This week, I’m writing from a place that holds deep memories—visiting my 88-year-old mom in Bettendorf, Iowa, part of the Quad Cities region of Illinois and Iowa where I grew up. Every time I come here, I see more of the patterns from my childhood that shaped much of my adult life—patterns I thought I’d left behind, but that still surface in unexpected ways.
The Roots of Overachievement
I’ve often talked about my drive to overachieve, but I haven’t always shared the deeper reasons behind it. On this trip, I had a moment of clarity about how much of my childhood was spent managing my mom’s anxiety, which in turn became my anxiety. This deep-seated need to manage and control has shaped much of who I am today.
The Weight of Expectations
Growing up, I constantly felt like I wasn’t measuring up to my mom’s expectations. My dad was the epitome of success—class president, homecoming king, high school quarterback—and I was none of those things. Instead, I was a pudgy, sweaty, stressed-out kid, more into in science and Star Wars than sports. Sure, I played baseball and football passably well, and I was likable enough, but I never quite filled the shoes that my mom expected me to fill.
Coping Mechanisms: How I Adapted
To cope, I became really good at other things. I got excellent grades, always made sure to be the teacher’s pet, and figured out how to make authority figures like me by working really hard. This strategy worked well for a while—I excelled academically and professionally by showing up exactly how others wanted me to. But it came at a significant personal cost.
The Unsustainable Pursuit of Perfection
My need to manage my anxiety by being perfect was unsustainable. I had to succeed, but as a child of Midwestern parents, I couldn’t get “too big for my britches.” I had to stand out AND fit in. I needed to be good, but not too good. Successful, but not too successful. It was a psychological nightmare that became increasingly impossible to navigate. The pressure to maintain this delicate balance eventually became too much, turning into panic attacks and a lot of self-medication.
The Turning Point: Realizing the Limits
I had a lot of professional success, and I’m sure others thought I was doing great. But was never truly happy because I was always trying to be what others wanted me to be. If you had asked me at that point what I wanted, I would have had no idea beyond following a path that others had prescribed for me.
I remember driving to work one day, listening to a book on tape (a biography of Harry Truman), and having a profound realization. I was playing an unwinnable game. There would always be someone smarter, harder working, more talented, at whatever I set out to do.
It took me a while to realize what the game actually was. To be wholly myself and to find a place where I could be rewarded for that. I had no idea how to do that—it was the one thing that had never really been allowed in my house. But I was willing to try, and started exploring meditation and other practices as a way to learn. Slowly, I began to see and get comfortable with the real me, rather than the one who was performing for others all the time.
An interesting thing happened when I stopped putting so much pressure on myself. I started enjoying myself. I started connecting with people. I started getting promotions. The more I tried to just be myself, the more success I had. And I found myself wanting to share this with others. By this time I had done years of work on myself, without recognizing that it was actually job training—the job of executive coach.
Breaking Free: A New Approach to Success
When my last job was eliminated in a corporate restructuring in 2016, I decided to go out on my own as a coach. Ironically, the people who looked most like me—corporate types exhausted from showing up as they thought others wanted them to—were completely uninterested in working with me. They just weren’t ready to look there.
But then I coached a founder. And another. And over time I find that there was a very small subset of founders and business owners who understood that when they showed up more authentically, everything changed, both for them and their businesses.
Just as it had for me.
I built a very successful coaching business by knowing both myself and the people who I could help the most. And more and more, just showing up as myself. I understand now that this is all we ever need to do.
Embracing Ease and Balance
Today, I’m more financially successful than ever, working half the hours I used to. I’ve found that the more I step back from work, the more intuitive and effective I become. Life has become an experiment in seeing how little I can work while still achieving more. I’m now coaching incredible founders and companies, and making a significant impact doing so.
Health, Hobbies, and Happiness
I started playing the saxophone, and practice about an hour a day. I’m physically fit, running, lifting weights, and doing yoga regularly. If you had told me a few years ago that I could do all this, I would have guessed I’d have to give up at least half my income. But this balance hasn’t required me to sacrifice anything—instead, it’s created more ease, abundance, and financial security than I ever thought possible. I’m making significantly more than I was at my old corporate job, and having more of an impact than ever.
It’s hard to believe that working less would actually mean MORE money. But over and over again I have seen that this can be true, not only for me but for the people I coach.
Ready for a Change?
If any of this resonates with you, reach out. Let’s explore where you might be getting in your own way and how you can create a life of ease and abundance too. Connect with me on LinkedIn or join my email list. When you’re ready, let’s talk.
And if you’re a founder within 2 to 3 years of an exit, I have a special event for you on September 17. Leave a comment or DM me with “founder” and I will make sure you learn more. We’ll explore, with people who have dozens of exits among them, how to navigate the exit journey while remaining true to yourself along the way.
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