In June 2021, my office successfully launched a massive, applicant tracking system that overhauled our entire hiring footprint. It was an incredibly heavy lift, executed by a workforce that was already suffering from deep organizational trauma and change-fatigue. Moving away from archaic spreadsheets right on the heels of the trauma of January 6th, I think you get the point.
To get them across the finish line, I had to be the ultimate thermostat. I had to absorb their frustration, manage their resistance, and project a calm, unshakeable confidence every single day. That was the goal at least.
What most of the office didn’t know was that while we were building the system, I was quietly counting down the final days of my mother’s life.
Months earlier, she had been diagnosed with Stage 3 pancreatic cancer and given only months to live. Between leading system implementation workshops, user acceptance testing and holding the line at work, I was driving her to chemotherapy and navigating the heartbreaking reality of hospice care. The system went live successfully in early June. My mother passed away on Father’s Day weekend, just a few days later.
Rule 7 dictates that you must always act as if you are in total control.
But how do you actually regulate your internal dial when your personal world is burning down? How do you keep your own grief from becoming the room’s panic?
You have to master internal command. And it’s not easy. Not one bit.
Before we break down the internal mechanics of self-regulation, I have to acknowledge the external factors that made it possible to survive this window.
First, my wife was a godsend during this time. She helped out with everything she could. From driving my mother to & from appointments, sitting with me when it was too much to deal with, and helping us plan for the inevitable. For the record, she is always a godsend…
Second, when I received my mother’s diagnosis, I went directly to my boss, the Chief Administrative Officer (CAO). He gave me absolute, unyielding top-cover. He didn’t micromanage my schedule; he simply told me, “If it helps for you to be at work, be at work. If it helps for you to be at home, be at home.”
Third, I made a point early in the process to let everyone in the office know that something was happening in my personal life. I did not give them the specifics, but I set a baseline expectation. By communicating that I was dealing with a heavy external issue, I established a level of understanding and grace from the team in case my composure slipped or I became visibly emotional.
There is another person who deserves credit, but I will get to that in a moment.
Even with an exceptional boss providing top cover and an office that knew I was navigating a private storm, the minute-by-minute, daily survival in the office was entirely up to my own internal command.
Here is how I survived that season, and how you can maintain your internal thermostat when you are drowning underneath the surface:
1. Secure Your Internal Dial First (Physiological Governance)
When things are truly catastrophic—like losing a parent—you have to accept that you cannot control the grief all the time. Instead of trying to suppress it entirely, you must spend a portion of your energy actively watching for the signs that it is about to hit.
When extreme personal or professional stress spikes, the brain can experience an “amygdala hijack,” suppressing your cognitive functions and decision-making abilities to confront the perceived threat.
You have to learn your own physiological warning signs so you can intervene before the wave crashes.
During the hardest days of the ATS implementation, I would actively monitor my own internal pressure gauge. When I felt the emotional heat rising, I would frequently tell my staff that I “had a meeting,” simply so I could get out of the office for a few minutes.
It wasn’t an evasion; it was a mandatory survival tactic. Just as you might close an office door to take deep breaths before tackling a crisis, you must manually reset your physiological dial. If your internal thermostat is spinning out, it is impossible to regulate the external room.
2. The “Duck on the Pond” Prophecy (Behavior Drives Biology)
Note: You cannot successfully execute this step until you have mastered step one.
Rule 7 dictates that you must always act as if you are in total control. The “duck on the pond” metaphor is often used to describe how a leader projects serenity to their team while paddling furiously underneath. But it is actually a vital tool for internal self-regulation.
Acting calm is a self-fulfilling prophecy. When you intentionally lower your physical posture, sit down, and drop your vocal register, you aren’t just signaling stability to the room—you are actively forcing your own nervous system to relax. By controlling your exterior, you eventually command your interior.
3. Deploy Multi-Layered Exhaust Valves
A critical caveat: Compartmentalization should never be a permanent feature of your leadership. You cannot insulate yourself like that forever. I utilized it heavily during this season because I was forced to navigate two massive, competing priorities. The point of compartmentalization is simply to buy you the bandwidth to be fully in the moment with the task at hand.
Because keeping that grief compartmentalized takes an immense toll on your physical and emotional strength, you must build intentional, structural exhaust valves to dump the heat:
The Core Team Bouncers: While the whole office only knew vague details, I shared the specifics with my core team of four supervisors. By letting them in on the reality of my situation, they were able to offer me a layer of structural protection, essentially acting as “bouncers” for my door when I needed a moment to breathe.
Physical Exertion as a Release: I kept my bicycle right there in my office. If I knew the pressure was getting to me at the beginning or the end of a long shift, I would go out and ride hard. Because compartmentalization consumes so much physical energy, channeling that exhaustion into a grueling bike ride was a purposeful, safe way to let the emotion out and dump the heat. There were plenty of rides that ended with me drenched in sweat and tears.
The Peer-to-Peer Vent: You cannot carry it all alone. While I didn’t see a therapist during this specific window, someone connected me with a co-worker who had navigated a very similar personal tragedy. They were incredibly gracious with their time, and we spoke on several occasions. They made me feel understood, heard, and validated that everything I was feeling was entirely okay. Sometimes, the most powerful exhaust valve is simply speaking to someone who has already survived the fire.
The Cost of Command
The truth is, governing your mind under chaos is exhausting. Operating as the “duck on the pond” while your personal world is burning down requires a level of cognitive endurance that most management books completely ignore.
You cannot permanently insulate yourself, but when the mission demands it, you can build a temporary wall to get your people across the finish line.
The key is knowing your own physiological limits, leaning on your top-cover, and deploying your exhaust valves before the pressure breaks you.
When the launch is over and the dust settles, you can finally drop the wall. But until then, you set the dial. You control the climate. You lead the room.
Join the Conversation: How do you actively manage your own internal thermostat when your personal world collides with a massive professional obligation? Have you ever had to build a temporary wall of compartmentalization to get your team across the finish line? Let’s discuss in the comments below.
Definitely believe in taking a moment to myself away from the office to reset. It's generally just my lunch break, but just taking 30 minutes to step away, tune things out, and reset does wonders for me to come back and dive back in to what needs to get done.