely “messengers,” inferring that we would blame him - and only him - for this dire decision and fail to bear any personal accountability.
That’s it. Crybaby explained but not yet understood.
Since I was the only one crying, I justified my tears with exhaustion excuses. I was also the newest member of the team, making significant personal sacrifices to possess a seat at the table. Losing the trust of the CEO in less than three months scared the shit of me. I felt my “badass” persona melting around me as my peers stared with pity, amusement and disappointment. I felt like a freak. The next day, the CEO apologized for bringing his baggage to the table, recognizing that this was a different team - with more experience than the last - and one that he could trust.
Looking back, shame on me for failing to assess my own set of baggage. Why was I so triggered? I’m a passionate person, believing tears to be therapeutic. But, weeping at work because your CEO lost trust is drama with a capital “D.” It wasn’t the first time nor would it be the last that my waterworks emerged in front of my peers. It was time to understand the core issue of my crying.
Being a female, first-born child of two educators in the 1970’s is the perfect recipe for creating a people pleaser and perfectionist. In school. At home. On the tennis court. Exceeding the expectations of others was an excellent source of self-esteem and I was extremely skilled at doing so. Being raised by parents that have a very high bar where satisfaction is a fleeting moment merely exacerbates this trait. I clocked my parents’ every move and mood so I could mold myself to win their affection. Who do you need me to be today!?
Hello codependency, goodbye Kerri.
According to Psychology Today, the clinical definition of a codependent is as follows: “Codependents (aka, givers) are self-critical and often perfectionistic; fixing or rescuing others makes them feel needed. They focus so much on pleasing others that they neglect their own wants and needs. Givers generally have low self-esteem, find it hard to set boundaries and be assertive, and struggle with asking for help when they need it. ‘Takers’ are often struggling with serious issues, such as emotional immaturity, mental health problems and addiction.”
I know that I’m not the only one in the Codependent Club.
When I first started playing tennis tournaments in middle school, our family would travel for hours through Wisconsin farmland to reach my competitive destination. If I lost in the first round, it was a quick and miserable turnaround. In one such tournament, I came out of the gate crushing the ball and ultimately, my opponent. No longer the underdog, the pressure to win began to build. My body started to stiffen; my right arm curled like that of a T-Rex; and my crushing forehands soon dissipated into weak lobs. My opponent started to crush me. Peering through the fence, my parents sat on their aluminum lawn chairs with arms crossed as if I had just told them that I was pregnant at 12. Feeling every ounce of their disappointment, I descended rapidly into defeat.
In the two-hour drive home, no one spoke. No words of reassurance nor advice. The silent treatment is Kryptonite for codependents. I was physically and mentally alone in the back seat of our 1985 Chrysler LeBaron. Was I playing tennis for them or for me? Did I even like this damn sport? I didn’t know. What I did know is that I failed to meet their expectations and my self-esteem plummeted.
We teach people how to treat us and I was an excellent teacher. Every CEO that I worked for morphed into my parents. I reverted to acting like a child as I sought their constant approval, recognition and crying when I failed to do so. Putting my career first, I possessed no boundaries so I could perform every task to perfection. Fly to New York tomorrow and miss my daughter’s birthday. Absolutely! Assume our European remit with no increase in pay. Okay! Obsess 24/7 about mistakes made or problems brewing and not be present for your family. That’s me!
I was operating in a constant state of anxiety in fear of disappointing others and if unsuccessful, I would be relegated to the backseat…alone. I retired at the early age of 49 because I was exhausted. Being an approval junkie generated much career success but it came at a cost. Me. I’m extremely thankful for the privilege of time to find 12-year-old Kerri, give her a hug and rediscover healthier sources of self-esteem. I’m still a crybaby but my H20 friends have been assigned to global events and of course, dog rescue clips on TikTok. The tennis racquet has been replaced by a pickleball paddle. No history. No baggage. Free of expectation and full of fun. What a concept!
My daughter recently entered corporate America via her college-sponsored co-op and my hope is that she remains her biggest fan. I hope she can trust her own abilities and amazing work ethic. Understand the source of her own triggers and how to effectively manage them in the moment. Celebrate her own accomplishments vs. waiting for recognition from others. Cry when needed and move on. Most importantly, I hope she remembers the quote that I shared with her years ago from Mohadesa Najumi, “the woman who does not require validation from anyone is the most feared individual on the planet.”