I talk a lot about how organizations lose the human element during change.

I see it in my work every day. The leader who is let go with no time to say goodbye, the reorg announcement that leaves 3,000 employees reeling, the survivor’s guilt that no one speaks about but everyone feels.

We rush into the what’s next without honoring what just happened. And now, it’s not just professional. It’s personal.

Last month I had a hysterectomy.

I knew this was coming eventually. I knew that one day, my uterus would no longer serve me the way it once did. I knew I’d enter a new season.

Just like in the corporate world, we know retirement is out there. We know transitions are inevitable.

But knowing something is coming doesn’t mean we’re ready when it shows up early.

It was the abruptness that got me.

The phone call.

The urgency.

The matter-of-factness: “You’ll need to schedule the surgery.”

And there it was, a deeply personal, life-altering transition I didn’t choose, didn’t plan for, and wasn’t ready to process.

My grief surprised me. Not just for the physical changes ahead, but for the emotional ones. The quiet identity shift. The release of something that had once been powerful, nurturing, mine.

And I realized this is the same emotional terrain we ask people to navigate during abrupt organizational change. And we often offer them no roadmap, no space, and no grace.

But there’s a better way to navigate the messy middle of change.

Change hits differently when it’s not on your terms. 

It calls us to pause, to process, to reorient.  And yet in so many organizations, we skip the pause.

We offer a memo instead of a moment. A timeline instead of time to grieve.  A new role instead of a real conversation.

And that’s what I’m sitting with. As a woman, as a leader, and as someone who teaches others how to navigate the messy middle of change.

This experience is teaching me (again) what I’ve built Element of Change to do:

• To reintroduce the human back into the business.
• To slow the rush.
• To honor the invisible losses.
• To create space for grief and growth to co-exist.

Navigating Well-Intentioned Words

During my recovery, I’ve heard comments like: “At least you have two kids,” or “You’re lucky it wasn’t cancer.”

These statements are often meant to comfort but they can unintentionally bypass the very real, nuanced emotions that live beneath the surface.

It’s similar to when someone is laid off and hears: “At least you have savings,” or “This could be a blessing in disguise.”

Both scenarios reveal how often we rush to silver linings without making space to sit with it.

We need room for grief and gratitude. Loss and legacy. Grieving doesn’t mean we aren’t strong. It means we’re human.

Journal Prompts: Reflecting on Transition

If you’re navigating an unexpected transition, personally or professionally, here are a few prompts I use with myself and the leaders I coach: 

1. What motivates you about this transition?
2. What triggers are you noticing, physically, emotionally, relationally?
3. What blind spots could impact your decisions if you don’t name them?

And so, here’s what I’m holding close and what I hope you hold close too if you’re leading through transition:

1. Grief is not a delay. It’s part of the process.
2. Abrupt change doesn’t have to feel violent. But it will if you pretend it’s not emotional.
3. The way we exit things matters just as much as how we enter them. 

In this next season both for myself and the leaders I work with, I’m committed to making space for what’s real.

Because the Element of Change isn’t just strategy. It’s soul work.

And if you’re navigating an unexpected transition, here’s my reminder to you:

You don’t have to rush your process. You just have to honor it.