Making the call about when and how to step out of a leadership role tops my all-time list of "Things I Hate." I would venture to guess that you've been there; that the struggle leaders face over when, how and why to step away—although circumstantially unique—are somewhat common.
Earlier this year, I stepped out of a role that played a significant part in my development as a leader. Having traveled the transition road before, when I stepped out, I anticipated the internal battle: guilt (now others had to pick up my slack), ego (would they really be okay without me?), loss (but the relationships…). What I didn't expect, however, was for a voluntary stepping away to leave me feeling like a complete failure.
The decision came during a "conversation" my husband and I had been having for the better part of three years. While I knew this particular role was utilizing my gifts, growing my skills and making a difference, the investment of time and energy was taking away from other areas of my life that I cared deeply about. So when my husband suggested—again—that maybe it was time to take a break, I put on my gloves and prepared—again—to be declared the victor. But midway through the conversation, something unexpected happened. I found myself agreeing with my husband. It was a rare moment of clarity for a girl whose family-of-origin-motto is "Let's wait and see." I knew I needed to quit, and I knew it had to be soon.
At first I was proud of my uncharacteristically decisive action, for so clearly obeying the still small voice. But it took less than 24 hours for the guilt to set in, for me to begin questioning whether or not I had made the right decision. I secretly wondered how the dynamics of the community would change without me, and I felt the gap of missing relationships. But then, a few weeks later, the strangest thing happened. I found something in my life that I'd been missing for years: white space.
And I felt completely, utterly, one-hundred percent…lazy. Like an unstressed, well-rested, big American zero.
Feelings of inadequacy replaced feelings of guilt about stepping away. I wondered what deficiencies I had that made me incapable of handling a busy load. I questioned my work ethic and self-discipline. Comparison plagued me as I looked at the capacity of other leaders I knew. Well if she can handle it, why can't I? Maybe if I had just stayed up later and gotten up earlier, I could have pulled this off.
Our western culture had gotten the better of me. It tells me if I'm not stressed out, exhausted and burning the candle at both ends, I'm not productive. It equates busyness with fruitfulness. It consistently asks me what I want to do, but rarely asks me who I want to be. It tells me to wear my to-do list like a badge of honor. As a product of it, I beg God to reveal his plan for my life, rather than begging him just to reveal himself. I believe that he cares as much about my competency as he does my character.