In Pursuit of Wholeness
Preface: Teal organizations are grounded in the principle of wholeness — the idea that we should bring all of ourselves, vulnerabilities and strengths, to our work. It is in that spirit that I want to open up a piece of my past and share the following story from 2015.
This is a story, both personal and professional, because the line between those two things is murky at best, and teasing them apart might make it seem like I was better at sorting and compartmentalizing than I am.
First, I loved my job. My job was to break down the traditional reporting hierarchy at my company and replace it with a more natural, self-organizing structure called Holacracy. There is a lot of technical jargon that I won’t go into but, basically, my job was to inspire people to stop deferring their power into the hands of a manager, and instead face someone much more sinister, themselves. Self-organization is aptly titled because you rely on your self. In a world post managers, you have a lot of power and in a Spiderman-esque way, the ultimate responsibility to resolve your own tensions. And this can lead to some amazing things. Folks who were long silent, sitting in meetings screaming inside, but saying nothing, were suddenly given the space to speak. Seeing that made me cheer inside. I remember these bright moments, like when I saw a chain of emails where a young man who had processed a tension about our less-than stellar internal communications strategy went toe to toe in all red caps with our CEO. And you know what? He had the authority to.
My job rocked. I saw people taking ownership and stepping up in ways they hadn't before. The Holacracy transition wasn’t without its extreme challenges, (I’ll save that for another post) but what I’ll remember most was the pride and gratitude I felt to be working at a company that was willing to bet it all on it’s people. I was sure that this would be my job for the rest of my life.
And then I got pregnant. And not the “first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby in the baby carriage” kind of pregnant. I mean pregnant with my brand new boyfriend of just a month. Okay. I thought. New boyfriend, new baby, bad ass career. Why not? A few complications. I was recently divorced, I lived in a 240 sq.ft. Air Stream trailer, and my baby’s father had just moved to another state.
I had been toying with the idea of starting my own consulting business for some time. Leave the nest and become an entrepreneur. Move with my boyfriend to the Bay Area, a great place for a new venture, and a new life. I would be a ‘pregapenuer.’ Building my empire and building a new human. When I broke the news to my parents, my dad said something I’ll never forget. “Can you handle this?” and I, who had worked for 30 years on never appearing vulnerable and out of control, said. “Of course I can.” Upon which he clarified, “no, can you physically handle this? I mean, you’re kind of small.” I laughed and said, “dad, don’t be crazy. This is perfectly natural.”
I had a little bit of savings, and my boyfriend offered to support me while I got things up and running. So I packed it all up and drove out west. Once settled in our new Silicon Valley digs, I slowly geared up on the business front. Prospective client meetings, networking, navigating the BART into the city. I was on the road and selling my wares. Telling stories of the radical change, challenges, and wins of the Holacracy transition at Zappos. It wasn’t stressful at all. I really believe in this stuff. I believe it because I was one of those employees who was always walking the line. Trying to take on more without appearing over-eager, trying to change things at a company where I was too junior to really make an impact. Holacracy freed me. No longer chained by traditional reporting structure, I reached out for opportunities on several teams and I didn’t have to make excuses about why I wanted to do this or that. As long as I could accomplish my work, I had the authority. So here I am happily chugging through emails at the dining room table and I feel a gush of water down my leg.
Our baby is only 20 weeks baked and my water broke. I knew something was terribly wrong. She’s not ready to come out. At the doctors the next morning our worst fears were confirmed. I’d lost all my amniotic fluid. My OBGYN held my hand and said, “i’m so sorry, I’ve notified the hospital and they are waiting for you in labor and delivery. You’re going to have to deliver this baby before she’s viable.” I was ushered out of the room in total shock. I made it to my car before I totally broke down. I mean totally. I started talking to her, begging her to hang in there. Was she suffocating? Was she even still alive?
At the hospital an ultrasound revealed that she was. A specialist told us that we didn’t have to deliver right away. There was a small, tiny, chance that I could re-accumulate fluid, and that she would develop normally. Her heartbeat was strong, encouraging, and we decided that if our baby girl was still fighting, so would we. I spent the few next weeks on bed rest trying to re-accumulate some fluid. During this time, I awkwardly tried to keep the business on track. Sending emails from laying down and using my daily hour of walk around time to conduct Skype meetings from the house. What do I say to people? In the back of my mind feeling both like a terrible mother and a terrible entrepreneur. Couldn't I just be good at one thing? Why do I have the desire to work? Shouldn’t I be spending all day reading about my condition? These questions plagued me, but I just did what came naturally. I rested when I could and when I felt like I was going to go crazy, I worked, I read, and I watched a lot of Bob’s Burgers.
Without getting too graphic, we ran into some complications that put my life at risk, and after spending two weekends in the hospital, with no sign of increased fluid levels, the small chance of her surviving and living a healthy life was disappearing. Four weeks after my water broke we made the decision to let our baby girl go.
Kahealani Rose Black Wendel was born and passed on the same day. She was perfect, beautiful, and my hope is that she only ever knew love.
The day I picked up her cremated remains I made a plan to get the business, Thoughtful Org, back on track. I realize that sounds a little insensitive, but it turns out that there is no right way to grieve. It was around the same time that Sheryl Sandberg posted her epic “Kick the shit out of option B” story. It offered a ray of light and understanding. Although it felt like my option B had come and passed, the sentiment remained. Get up. Keep going.
Embracing Holacracy and the responsibility of self-management comes down to a very personal choice for most people. Are you willing to confront tension to drive change, challenge the stories you tell yourself that keep you silent, take responsibility for your work, your purpose, and your happiness? Telling this story is my first step on a long personal journey. I’m not completely healed yet. I don’t know if I ever will be. But it’s with misty eyes and a heart full of love and gratitude that I got up this morning and decided to keep going.
Postface: Our second daughter Kylan Makena Black Wendel was born on January 1, 2017 at full term and is named after the beach where her big sisters’ ashes were scattered.
