Just Keep Swimming

I remember it clearly. I had stepped into a new leadership position, new role, new team, new environment. The kind of transition that carries equal parts excitement and quiet terror. And within the first three months, before I had even found my footing, the agency and department I had moved into began undergoing significant shifts.

Not minor adjustments. Significant ones.

So there I was, still learning the role, still learning the culture, still learning the the dynamics and the unspoken rhythms of a new place, while simultaneously navigating change that would have been challenging for any seasoned leader.

The overwhelm was real. Unfortunately, so was the self-doubt.

I began questioning things I had never questioned about myself before. My timing. My readiness. Whether I had made the right decision. Whether I was actually equipped for what I had walked into. The inner critic that most leaders carry quietly had found its moment, and it was not quiet anymore.

So, I leaned on my support system. I did some reflecting. And eventually, after sitting with the feeling long enough to actually name it, I found the image that captured exactly what I was experiencing.

I felt like I was in a rowboat, looking forward, about to row directly into a tsunami.

I felt small. Overwhelmed. Outmatched.  Moving toward something enormous with tools that felt completely inadequate for the scale of what was coming.

There is something powerful about finding the right metaphor for a hard feeling. It doesn't fix anything immediately, but it makes the feeling real and visible in a way that vague overwhelm never quite does. 

You can look at it. You can work with it. You can ask better questions of it.  And so I asked myself the question that changed everything, gently, almost playfully, but meaning every word: "Okay, Tessa. That's a lot. But can you swim?"

I sat with that for a moment.  Yes. I could swim. Actually, I was quite good at "swimming".  

I wasn't going to outrow the tsunami. I wasn't going to prevent it or redirect it or make it smaller than it was. But if the metaphorical rowboat went under or tossed me overboard, I could metaphorically "swim". 

• I had strong leadership, emotional intelligence and resilience skills. 

• I had years of experience combined with an eagerness to learn. 

• I had people surrounding me who were invested in our collective "wins". 

• I had survived hard things before and found my way through them.

The tsunami felt real. And, I suddenly knew it was going to be okay.

Something shifted after that reflection. The next morning, when I woke up, instead of the familiar weight of self-doubt settling in before my feet hit the floor, I heard something different.

My own voice. Clear and certain.  “Let's do this! You wanted this. You asked for this. You can DO this!”

Not a performance. Not toxic positivity.  Not a pep talk I was giving myself to push through something I dreaded. A genuine, grounded readiness. The kind that doesn't come from the absence of challenge, but from the presence of clarity about who you are inside of it.

I hadn't solved anything overnight. The role was still new. The shifts were still happening. The tsunami hadn't changed course.

But I had.

That experience gave me something I carry into every leadership conversation I have now.  

Overwhelm is not a signal that you are in the wrong place. It is often a signal that you are in exactly the right one, stretched beyond your comfort zone, growing in ways that only hard seasons can produce. 

Self-doubt is not evidence of inadequacy. It is frequently evidence of self-awareness. Leaders who never doubt themselves are often the ones who should.  

And the inner critic that shows up loudest in the hardest moments? It is NOT the truth about you. It is fear, dressed up in your own voice, trying to "protect you from risk" by convincing you that you aren't enough for it.

You are allowed to name the tsunami. You are allowed to feel small in the rowboat.  And you are allowed, after you've sat with it honestly, to remember that you CAN "swim".

For the Leader Who Is in the Rowboat Right Now

If you are reading this in the middle of a hard season, new role, significant change, unexpected challenge, or simply the accumulated weight of a leadership load that has gotten heavier than you anticipated, this is for you.

• You don't have to have it all figured out.

• You don't have to feel ready.

• You don't have to pretend the tsunami doesn’t feel big, scary, and real.

But before you decide what it means about you... sit with it. Find your support. Do your reflecting. Ask the honest questions.

And then ask the most important one.

Can you "swim"? (Meaning, have you moved through hard things before and come out on the other side stronger?)

Because if the answer is yes, and it almost certainly is, then the rest is just the work. 

Hard, meaningful, growth-producing work that you are more equipped for than the inner critic is willing to admit.

Reflection Questions

• When overwhelm arrives, do I sit with it long enough to name it, or do I push through it without examining it?

• Who is in my support system for the hard leadership seasons, and am I actually leaning on them?

• What is the inner critic saying to me right now, and is it telling me the truth?

• If I stripped away the self-doubt, what do I actually know about my own capability and resilience?

The rowboat felt small. The tsunami felt enormous. And the morning on the other side of that reflection felt like a beginning.

Let's do this isn't the absence of fear. It's what happens when you decide that who you are is bigger than what you're facing.

You matter. Especially when you get back into the "rowboat" the morning after the hardest night.