Lessons from Rosie: When the Show Must Go On

On a beautiful mid-April evening, my daughter and I coaxed our beloved old pup Rosie into the car to bring her to her happy place, a sprawling nearby meadow where dogs can run around and swim off-leash with their pals. At nearly 14, Rosie’s weakening back legs had been slowing her down, but on this day, she seemed to have her puppy mojo back, running to catch up to us, ears flapping, tail wagging, stopping to roll and sniff in all of her usual places. We could never have imagined that this frolic in the meadow would be Rosie’s last. Less than 48 hours later, unimaginably, Rosie was dead. (“A ruptured tumor, a ticking time bomb,” the vet told us.)

The loss was devastating, a sucker-punch that left us breathless. Rosie was my shadow, and I was her person. She was my constant companion, officemate, sidekick and giver of unremitting affection and unconditional love. For my 21-year-old daughters, first-graders when we adopted Rosie, she was their rock, their centerpiece, and a constant source of comfort who loved them just the way they were. We were thrown into an abyss of grief, and we needed time to process it.

Unfortunately, the next afternoon I was scheduled to deliver a virtual training workshop for more than 100 people. I couldn’t fathom how to lift myself up long enough to pull it off. Finding a replacement was impossible; I was a featured speaker known for my expertise on the promised topic of Designing and Leading Engaging Virtual Meetings. The show, I knew, had to go on. But how?

As a long-time fan of Brené Brown, I have coached leaders on the importance of making themselves vulnerable as a way to build trust. (“Be authentic, and people will respond. Have the courage to show who you really are, even when it feels hard.”) Until that day, I don’t think I ever appreciated just how hard this advice would be put into practice.

So first thing that next morning, I decided to tell my story and seek advice from my LinkedIn community. How have they managed to carry on as “normal” in the wake of a sudden loss, I wondered, and would it be a good idea to let my audience know what I was dealing with? As I submitted my post, I was hoping it didn’t seem self-indulgent or inappropriate. I needn’t have worried. Every single one of the responses that came pouring in, even from those who I know only slightly, were heartfelt, empathetic and helpful. People shared their stories, explaining how they got through similar situations, and gave me advice that helped me through that afternoon, and well beyond. The overwhelming consensus: Yes, I should share my story (briefly, and only if I felt I could do so without falling apart), and then proceed to facilitate the workshop.

Right up until the time I was being introduced, I wasn’t sure I had the courage to make myself this vulnerable in front of such a large group of strangers. But, after welcoming participants to the session, I paused, took a deep breath and shared my story, emphasizing the importance of being present, focused and calm as a meeting facilitator, no matter what curveballs come our way. And then I went right on with the show. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed chat messages flowing by, expressing condolences and thanking me for sharing. Even though I felt I was taking a huge risk at the time, I knew that I had made the right choice.

Looking back on that incredibly challenging day that tested my mettle as a facilitator trainer more than any other time I can remember, I learned a lot of lessons that day about courage, vulnerability and empathy, thanks in large part to Rosie.

·       It’s easy to advise people to make themselves vulnerable to build trust or make connections, but it’s a whole lot harder to do in reality, especially when you’re hurting. Consider your objectives (e.g. to build trust, invite sharing, or in my case, it was to get through this workshop without falling apart), your audience and the relationship you want to have with them, and what their reaction might be. Some revelations may shock certain audiences, while others might endear you to them.

·       We all crave human connections, especially during these days of relative isolation. The more we know what’s going in the lives of others, the more connected we feel, and the more we’re willing to reveal something of ourselves in return. Err on the side of sharing, even if it’s hard. If you’re in doubt about how much to reveal, ask a friend, family member, trusted colleague, or a social community for advice. 

·       People like to help others, especially when they sense real distress and believe they have something to contribute. If you feel a need to reach out for help, but fear that your entreaty might be rejected or ignored, assume the best intentions. You’ll probably find that people will stop to help, as they so graciously did for me, even if they’re veritable strangers.

·       Be authentic when revealing vulnerability, rather than contriving it for effect. Even when communicating from a distance, it’s surprisingly easy to detect false humility (often referred to as “humblebragging”) or to sense when someone’s real intention is to manipulate our emotions.

·       Take a pause to respond to someone’s request for help or advice, even if you have just a minute or two to respond. You need not offer to set up a call or write a long missive in return. It can just take a couple of minutes to offer some quick advice, or to empathize with their plight. This might be challenging if you have a hard time asking for help yourself.  “If you can’t ask for help without self-judgment, you cannot offer help without judging others,” Brené Brown points out.

My daughters and I learned many life lessons from Rosie, who gave us so much and expected so little in return. And the lessons keep coming. I have learned that if I can summon up the courage to show up authentically, even when I feel scared, people will respond with empathy and compassion. (If you are one of the many who responded to my call that Friday morning, I am indebted to you for taking the time to make me feel supported and cared for.) Ending with another quote from Brené Brown: “Staying vulnerable is a risk we have to take if we want to experience connection.” And connection is exactly what so many of us are starving for.