Absent HR; An Apology

I wrote the intro for this piece about a dozen times. It’s been a year since I published a post on this blog, and if you’re new here, you’ll learn that’s an unheard of phenomenon in my life. After the 12th or 13th intro I closed my eyes and asked myself, “what do I want the readers to know before they read this letter,” and the answer was simple: I’m sorry.

The HR community walked with me through the death of my mother, unemployment, covid, and so many other storms. You stood next to me, held up my arms when I was tired, and loved me well when I couldn’t love me well. And then I kind of vanished. I stopped attending the HR groups I loved, stopped being active with you on LinkedIn and Twitter; I stopped writing to you and for you. I was absent.

The only way I could think about addressing this was writing you an open letter; a raw and unfiltered letter about why I was absent and what that did for me. So before this letter I want to say how much I love this community, how sorry I am I couldn’t verbalize I needed to be absent, and I hope you hear my soul in this letter.

Dear HR Community,

Most of us became acquainted when I wrote about you in The 2020 HR. At that time we were busted, bruised, bloodied from a battle no one but HR understood. I wrote that piece for you, to you, and about you, and we settled into a cherished familiarity.

We celebrated when my nine long, dark months of unemployment ended. Twitter shook and LinkedIn exploded with your authentic joy. I accepted that job in my sister’s empty kitchen in Denver, Colorado as she stood at the United States Capitol during the Presidential Inauguration. You surrounded me in that kitchen and celebrated me even when my heart was paralyzed for my sister’s safety.

And then the most difficult year began. While I could go into detail about the loss, the devastation, the depression I walked through, I’d rather sit with you for these next few lines and tell you why I was absent during the catastrophe that was 2021. Perhaps because I was so vocal about how hard 2020 had been, or perhaps I know each of you had your own steep mountains to climb in 2021, it just feels right to talk less about the hell and more about what I needed during the hell.

I lost myself somewhere in 2020. I’m convinced when my mom Bren took her last breath in February 2020 the universe calmly walked up to my soul and tore a piece right from the center. When 2021 hit and I began to give myself again to employees it became clear that not knowing who I was anymore would drive me to an HR practice I wasn’t proud of; it is so easy to fall into paper pushing instead of people loving when you don’t love you anymore.

If you’re new to this space you’ll need to know that my career, this HR thing, saved my life. Fighting for an HR practice I’m proud of has been a driving force for over a decade and as I watched that proud-practice diminish, it was clear to me something had to change.

While it can be easy to blame the toxic work-culture I ended up in, or the state of the world in 2021, what my identity crisis came down to was mental and physical illness, and a deep need to love myself in all phases of life.

For months I was traveling, during a global pandemic and a new personal medical crisis, and I finally sat on the floor of a hotel in New York City to have an honest conversation with my numb heart. I placed one hand on either side of me, closed my eyes, and asked myself “what do you need to find your way back to your soul?”

It feels important for me to tell you that I recognize not all HR pros pour themselves into this field like I do, and that is okay. If you don’t have to come back to your soul to do good work, that’s okay my friend. It doesn’t make you any less of an HR Warrior than anyone else. I believe Brene Brown’s philosophy that we are “meaning making beings” is the best representation of my life, and if I cannot make meaning out of my own soul, I cannot love employees.

With both palms on the black and white checkered floor beside me, asking that terrifying question, it became clear to me that I needed to be nothing but the bare minimum to many people, including you.

I needed to not be a contact or community leader or networker or public speaker or writer. I needed to not have to live up to the expectations I set with all of you.

And perhaps you’ll believe this or perhaps you won’t, but I cried when I realized what I need. Cried because we did so much life together, you and me, and I didn’t want to lose what we had built. I cried because I love you and this field and this craft and I wanted to be me for you.

Then, without explaining that to you, I became absent. And during my absence I found my way back to myself and am now coming back to you in the hope that you’ll let me shake this frost off my bones from a hard winter and join you next to the fire that is this community again.

I don’t know what 2021 was like for you, but I want to. If you’ll let me, I’ll sit next to you with open ears and a fortified heart and do life with you. We can dance, or cry, or be silent. I’m sorry I missed your year and am so grateful you let me have this year to come home to me.

While I could spend my lifetime writing about what I learned this year (and maybe I’ll do that, wine in hand), it feels right to share a few key lessons this absent year taught me. Maybe you’ve learned these too or maybe you’re learning different ones, but the absent year you all gave me led me to know more than I thought I could.

I’m Not Crazy, I’m Fucking Brilliant - It took a lot of frustration and tears for me to recognize that most brilliance is written off as psychosis in the HR world. There’s this community of executives and leaders that convince us we aren’t experts, we’re too emotional, we don’t make the company money, we have sharp elbows, we’re never pleased. During my absent year I slammed the glass of that community with my fist, hard, after a meeting where an executive told me I wasn’t helping them run the “kindness Olympics” by giving constructive feedback. Once the glass cracked from that slam, I began fracturing the entire enclosure until I realized controlling people will try to paint brilliance as psychosis to maintain control. Now that the glass cage of that manipulation is gone, I’m at home with my brilliance. I hope you can be at home in your own brilliance too, my friend.

Love Without Boundaries is Manipulation - Loving employees (and humanity) is this life work of mine. Love that changes legislation for minorities, love that says Black Lives Matter, love that builds better business practices…that love has always come out of me. I lost myself in that love though, because I didn’t have boundaries around it. I never expected love back, I settled for scraps, and allowed a cycle of manipulation to play out daily. I began setting small boundaries (like my working hours, response time expectations, etc.). Then bigger ones, like asking to be told when I did a good job, getting at least half of what I was asking for, and having a leader that picked me over the business. When I set those boundaries, left a company that couldn’t meet them, and then joined a company that could, I found myself again. No longer will we let companies use our love to manipulate our lives.

I Am My Biggest Support - Many times this year I found myself alone in a hospital room after surgery, alone in a hotel after more travel, alone on holidays, alone after a hard meeting, alone during a natural disaster, alone on the weekends. I had this really beautiful support system of people that loved me bigger than I can describe, but I was alone. As I walked back to myself it occurred to me that no one but me should be my biggest support. My family, a partner, my colleagues, you…no one should support me as much as I support me. That epiphany stopped me from feeling alone ever again. It’s me and my biggest support listening to a doctor’s report, pitching wild innovation to the CSuite, walking away from bullshit leaders, and loving employees. I stopped expecting anyone but me to be my biggest support and it let my loved ones fit into a healthier space in my life. It let colleagues and employees fall into a healthier one, too. May we never expect others to support us (and our ideas) more than we support ourselves.

I’m walking into 2022 with a lot more therapy, centeredness, and life. I want to walk with you, too. You let me be absent and there won’t be a day that passes where I’m not grateful for your grace. I love you, I love me, I love us.

Forever,
Kayla