Every limit is a beginning as well an ending.
- George Eliot
Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all of the darkness.
- Archbishop Desmond Tutu
When doctors at the Canberra Hospital extubated me after emergency surgery for a life-threatening staph infection in my leg this past June, I awoke to the revelation from my wife, Susan, that I’ve been on life-support for the past three days.
Somewhere in her phone is a photo of me somehow managing a momentary smile that day. I was grateful to have a second chance in life, Susan was by my side, my daughter still had her father, my mother didn’t have to bury her son, and I got to keep my leg.
In the days and months that ensued, I lived in a cocoon of pain punctuated by doctors, nurses, social workers, medication, and more surgery (a total of five to be exact). And things always seemed to follow a pattern of getting bad before turning good.
As a coach specialising in supporting leaders grappling with sector reforms and transformation, I’ve worked with many clients who arrived at a place where the challenges faced seem insurmountable, and everything they worked for in their professional (and even personal life) feels in jeopardy of being lost.
This is no different than me being told that I'd need to learn to walk again. That feeling of loss was further accentuated when I resigned from my job, at a time when I was finally making wins on a digital transformation consulting practice I helped start.
In my darkest moments, asking ‘Why me?’ felt inevitable. Yet there was never a satisfying answer, I got sick because of chance, and it felt like I was shit out of luck.
The month that followed my discharge from hospital, I had time to catch-up with friends, and sector counterparts. There was:
Michelle, who was a successful clinician promoted to a senior management role overseeing her organisation’s transformation program, and feeling out of her depth.*
Bill, who built his start-up to a stage ready for growth, but is now questioning whether he has the right skills to lead his company’s next phase.
Sarah, who started an incredible age services business, but now felt that it's stalled or plateaued.
Daniel, who was on sick leave, only to have his organisation allege underperformance when he was ready to return to work.
Antonia, trying to manage a situation where she felt gaslighted by her manager in what she thought was a dream service design job.
Greg, grappling with the reality that his organisation only wanted his sector contacts, and saw no relational value in his engagements unless there was 'big bucks' to be made.
I listened to them, at times wondering why they chose to tell me their problems in my moment of vulnerability—yet at the same time, feeling honoured that they trusted me enough to do so.
Turns out, these conversations were truth-gifts that led me to realise I was asking the wrong question. Rather than ‘why me?’, I should be asking what my illness was going to teach me. And over the last four months, it’s taught me a lot.
1. We belong to a delicate network
I couldn't have made it this far without the love of family and friends. Not forgetting the widening circle of enlisted doctors, surgeons, nurses, and physiotherapists—many whom I now know by name. My recovery is due to their knowledge, skill, hard work and care, and my willingness to work with and put my trust in them. My friend, Alfred, alluded this to Ubuntu philosophy.
2. We can be human, but only together
A month in hospital and interacting with ward nurses hit home that carers also need care. Likewise, loved-ones who found themselves becoming my carer needed acknowledgement that their lives too had changed. Although I was the one needing care, it was still a two-way relationship. It taught me that good leaders intuitively know what others need at key moments. In this vein, check-in calls from my friend, Ian, always seem to happen at the right time. I swear, the man can read minds.
3. Forgiveness does not mean forgetting
There was the harsh reality that when you no longer serve someone’s purpose, there are some who are quick to discard you. It’s important to forgive, but you need not forget. Forgive them for yourself, be at peace with what happened, and don’t drink poison hoping the other person dies. My friend, Esther, taught me that the moments where we feel beaten-down aren’t wasted time, rather, an opportunity to develop and be magnanimous.
4. You can always think it differently
It was easy for me to be morose about my situation, and I’d be lying if I claimed that I never allowed myself to feel this way. However, it was also a time to revisit my values, and assess whether what got me to my station in life was still valid. I could take stock of my present situation and pine for what I had, or I could reframe the cards that were dealt to me and create something new. As my friend, Anthony, quite daringly proposed, there’s probably a silver lining in my playbook. I couldn’t see it at the time, but he was right.
5. Be yourself
Everyone has a way of being good in a way that comes naturally to them—don’t be scared to put yourself out in the world. Success and growth doesn’t come ready-made, it takes time. Meaningful success comes when you align what makes you, you, with intentioned action. My wife, Susan, made this perceptively clear when she reminded me that my life has been devoted to giving others opportunities and encouraging freedom.
I'm not one who's prone to trite and maudlin sentimentality. However, with the help of the people around me, what was a sad and scary time in my life turned out to be a path towards compassion, connection, and meaning.
The Sufi poet, Rumi, comes to my mind when I think of the interactions I've had on my journey of recovery:
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent...
It is in honour of the self-awareness I gained from friends and colleagues, and my passion to help others succeed, that I started, Youtopient.
By Merlin Kong, Founder and Principal Coach, Youtopient * Names and details have been fictionalised, and do not refer to actual persons and events.
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