The Power of Connection, Vulnerability and Chasing Discomfort.

An experiment in extreme honest and ownership, "Salt Lick and the Sugar Box"

There are moments in every leader’s journey when hope feels distant—when you are weighed down by frustration, defeat, or even the urge to give up. In those times, we often look to our teams for strength and solace. But what happens when the team itself is fractured, burnt out, or disengaged? What do you do when the very people you rely on are struggling too? Throughout my career, I have seen this crossroads again and again—not just in my own experience, but in teams everywhere. The pivotal moment is not usually about a grand strategy or a new initiative. It is about a simple, difficult choice: Do I turn toward discomfort, or do I retreat into my own narrative and excuses? Too often, teams give up just before the breakthrough. They endure the hard work and heartbreak but walk away before growth has a chance to take root. I do not blame anyone for this. Social media is full of catchy sound bites—especially on LinkedIn—telling us to leave if we are not respected, to walk away at the first sign of discomfort, to only stay where we’re valued. But is that really what success looks like? If we run at the first disagreement, or seek comfort as the only sign of a healthy workplace or relationship, how will we ever accomplish anything meaningful? Growth doesn’t happen in the safety of conformity or in the false promise that avoiding discomfort is the same as protecting our mental health. True impact is forged in the fires of adversity.

The best teams aren’t those that avoid conflict or protect everyone’s feelings at all costs. They aren’t teams where everyone agrees or thinks alike. The defining trait of truly great teams is resilience—the willingness to keep trying, to stay engaged, and to work through the hard stuff together. At our recent team retreat, we put this into practice. We stood together, not at a high point, but in the middle of a downturn—the kind every high-performing team faces. With courage (and no small amount of fear), we invited each other to speak openly about specific frustrations and some of our weakest moments, our mistakes, and our frustrations. We asked for honesty, not to shame, blame, or even to defend and respond, just to listen. To bring those shadows into the transforming power of light. Some of the words that I proudly wore on my chest—literally, criticisms written by my team—included “know it all,” “moody,” “unclear communicator,” “asshole,” “selfish,” “controlling,” and about forty more. Resentment grows in darkness, and sometimes the most truthful things hurt us the most. But when we drag them into the open, they lose their power—and in their place, we find the seeds of growth and deeper connection. But on the back of my shirt, my team also showed me what it means to “have my back.” Because true support isn’t just about what we say to someone’s face, it’s about how we speak of them when they walk away. The back of my shirt read “intelligent,” “creative,” “world’s biggest heart,” “determined,” “fair,” “giving,” “forgiving,” “empathetic.”

At first glance, these might seem like contradictions. But in reality, our greatest strengths are often the roots of our greatest weaknesses—and vice versa. This paradox is not hypocrisy; it’s the full, honest reflection of who we are as people and as leaders. My team taught me that lesson firsthand. By giving them permission to voice their criticisms directly to me and to each other, I was given a chance to grow as a leader. For that, I am deeply grateful.

Is your team in a funk? Is there a shadow hanging over your group, fed by unspoken frustrations or resentments? Are there criticisms that need to be aired for the sake of your mission? Those feelings are not just problems—they’re opportunities. I challenge you to lean in. Pursue the discomfort. Address it with intention. Yes, it hurts. It stings. It bruises. But like a phoenix rising from the ashes—or a forest that needs fire to renew—sometimes we have to let things burn so that something stronger can grow in its place. Don’t be afraid of the fire. It’s there to help you become something better.