The Saucer

It's been a while since I've written. But last week, I was reminded why The Damaged Leader exists.

I recently had the honor of helping a former teammate navigate a crossroads in her career. She was facing a decision that many of us eventually encounter. One path offered a predictable journey - success, stability, comfort. The other path led into the unknown and required her to bet on herself, trust her experience, and remain committed to the things that truly drive her forward.

For whatever reason, I was her call.

Maybe it was because she knew I would be honest. Maybe it was because she trusted that I had her best interests at heart. Maybe it was because she knew I had faced a similar decision myself years ago. Or maybe she simply needed someone willing to sit in the uncertainty with her. Truthfully, I don't know exactly why she called me.

What I do know is that it was an honor.

Leadership is exactly that, an honor. An honor to be trusted. An honor to be invited into someone's difficult moments. An honor to be asked for guidance, even years after the organizational chart that connected you no longer exists.

When Chris and I created The Damaged Leader, our goal was never to share polished success stories. We wanted to talk about the scars. The lessons. The failures. The moments that shape us as leaders long after the promotions fade and the titles change. Last week, I found myself living the very reason we started writing.

There I sat in a coffee shop, latte in hand, helping someone work through a decision that could shape the next chapter of her career.

As we walked through the possibilities, I asked questions more than providing answers. We danced through the pros and cons. We challenged assumptions and explored possibilities. I did my best not to inject my own opinion because, in the end, my opinion wasn't the one that mattered. Only she would have to live with the outcome of the decision.

What quietly struck me most was how much she reminded me of myself at that age.

Not because our stories are identical, but because I recognized the same hunger for growth. The same curiosity. The same willingness to pursue something bigger, even when the safer option sat right in front of her. She is thoughtful, sharp, and driven. The kind of person who asks questions that force you to think. The kind of person whose potential is matched by her character. She possesses a discipline that many of us lacked early in our careers - the ability to slow down, think deeply, and seek perspective before making a decision.

As I listened to her wrestle with the possibilities, I couldn't help but think back to my own crossroads.

Years ago, I accepted a promotion that required me to move to a new city. On paper, it looked like an easy decision. It looked like success and career growth. It looked like everything I had been working toward.

What nobody saw were the questions that came with it. The uncertainty, the fear, and the loneliness of making a life-changing decision without anyone who truly understood what I was experiencing.

I remember sitting on my side of the table, staring into my own cup of coffee, wishing I had someone who had already walked the path ahead of me. Someone who could help me think through the decision without telling me what to do. Someone who could challenge my assumptions, ask the right questions, and help clear the dust so I could see the road in front of me.

I didn't have that person. It was just me, my coffee, and a saucer.

A few days after meeting with her, I realized why the conversation had stayed with me.

It wasn't because of the decision she was facing. It wasn't because of the advice I gave. It was because my role had changed.

When I was younger, my career was the coffee. The energy. The substance. The thing everyone came for. The center of attention sitting in the middle of the table. But somewhere along the way, it evolved, and so did I.

I am no longer the coffee. I am the saucer.

The support underneath. The thing that helps stabilize when life feels like it might tip over. The thing that catches the spill when emotions overflow. The thing that often goes unnoticed but quietly serves an important purpose.

Nobody walks into a coffee shop excited about the saucer. Nobody compliments the saucer. Yet without it, things can become a lot messier.

I think many of us spend the first half of our careers trying to become the coffee. We chase the promotions, the recognition, the opportunities, and the titles. But if we're fortunate, we eventually realize that some of the most meaningful leadership and career moments happen long after the promotions stop mattering.

They happen when a former teammate calls for advice. When someone trusts you enough to share their uncertainty. When you realize that your impact didn't end when the paychecks did.

In the days following our conversation, I found myself overwhelmed with gratitude. Gratitude that she trusted me, that she thought of me. That somewhere along the way, I had apparently made enough of a difference that years later, in a pivotal moment, she picked up the phone.

One of my favorite leadership quotes comes from Simon Sinek's Leaders Eat Last: "Leadership is a choice, not a rank." Last week, I experienced this in real life.

The title may disappear and the company may change. The team may scatter in a hundred different directions. But leadership doesn't end when employment does.

It evolves.

The greatest measure of leadership isn't how many people reported to you or the title on your business card. It's whether your impact lasts longer than your employment.

Fourteen years ago, I sat across from uncertainty, wishing someone was sitting on the other side of the table with me.

Last week, I realized I had become that person for someone else.

And for me, there may be no greater honor than that.

To honest leadership,

Natalie