Face Down On The Floor

There I was–face down on the floor, dripping in sweat, seeing stars, with every cell in my body trying to stop me from completely passing out.

Let’s rewind. I should explain how I ended up on the floor that day.

First, you should know that my body does not handle medical procedures well. Shots, blood work, and anything ENT-related. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve had to say, “I’m about to pass out.” And every time, it feels like my body betrays me over something that should be routine.

If I could change one thing about myself, this might be it. Sure, I’d love to wake up with perfect vision after wearing glasses since the fifth grade. I wouldn’t mind being an inch taller, mostly because I often have to get dress pants hemmed an inch! But more than anything, I wish I had a body that didn’t give up on me in the Doctor’s office.

Over the last year, I’ve been battling a random post-nasal drip issue. My primary care doctor tried a few remedies. Nothing helped. Eventually, I convinced myself this was just my new normal. But after my last work trip, things had escalated. I came home with clogged ears, a raw throat, and congested lungs. I knew it wasn’t going away, and it was time to get help.

In stressful situations, I am a fan of just doing the next right thing. I had done some research and discovered an ENT Walk-in Clinic in St. Louis that is a part of a larger medical practice. It looked like a smart first step into their system of Doctors.

I scheduled an appointment online and made my way across town. When I walked in, I felt like I had made a good decision. The waiting room was filled with natural light, it was clean, and the staff was very professional. They welcomed me, and they greeted the regulars by name.

After just a few minutes, a nurse called me back. She was thorough and kind, asking questions not just about my symptoms but about my life. She even commented on how impressive it was that I could stand on a stage and speak to people. I’ve never experienced such a thorough intake process.

Then the Doctor came in, and she was equally as wonderful. She asked clarifying questions and wanted to hear more from me. This reinforced my belief that I was in good hands. She examined my ears, throat, and nose, and then said she wanted to insert a camera in my nose to get a better look.

And that was it.

Next thing I knew, I was leaning over with my elbows on my knees. I told her I was feeling lightheaded, and then I said, “I need to get my head down,” and in that moment, I turned into a rag doll and flopped over in the chair. That lasted about 3 seconds before I said, “I need to get on the floor,” and I didn’t wait for permission. Within seconds, I was face down on the floor. (It’s ok, you can laugh at this mental picture!)

It wasn’t graceful, but I was safe. If I was going to pass out, at least I wasn’t going to fall off a chair.

The Doctor calmly said she’d be right back with water, cold rags, and the nurse to take my vitals. Meanwhile, there I was on the floor, embarrassed, and dripping in sweat.

I heard the door open, and I was worried the nurse would be concerned about me, so I said, “I’m ok, I just needed to get my head down. This happens sometimes.”

She looked at me and calmly said, “You are gray. We need to get you in the chair and take your vitals.”

With their help, I made my way to the chair that was now fully reclined, and my vitals explained the gray.

As my color and blood pressure returned to normal, I looked at the nurse and said, “Thank you for being so kind. I hate when this happens.”

She saw that I was perking up and said, “It happens way more often than you would think. The vagus nerve is real.”

I then looked at the Doctor who had been at my side the entire time and said, “Thank you for your patience. This is so embarrassing.”

The doctor turned her head slightly and quietly said, “I know … exactly … how you feel.”

My eyes widened.

She continued, “I know that feel of just trying not to pass all the way out.” I was shocked that she knew how I felt.

And in that moment, I realized, I don’t always say that out loud. After keynotes and workshops, leaders often confide in me, saying, “I don’t feel like I’m doing enough.” “I’m afraid of making a mistake that hurts people.” “I feel like I’m still learning.” “I’m not sure I belong in this role.”

And my heart always replies, “Me too. I know exactly how you feel.” But rarely have those words left my mouth. I am realizing people don’t just need encouragement. They need to know they’re not alone.

When we say, “me too,” we create space for connection. We remind people that doubt and struggle aren’t signs of failure, they’re signs of being human.

Saying “me too” takes its own kind of courage. It risks being seen. It risks people realizing you don’t have it all figured out. And yet, that’s what leadership requires.

My personal definition of courage is simple: “Courage is trusting yourself enough to try.” To try again after you’ve fallen. To speak up when it would be easier to stay quiet. To say “me too” when silence would feel safer.

Every day, in life and in leadership, we’re given opportunities to risk embarrassment, to risk failure, to risk falling flat on the floor and still trust ourselves enough to try again.

In a few weeks, I’ll return to the same Doctor’s office for a series of tests. Will I end up on the floor again? I hope not. But for now, I am making the decision to trust myself enough to try.

And my hope is that you, too, will risk failure, whisper “me too,” and trust yourself enough to try again tomorrow.

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