Nora knew on day one that she'd made a mistake.

She'd taken a new role at a new company, even though her gut had told her not to before she signed anything. It was the first time in her career she'd overridden that instinct, and she felt it almost immediately. The team she joined had mostly been in the same seats for years. The role itself wasn't the one she'd been sold. And she couldn't get a straight answer out of anyone about what was actually expected of her.

The timing made it worse. This was the start of the pandemic. Nora, her husband, and their three kids, the youngest just one, had moved into a seven hundred square foot condo while their house was being renovated, and she was trying to learn a new job while also becoming her kids' teacher and full-time daycare in the same four walls.

Her boss turned out to be a bully, and no amount of asking got her the clarity she needed. Eventually, she was let go.

Nora had built a fast, clean run up the corporate ladder, landing her first VP role in her early thirties. When I knew her, she was VP of Brand Marketing at one of the banks I also worked at, down to earth, sharp, well liked, the kind of leader other people wanted to be like when they grew up. I know, because I was one of them, years before I ever imagined interviewing her about any of this. Losing that job was the first real professional failure she'd ever had. She told herself she'd never bounce back. For the first time in her life, she felt depressed.

When I asked her, later, how she found her way back, she didn't describe a five-step plan. She described four things.

First, she let time do some of the work. Not as a strategy, just as a fact she had to accept.

Second, she leaned on people instead of pushing through alone. Her husband started her back slowly, asking her to pick one small task a day, something as ordinary as unloading the dishwasher, and let that rebuild her confidence in pieces. Her friends helped push her toward her next move, which was a real step back on paper: VP to Senior Director, after years of only ever moving up. That wasn't the story she'd have written for herself. It ended up being exactly the story she needed.

Third, she went back into an office a few days a week, on purpose. She's an extrovert, and the isolation of the pandemic had cost her more than she'd realized. Being around people again gave some of her energy back.

Fourth, and last, she went back to trusting her gut. No longer would Nora override her gut, especially when there are red flags.  

That step-back role turned out to be a good landing pad, not a permanent one. Two years later, Nora was a VP again, at an organization with a culture and a mandate she actually believes in. The lesson she wanted other leaders to sit with was simple: don't run away from something, run toward something. And notice the red flags on the way, instead of explaining them away because the timing feels urgent.

Here's where I think most leaders get this wrong, myself included. We treat career moves like a ladder, where the only real motion is up, and anything else reads as a demotion or a failure. Nora's story says otherwise. The smartest move in her career wasn't the fast climb. It was the year she spent one level down, rebuilding on her own terms, before she was ready to go back up.

So here's the question worth sitting with. Where, in your own career or your team's, are you calling something progress simply because it moves in one direction, when your gut already told you it's the wrong one?

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Most leaders aren't dishonest. They're wearing a mask, a version of themselves that's easier to approve of, and it's quietly costing them their best people and their performance. Shannon Talbot helps overwhelmed leaders take it off. She's a leadership speaker, facilitator, and consultant, and the author of Breaking Free. Learn more at shannontalbot.com.