Resentment is an unmet need

I love therapy, and I love writing about what I learn in my therapy sessions in hopes of inspiring at least one person to take the time to invest in themselves.

(Fun fact: My sessions are usually walk-and-talks. I go outside for an evening walk and chat with my therapist for an hour on the phone. These sessions have become the most special time that I take to invest in me. I aim for at least one session a month, and most months, I have two.)

A big theme for me in therapy right now is finding the courage to make changes and set boundaries to ensure that my time and energy are aligned with my values and the things I want to be spending my time on, both at work and outside of it. In my last two blog posts, I shared some of the decisions I’ve made this year to protect my capacity. (If you missed them, you can read them here and here!)

I’m continuing with that same theme here—and actually, what I’m writing about in today’s blog is the learning that came before I made the decision to change the things I’ve been writing about the last couple of weeks.

Let’s back up a bit to the end of June, when I was in the middle of my five-week break

Taking a significant amount of time off usually leads to a lot of reflection for me, so I’d scheduled a therapy session during that time, knowing it might be helpful to debrief some of my reflections with my therapist.

By the time I reached my session, I felt confused. 

On the one hand, my break was everything that I wanted it to be. I felt relaxed and rejuvenated from taking time off; I felt so grateful that my team was holding down the fort so that I could disconnect; and I felt so lucky to be excited to return to work when my break was over because I love my job.

On the other hand, I felt resentful. My long, mostly unstructured break highlighted how rigid and structured my life usually is. Most days, I’m scheduled down to the minute. Everything I do has to be arranged and added to my calendar ahead of time—even the plans that I make with my family and friends. But during my break, aside from a family trip that was mostly planned out, I got to take each day as it came. It was so nice to wake up and do whatever I wanted to do whenever I wanted to do it. Coming back to work meant those freedoms wouldn’t be there anymore—and that left me feeling resentful. I told my therapist that I didn’t like how my job caused my life to be over-structured and over-scheduled. 

It felt vulnerable to share that with her, and it feels vulnerable to share it with you. But it’s the truth. And it was confusing: How could I love my job so much and resent it at the same time? How could I feel so grateful for this incredible break and be both so excited and so reluctant to come back to work?

Those questions became the topic of our 60-minute session. My therapist has an amazing way of listening without judgment and asking me questions that help me clarify my own feelings, and she also knows when it’s time to drop nuggets of wisdom. In this call, she told me something I will remember for the rest of my life: Resentment is a symptom of an unmet need.

I’ll say that again so that it can soak in for you the way it did for me: Resentment is a symptom of an unmet need.

It was a game-changer. Instead of looking externally and blaming my feelings on my work, she challenged me to look within myself and get clear on my own needs. Which ones were being neglected? What could I do about it?

We talked about how my highest personal value is freedom. What I loved most about my break is that I had a lot of freedom to choose what I wanted to do and when I wanted to do it each day. But when it comes to work, I rarely have unstructured time—and that’s what I need. I need more freedom in my work days so that I can follow my creative energy. I also crave more freedom to work on my book and spend my time writing when I feel inspired.

By the end of our call, I had flipped the script on my feelings of resentment. I realized that they were just a projection of how frustrated I was that I had so little freedom in my days. Now that I knew that, I had the opportunity to make changes so that I could have more freedom. 

That one realization is what led to all the changes I described in my last two blog posts. In the first, I shared how I came to the decision to let go of two parts of my job that I loved—my mastermind group and one-on-one work with some of our clients—so that I could free up more time on my calendar. The second was about how I changed some of our team’s processes so that I could have more help with content-related deliverables, which frees up even more time and mental capacity. It’s also what led to making our four-day workweek experiment permanent. I realized that I wanted it to continue so that I could hold myself—and our whole team—accountable to taking more time off.

Were these changes hard to make? Sure. I was scared I’d let people down and rock the boat too much. But did my fears come true? Not even a little bit. Every person affected—from our clients to my team—embraced, supported, and encouraged these changes. And now, here I am on the other side with the most unstructured time I’ve had in years, feeling so grateful for the conversation with my therapist that empowered me to look inward and take ownership.

Now, whenever I notice resentment rising anywhere in my life, I know to pause and ask myself, what need isn't being met? How can I speak up for what I need or change something in order to meet the need myself? Not only does that move me away from a place of staying stuck and frustrated, but I hope it inspires and empowers those in my life (and especially my team) to advocate and speak up for their needs, too.

So now, my friend, let’s talk about you: Do you ever feel resentment? Has it shown up for you in your work? Does it help you to think about it as a need that isn’t being met? What might you be able to do about that? I’d love to know if you are willing to share—hit reply and share with me and my team!

And as always, thanks for being here, and thanks for learning along with me.

Big hugs,

Kristen

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