Owning the Mirror: What I Learned from the Hardest Feedback of My Career

This post builds on:

Why I Created This Portfolio — where I first shared how I transitioned from behavioral health into project management, and why I chose to document that journey publicly.

This isn’t the post I ever thought I’d write, but it’s the one I needed to.

For the first time in my professional career, I was placed on a Performance Improvement Plan. And then, ultimately, I was terminated.

That’s the reality. But this isn’t a story about blame. It’s a story about ownership.

I value transparency, sometimes to a fault. I’ve always been the type to proactively surface issues, even when I know they might reflect poorly on me. That same instinct is why I’m writing this. Not to relitigate what happened. Not to point fingers. But to share what I’ve learned in hopes that someone else can see themselves in it and grow before the storm hits.

If you’ve ever been where I’ve been or think you might be someday, I want this to leave you with something true, and more importantly, something useful.

The Situation: When the Role Doesn’t Fit

Honestly, I’m still grieving this loss. There’s no tidy way to wrap this up emotionally. But I also feel a fire inside me and it’s not the kind that fuels revenge or blame. It’s the kind that fuels clarity.

In hindsight, I can see it: the role I was in wasn’t for me. And deep down, I think I knew it long before the formal feedback came. You know that feeling when something just doesn’t fit? Like a fish out of water, flopping, exhausted not because you’re weak, but because you’re not in your right environment.

When I was placed on the PIP, all kinds of doubts and old stories came roaring back. The inner critic, the self-blame, the voice that said, 'You failed. Again.' I’ve been on the other side of these plans, as a leader who had to initiate them. Now here I was, on the receiving end.
It shook me. But it also woke me up.

The Weight of Loss: When It Hits All at Once

Just yesterday, I had to say goodbye to my dog, my border collie, my companion, a true member of our family. He was loyal, intuitive, and present through more seasons of my life than most people realize. Euthanizing him was one of the hardest decisions I’ve had to make—and doing it while still processing this professional transition cut deeper than I expected.

Grief has a way of revealing what's been lingering beneath the surface.

Whether it's the loss of a job, the death of a loved one, or the goodbye we never wanted to say to a pet we mourn not just what’s gone, but what that part of our life represented. Stability. Identity. Unconditional presence. The illusion of control. The rhythm we didn’t realize we’d built our days around.

It’s easy to compartmentalize grief in our culture. But the truth is, it all blends together. The personal and professional bleed into each other, and if we’re not careful, we numb ourselves to both.

So I’m not compartmentalizing anymore. I’m naming it: this is a season of loss. And it’s also a season of clarity. Because grief, as heavy as it is, can be a clarifier. It forces us to slow down, to ask deeper questions, to pay attention to what really matters.

The Reflection: What I Found in the Debris

In conversations with my wife (who happens to be a therapist—blessing and curse), friends, mentors, and peers, I was reminded of something simple but powerful:

This situation may shape my path, but it doesn’t define my worth.

I’ve spent years supporting teams through crisis, change, and complex systems. But I wasn’t giving that same care to myself. I realized I had internalized the belief that high output = job security, that being “busy and responsive” was the same as being effective and aligned. That’s a dangerous myth. And I carried it too long.

More than anything, I learned that silence doesn’t mean alignment. Doing the work isn’t enough, you must tell the story of the work. And that leadership isn’t about carrying everything, it’s about managing clarity, risk, and visibility.

What I’ll Do Differently

This wasn’t just a breakdown. It was a blueprint for rebuilding.

- I’ll never assume silence means alignment. I’ll clarify expectations and surface ambiguity early.

- I’ll never confuse task completion with outcome ownership. I’ll lead from purpose, not just execution.

- I’ll never trust perception to “take care of itself.” I’ll communicate my impact; strategically and regularly.

- I’ll never wait for feedback. I’ll invite it, track it, and use it as a mirror, not a judgment.

- I’ll build systems of clarity; documenting decisions, aligning stakeholders, and surfacing risks before they become crises.

What I Take With Me

I’m not proud of the outcome. But I’m proud of what I’ve taken from it.

I leave with more self-awareness, sharper tools, and a renewed commitment to lead with precision and empathy. I’m clearer about the kinds of roles I belong in and the kinds I don’t.

Leadership isn’t about never falling short. It’s about what you do when you do.

For Anyone Walking Through It

If you’re in the middle of a hard season, on a PIP, or feeling out of sync with your role: I want to say this:
You are not your title.
You are not your outcome.
You are what you do next.

Use this moment. Don’t waste it trying to prove your old story. Write a better one.

Have you ever been through a moment like this? What did it teach you?

Let’s stop pretending this stuff doesn’t happen. Let’s normalize growing through it.