The Hardest Things

We aren't sure of the exact date, but we think we met in 2018 or 2019. Twelve of us were in a week-long cohort to learn more about facilitation tools and processes.

The cohort was a solid group, but a few of us felt a deeper sense of connection. Eight or nine years later, three of us still talk almost daily on a video messaging app called Marco Polo.

I'll call my two friends Amy and Emily. Together, we have experienced a lot of life. We've had a marriage, the birth of two children, health concerns, several in-state and out-of-state moves, launching a book, and multiple job changes. We've celebrated good news, processed difficult decisions, vented about things that frustrated us, and shown up for one another in some genuinely hard seasons.

Through it all, this has become a group I can count on.

Here is what still shocks the three of us: aside from the one time that Emily and I discovered we were both waiting on connecting flights at the same airport, we've never been in the same room since that cohort adjourned. But these two women are a powerful part of my support system.

It's a rare day when one of us doesn't check in, and unlike some friendships that fade over time or distance, ours has only gotten stronger. No topic or need is off limits. I love that we have refused to hold back from sharing the difficult stuff.

A few months ago, all three of us were going through something hard. But in my eyes, Amy has it the hardest.

I logged on one day to share what was happening in my life, and at some point, I said, "Thanks for listening, guys. Amy, I know this isn't as hard as what you're going through, but I appreciate that I can share.”

When Amy logged on next, she said something like, "Oh, Molly, let me be clear. One thing I believe is that our hardest things all weigh the same. What you're dealing with right now is your hardest thing, and it is no more or less heavy than my hardest thing. Our hardest things all weigh the same.”

I fully agreed with what she was saying. I just hadn't heard it phrased that way before. And truthfully, I hadn't always applied it to myself.

Over the last few months, I've thought a lot about what she said. I can't help but wonder how our lives and our leadership would change if we applied that mindset to how we function together.

We are so quick to create hierarchies of hardship. We hear what someone is going through and instinctively compare it to something else. Sometimes we do it to other people, but I think we do it just as often to ourselves.

We think things like, "This shouldn't bother me so much, other people have it way worse, this really isn't that big of a deal, or I should be able to handle this.”

And all of those statements may contain some degree of truth, but if something is hard for you, then it's hard for you.

Of course, that doesn't mean every hardship is objectively equal. Some tragedies and losses alter the course of someone’s life. And some inconveniences will be forgotten by Friday. Amy wasn't asking me to pretend those things were the same, she was reminding me that compassion doesn't require a ranking system.

We don't have to decide whose situation is worse before deciding who deserves care. That is an important reminder for leaders.

When we lead people, we are constantly encountering circumstances that might feel insignificant to us but feel enormously heavy to someone else. A change we see as minor might create tremendous anxiety for someone on our team. Feedback we intended as routine might land on someone already questioning whether they belong. A schedule change, a missed opportunity, a conflict with a colleague, or a difficult season at home might occupy far more emotional space than we can see from the outside.

We can respond to others with a mindset of, “It’s not that bad,” or we can get curious about the weight of what they are going through.

Human-centered leadership invites us to recognize that we don't get to decide how heavy something should feel to someone else. But we have to offer ourselves that same compassion.

People who spend their lives supporting others can become very good at minimizing their own needs. We tell ourselves someone else needs our time. Someone else's problem is more urgent. Someone else's situation is harder. We make room for them. We show up for them. And eventually, we notice there is no space left for us.

A gift we can offer people in our leadership is simply making room for what is hard for them and for ourselves. That's the kind of room I want to create for the people in my life and in my leadership.

Everyone we encounter is carrying something. We may not understand its weight. We may not carry it the same way. We may even think we are carrying something heavier.

But compassion doesn't require us to weigh what someone else is carrying first; it simply invites us to make room for all the hard and heavy things in life.