Shackled by fear

When we conceptualized The Damaged Leader, the plan was for my story to start from the beginning - a leadership journey of transformation.  I was once referred to as the Tin Man, a heartless machine devoid of empathy.  I navigated life lessons, grew through experiences, and became the leader I am today.  A leader who continues to show up, who keeps evolving. This was the story I planned to share.

But we all know the saying about when you make a plan… 

Now with a recent, significant change in my career, and in keeping with my commitment to truth and transparency, this story doesn't start in the past anymore.  It now starts in the present. The deepest crack in my leadership armor has been formed, the wound torn into my core. The heart that many once doubted I had is the very thing that broke.  

As this new chapter unfolds, I'll continue to reflect, to grow, and to show up - both here and in the journey ahead. 

Shackled by Fear

"Fear"

"How long are we going to use fear as the excuse?"

"But it might not work." 

"Won't know unless you start."

"But once I start, I could fail."

"So not fear, failure. Are we going to be a fearful failure?"

My inner voice is a sarcastic b***h. Hurtful, sharp-tongued, relentless.

How do you summon the faith to move a mountain when the loudest voice of doubt lives within your own mind? It's easy to ignore the doubts of others, but yourself?  Not so much. That voice is always constant, always whispering, always doubting. How do you push past the fear of failure long enough to chase a dream, a goal, or a change? I'm still trying to figure this out. 

I wish I had started sooner. Before I was laid off two weeks ago. Before I was forced into this crossroads. I lost a job I once loved, or at least one I liked. Once, it felt fulfilling. But over time, love eroded into obligation.  The obligation eroded into something else entirely. If I’m honest, I felt trapped. Trapped by fear that I wouldn’t find success elsewhere. Trapped by the need for approval, by the achievement of my title, by the weight of past accomplishments. Trapped by the expected path I should take, by the embarrassment if I walked away, by my reputation. Trapped by the years of work and dedication I poured into my career. Trapped by the comfort of a paycheck.

These are truths I couldn’t admit two weeks ago.

A few months back I was watching a show where the character sat in shackles and an orange jumpsuit. I don’t remember the plot, the dialogue, or even how long the scene lasted. I remember watching his hands. Strapped to the table by cold metal bracelets, his face beaten and bloody after to many rounds in a one-sided fight. Could he break free? Could he apply enough pressure to cause the shackles to crack, or bend, or change? I snapped back to reality. 

Why could I relate to him?

Shackles aren’t always metal. Sometimes, they’re psychological - fear, doubt, obligation, expectations - designed to restrict movement.  For months I referred to my "bulletproof vest." The metaphorical armor I had to strap on each morning to make it through my work day. It did not matter what was thrown at me. My team was strong. Impenetrable.  The type of team you dream getting to be part of. Critical to the success of our organization. 

Then I lost my job. And the illusion shattered.

I was forced to hang up my bulletproof vest. And even though it hurt at times, I wasn't ready. I wore it with loyalty, with pride, with purpose that the work I was doing mattered. That I made an impact, and I was important. That my team was important.

Hanging up the vest, looking in the mirror, I saw them. The scars, the bruises, the damage. Evidence of staying too long in a fight that had already been lost. I stood there, paralyzed. Because all that was left was the fear. It wasn't my job that held the key to the shackles. It was me.

Fearfully, I probably never would have walked away. I would have clung to hope, convincing myself that things would turn around, that the past would return, that if I just held on a little longer, the job would feel like home again. 

Hope is not a strategy.  Not in business.  Not in life. 

Hope is a comfort trap. 

Fear had kept me shackled. 

Today, I am stepping forward. Moving from hope to action. Pushing against the chains, applying pressure to the steel. Because even the strongest steel will give way under enough force.  

I will not fail because of fear. I don’t know yet what dream I’m chasing. 

But if you’re here, reading this, my dream isn't what matters.

What's yours?

Chris’s Comments

Natalie captured something here that hits hard, the way fear feels like shackles, even when the door is wide open. I know this because I’ve lived it. Fear doesn’t just whisper; sometimes, it screams. It convinces you that movement is riskier than stillness. That staying put, no matter how miserable, is safer than stepping into the unknown.

She’s right about hope, too. Hope is easy. Hope is comfortable. But comfort is the enemy of growth. I’ve worn the bulletproof vest. I’ve stood in the same fire. And I’ve convinced myself, more times than I can count, that the weight on my shoulders meant I was doing something right, that is until it crushed me.

This post isn’t just about losing a job. It’s about losing the illusion of safety. It’s about waking up to the reality that staying where you think you belong is sometimes the biggest failure of all.

Natalie’s leap is happening now. Mine happened several years ago. And if you’re reading this, you might be standing at the edge of yours.

So, let me ask you - are you shackled by fear, or are you finally ready to break free?

These leaps led us to write an online course on Limiting Beliefs, the stories we tell ourselves that keep us stuck, small, and scared. If this post hit home for you, sign up for our email list to hear when it drops The Damaged Leader. It might just be the first step toward breaking your own chains.