Yes, and…
"Yes, and" is often used as a facilitation tactic that helps teams validate each other's thoughts and build from them. In discussions and debates, people are often inclined to start a rebuttal with "no" before continuing their thoughts. This can create tension because it invalidates the previous person's point. In team building work, it's usually a safe assumption that everyone is on the same team. That's where the magic of "yes, and" comes in - it validates previous thoughts and allows multiple truths to exist simultaneously.
The "yes, and" exercise is also known in improv. In this context, "yes and" denotes a continuation and that the present truths are constantly changing. Here, the beauty in the exercise is simply in the fact that story keeps going. Past events often have no bearing on the story's next chapters.
In reflecting on my past year, it's important that others recognize that I didn't survive my abusive relationship because I'm smarter, faster, stronger, or any other "er" than anyone else who has ever been in an abusive relationship. Moreover, my strength, intelligence, independence, and so on didn't offer me protection from the abuse. I often struggle with how to refer to myself in this experience. "Victim" doesn't feel appropriate, and personally, as a term, it strips me of my resolve to escape the partnership. "Survivor," however, feels too lofty for me. Yes, I did survive but not in an endurance sort of way. And I never want to be framed as a case study or warning to others. I survived because of good luck, better timing, and genuine on-the-ground help and resources to physically move me to safety and people who were prepared to defend it. But I also made it through because people trusted the guidance and cues I gave around the support I needed. They let me guide the way because they valued my perspective and vantage point - without me having to prove that I had done my best with the information I had. Through the experience, I learned to truly lean on my community. And I learned to give myself more credit because my community couldn't have done it without me.
It took a period of deep grieving to offer myself the grace of understanding that I had been operating in survival mode that was then taken advantage of and manipulated. My goal in sharing this chapter is the hope that we begin to see victims/survivors as escapees rather than people who stayed too long. This perspective shift can help society to better call out abusive behaviors and support those impacted.
There are people in this world that will take every single opportunity to show up for me. And more often than not, they will deliver with flying colors. If I didn't know any better, I'd think that some people in my life wake up with nothing to do besides care for me because they've made loving me look like the easiest thing they've ever done. My professional community is one that I didn't anticipate showing up for me so generously as I navigated a turbulent chapter of my life. But since the people we work with are often some of the most consistent voices and interactions in my life, why should we not expect deep care from our colleagues? I've spent so much of my professional and academic career feeling that I had to prove my capabilities. My "yes, and" before the last year was framed as "yes, they hired me, and every day I need to prove that it was the correct decision."
There is a common phrase that many black children grow up with: "You have to be twice as good to get half as much." I took that to heart in every single aspect of my life - and it was absolutely exhausting. Exhausting because it is often true and exhausting because the goalpost of what excellent looks like is constantly moving. But, imagine if we framed being excellent as simply being in tune with yourself and showing up to whatever capacity your body, mind, and heart allowed. Then accepting that how you showed up was more than enough. And giving yourself the grace to remember that you can show up differently tomorrow.
This belief that I had to be 200% all the time meant I didn't allow myself to show up as an actual human being. I showed up as a machine. I operated in overdrive because the "yes, and" message in my head assumed the accolades and the opportunities would end if I took a moment too long to deliver on any given task. Looking back, this was one of the most challenging aspects of leaving my relationship. I worked so hard to maintain that everything was great because I was terrified that my career and everything I'd worked so hard for would suffer.
Imagine that our companies and organizations are deeply committed to purpose and people over profits. If so, they could create genuine networks of care for each of us - beyond the formal framing of policies in an employee handbook. Networks of care that acknowledge the ebbs and flows of life and how they impact us every day. That's where my new lane of work has emerged - from a burning desire to be a people leader that creates this space for everyone who works with me and models the behavior for those that don't. This passion was also inspired by some of the people I've had the pleasure of working with. Yes, we can require excellence from each other in our day-to-day work lives, and we can respect that excellence may look different daily. Excellence may be moving a deadline to accommodate a teammate who needs more time to process context. Excellence can look like not agreeing to take on a piece of client work because they only want a surface-level solution. Dare I say, excellence can even look like quiet quitting. After all, many of our roles can be boiled down to a method of creating a livelihood. We can respect and empower employees that identify their priorities at work while establishing boundaries to maintain their lives outside the context of their role. Beyond quiet quitting, these employees model "yes, and" in having a life with a career - not a career with a side of life.
So yes, I am emerging from the most unbearably excruciating chapters of my life thus far. And at the same time, I recognize that it is only a chapter. I am much more than the experiences of the grad school + work burnout + abusive relationship cocktail. While acknowledging I didn't deserve the grief from these hardships, sitting in my grief forced unlearning many aspects of my life. Thus, creating space for me to let go of many beliefs around success and excellence that were never mine. I don't take myself so seriously these days. For the first time, probably ever, I don't have a list of a million things I need to accomplish to feel successful. I move slower. I've learned to bask in the sound of my own laughter because I know what it feels like to go through periods without it. I'm not as easily phased by inconveniences. I can better separate myself from other people's behaviors, inconsistencies, and projections. I ask way more questions about why things are done the way they are - at work, at home, and in my friendships. I can better meet people where they are because I know much more about where I am. I say "ok" more instead of needing to plead my case or over-explain my thoughts and feelings. I show up more authentically, more often, because the fear of not being enough has grown so much smaller in my mind. I focus more on being rather than doing. And I bring all of this to work with me with the hope that I can allow others the space and grace to focus on being rather than doing as well. And these are all excellent things - made possible by my acknowledgment of the "yes, ands" of life.
When I began drafting this post, everything was going well. I had been enjoying more time with friends and family, hitting a stride at work, and finally falling into an effective routine with my dog, Oreo. However, as I publish this post, life has pivoted again. I've been impacted by layoffs and even battled food poisoning. I finally began to practice showing up, knowing I always had value to contribute. And being laid off immediately threatened to undo that progress by triggering a need to prove that I have value to contribute. But reflecting on the improv use of "yes, and" - this truth is only present right now. Yes, I was laid off. Yes, it didn't feel good. And yet, this is only a piece of my story, not who I am. This is a page break, not an ending.
And so we continue forward. I trust myself more than ever to figure it out - coupled with my faith and support system to guide me. I hold on to the fact that there will be many "yes, and" moments as I continue to grow, both in my career and personal journies. It may be a "yes - that was an exciting opportunity at the time, and it didn't quite pan out the way I wanted." Or it may be a "yes, this situation absolutely sucks, and I know that it may not always feel this way." The true beauty in applying a "yes, and" approach to life is realizing that my success is not hinged on any one decision - but rather on the stringing together of all the "ands" to come.
Yes, the woman writing this post may have hyperfocused on an unsustainable approach to excellence for much of her career thus far. And I fully trust her to continue evolving that definition of excellence to empower myself and others at work and in all aspects we don't take to work with us.
graciously,
Jonea
