We Are Not Damaged Goods

I glanced down at my phone through tear filled eyes. It was work calling, again. “Not f**king now!” I screamed. “Not ever!” and I tossed the phone into the back seat of my car. Corporate was so demanding, like they owned me.

My car automatically picked up the call. “Hello?” the speakers boomed. “We have a problem. We’re going to need you to−”

“Now’s not a good time,” I interrupted, doing my best to regain some semblance of composure. “My wife just passed away. I’m in the car, on my way home from the hospital.” The emotions were still raw.

Silence. I ended the call before things could get any more awkward. It had been like that for as long as I could remember. The calls came at all hours, interrupting family time and pretty much everything. But I was a good corporate soldier, always putting aside whatever to take the call. I was the hero! I always saved the day. Except nobody really noticed, or even cared. It was expected. They only noticed when I didn’t take the call. Then there was fallout. Damage control. Lots of damage control.

The noise from the streets faded away. I no longer saw anything but the road in front of me. As I drove in deafening silence, I could hear the blood pounding in my head. This can’t be happening! I’m only thirty-eight. I have a kid. I’m supposed to be on a plane right now.

Fast forward a couple of weeks. I’m back at work, on the phone with my Executive Director. “So, what’s the plan? You need a nanny or something? I can give you the name of a good service…”

The call droned on like that for several more minutes. I had tuned out almost before answering. The insincerity in the words became palpable. I gritted my teeth to keep from snapping a retort. Clearly, neither one of us wanted to be on this call.

Damaged goods. I heard the echo in my mind. That’s what they thought of me. The term was thrown out in a staff meeting while I was on bereavement. I was just a tool to them, a means to an end game I could only guess at. And now, I was unable to perform that function. I was viewed as ineffective. Something to be tossed out. Replaced with a new and improved version. One that wasn’t quite so broken.

With a crack that was nearly audible, something snapped inside. A barrier holding back a tide, under enormous pressure, finally gave way. A thought that had been coalescing for years solidified. A plan began to take shape. My plan of trying something new.

My mind wandered back to the conversation. “Are you hearing what I’m saying?” the director squawked.

“I’m done,” I interrupted. “This isn’t going to work for me.”

For a moment, there was silence on the other end of the line. Then, a faint “What? What are you saying?”

“We both know the biggest part of my job is helping the team manage issues so they can be effective,” I said. “Many of those issues aren’t technical. There’s personal stuff too.” My voice was shaking. “There’s a lot of personal sh*t that needs to be dealt with.” I snapped, as I gained momentum. I was on a roll now.

Again, silence on the line. I waited, letting the pause become exceedingly uncomfortable. I could feel the tension building. This guy is completely insane. I heard the unspoken words reverberate through my headset.

“I need to deal with my own sh*t right now, not fifty other people’s sh*t,” I said. “I need time to regroup.”

My heart was pounding. I knew this was the beginning of the end. But I didn’t care. As I stumbled out of the mental fog, I saw everything with clarity, as if for the first time. It had all been a lie. It was perpetrated to increase productivity. The dream of climbing the corporate ladder wasn’t real. It was a carrot to make me work more, for less. Less sleep. Less pay. Less time with my family. Less everything. I was a broken tool, my usefulness expended. I was damaged goods.

What snapped inside me was a barrier preventing me from seeing the truth. The cold and callous approach to the whole situation finally began to sink in. I didn’t have the narcissistic−no, psychotic−personality needed to be successful in the corporate world. I could never be conniving enough or self-centered enough to intentionally stab colleagues in the back. I would never be successful in this cutthroat world. I cared too damn much.

I had been on the executive track. I was sent to executive “bootcamp,” complete with acting lessons, to improve my leadership “performance.” But none of that mattered anymore. I was damaged goods.

With my next sentence, I tried something new. It was a bold thought and I knew before I even said it, I would be killing all hope of continuing my career as I knew it. “I need to step back from this role,” I said. “I need something without direct reports.”

“Are you quitting?” came the reply.

“If I have to,” I said. “But, you know. I’m still technical. There’s a lot I can do without managing. I can still be hands-on.”

More silence. “Ok,” the voice hummed in my headset. “If you’re sure, I’ll see what I can do. Can you at least finish out the last few months before Christmas?”

“Sure,” I said, knowing I had already checked out. I had a target on my back. I was damaged goods.

The fear was paralyzing. My hand shook as I hung up the phone, my headset still buzzing with incoherent details I didn’t care to hear. With a click, I set into motion the destruction of everything I had ever known in my adult working life. The last threads of normalcy began to unravel, like a stray piece of yarn in a sweater.

So much for trying something new. My mind raced with a million questions. Were they going to fire me? How would I survive? What would happen to my daughter?

Fast forward a few more weeks. I still had a job, for now. My director offered to find another role. In fact, he already suggested I become the tech lead on a new product launch. He needed someone to fill that role to round out the team. I was like an extra in a movie. I could start as soon as I transitioned my current responsibilities.

Income, check! I thought as I ticked the box in my head. It was like a weight had been lifted. One less thing to worry about.

Over the next few weeks, I continued to shed my emotional baggage. Baggage I didn’t realize I was carrying because of the fear. I no longer had to constantly look over my shoulder or worry about which coworker was gunning for my role and what they were willing to do to get it. And more importantly, I had learned my fears were unfounded. Fear of becoming unemployed. Fear of financial ruin. Fear of ruining my daughter’s already difficult life. Fear of failure. These fears held me back from trying something new. But I was still damage goods. I was no good in the corporate world.

As I started the new role, a single thought dominated. I needed an exit plan. My career was over. They were already talking about travel requirements and I was less than a week into the new job. I didn’t have anyone to watch my daughter. I couldn’t go back. Back to traveling. Back to the calls at all hours. I wasn’t going to let corporate own me. Never again.

It was that moment when all the years of executive grooming kicked in. It didn’t take a super genius to see there were problems on the horizon. The company was hemorrhaging cash, one bad deal after another. The more I watched the financials, the more certain I was that cuts were coming. The current path was unsustainable. And I was damaged goods. I would be the first to go.

I also tried on a new carefree attitude and it served me well those last few months. While others panicked as the stock plummeted, I was planning. I began running financial simulations to see how little income I needed to live comfortably. What bills could be cut? What constituted essential items? How much money did I have squirreled away after almost twenty years in the Fortune 100?

For over a year, while others were paralyzed with fear, I was trying out a new path, a new plan. I continued running numbers. I knew the exact figure needed if buyouts were offered. It wasn’t an emotional experience. It was my last “business deal.” When the offer came, it took only minutes to decide. What did it matter? I was damaged goods.

Fast forward three years. I am the owner of a small and very successful consulting firm. I continue to remember all I have been through. I appreciate what I have. I know what is truly important. My employees have stories too. Problems they need to work through. But their problems don’t make them damaged goods.

We are not tools to be used up and replaced. We are human beings. Our emotions and life experiences define us. Shape us. Make us stronger. Make us more resilient. More capable. They make us better human beings, not damaged goods.