This Is Grief Too with Laverne McKinnon

Laverne McKinnon
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This Is Grief Too explores the human side of professional loss, career grief, and what’s next. Laverne McKinnon shares stories, honest reflections, and practical tools to help you make sense of what happened, rebuild, and move forward. thisisgrieftoo.substack.com

  1. 5h ago

    What’s the difference between rest and avoidance? (asking for a friend)

    This is a free preview of a paid episode. To hear more, visit thisisgrieftoo.substack.com How do you know when you’re giving yourself a necessary break versus putting off something you need to face? Three ways to look at this: energy, compassion and fear. Is the break restoring you or draining you? One reason it’s tricky to know whether you’re resting or avoiding is that it can look exactly the same from the outside. But what’s happening on the inside? This is where we can determine if energy is being drained or filled up. When you’re taking a much needed break, you’re giving yourself room to recover and re-energize. When you’re avoiding something, you’re expending energy to avoid it. But here’s the clincher: you’ve also got underlying anxiety playing in the background about not doing the thing and that’s sucking your energy too. So best to ask yourself if the break is giving energy or taking energy? Am I giving myself grace or letting myself off the hook? Grace is very hard to give when you believe you’re letting yourself off the hook. Even though we all know we sometimes need to give ourselves permission to pause. Other times, we need to give ourselves a nudge to get going. The fascinating part is that both require self-compassion. One for being human and needing rest and the other for the part of ourselves that doesn’t want to have to do the hard thing. There’s always a need for compassion. A question to ask: Why is it hard to grant yourself compassion? Am I waiting until I’m ready? Readiness is a slippery thing. Sometimes we genuinely need more time. Other times, we’re hoping the fear, discomfort, or uncertainty will disappear if we wait long enough. Unfortunately, it rarely does. My rule of thumb is courage over confidence. Never ever wait for confidence to appear. Best to do it messily and access the aforementioned compassion. The question to ask yourself: Do I need more time, or am I hoping time will make this less scary? Bottom Line I wish there was a formula for knowing when to rest and when to push forward because I battle with this all the time. And the times I need rest seem to happen during the most inopportune times. What I’m discovering is that curiosity helps. What’s underneath the desire to rest or avoid? Am I depleted? Am I scared? Am I overwhelmed and don’t know where to start? Will doing the thing bring up feelings of incompetence? Knowing what’s underneath and adding a big dose of compassion can help determine whether I’m giving myself a break to recover or if I’m avoiding the thing. Because even if I’m in avoidance mode, the compassion will help me get through it. Want to go a little deeper? Become a Solid Ground member for monthly video lessons and worksheets, weekly guided meditations, and practical support as you navigate what’s next. A shout out to Glen Reynolds at Circus Road Films who hosts the Indie Film Weekly YouTube channel. If you’re a fan of independent films, I highly recommend subscribing to learn what’s coming up and catch some oldies you may have missed. He’s a great curator! Keep Exploring Journal Prompts For Solid Ground members, below are three journal prompts to help you tell the difference between needing a break and avoiding something that needs your attention. Use these journal prompts as an opportunity to pause, reflect, and get curious about what you need.

  2. Oct 26

    What’s Keeping You Afloat During These Times?

    This is a free preview of a paid episode. To hear more, visit thisisgrieftoo.substack.com You don’t have to swim when you can float. My kid’s been missing a lot of school lately due to a medical challenge. I’m worried and uncertain whether she’ll be able to complete the school year. On top of that, I’m still navigating the disruption from moving out of the family home that we’d been in for 28 years. And it’s not clear how the transition will ultimately fall out. There’s more, but I’m not going to dump on you. Suffice to say, this is a rough season. I’m making more mistakes than normal, next steps feel fuzzy, and I can’t even think about bouncing back, finding purpose or turning adversity into opportunity. Right now, I’m just trying to stay afloat. Sometimes staying afloat is enough My morning hot green tea has become my floatie. It’s one thing I can count on regardless of whether I’m chugging it on the go, taking it on a morning walk, or actually sitting still. Even if the rest of the day goes to s**t, I’ve had my tea. When so much is outside my control, this small predictable pleasure is taking on disproportionate importance. A good book to float on I’m in the midst of re-reading all 42 Michael Connelly books on the Libby app. It’s this little pocket of pleasure that’s kind of escapist, but mostly puts me back in the driver’s seat with a sense of control over my time. It takes me out of my worry and has a sort of flow energy to it. Part of the uncertainty I’m dealing with comes from events that pop up out of nowhere and require my time, but not necessarily my focused presence. Like hanging out in a doctor’s office. There’s a lot of “hurry up, and wait” going on. I always have my phone with me, so I read a chapter. There’s something comforting about returning to a familiar world, even when that world is full of murder investigations. Pleasure doesn’t have to be earned by solving all my problems first. The Bubble Another way I’m staying afloat is compartmentalizing. Compartmentalizing gets a bad rap, but it’s been working really really well for me. We’re often told to face our feelings, process our experiences, and confront difficult situations. I mean, how many blogs have I written about that?! But sometimes that’s simply too much. I only have so much capacity. I promise I’m not in denial. I’m fully aware of what needs my attention, but does it need my worry 24/7? Creating the bubble is a boundary. I tell myself that for the next four hours I’m going to pretend I’m in a world where everything is fine. Where I can create, relax, dream and laugh without feeling guilty. Or like I’m wasting time. Or being irresponsible. Small certainties make room for uncertainty I get that none of these things are getting rid of uncertainty. Hello. But there’s a huge difference between embracing uncertainty philosophically and living with it day after day. I know not having everything figured out can create room for things I haven’t imagined yet. And that can feel exciting. But right now uncertainty feels debilitating. So I rely on my cup of green tea, a Michael Connelly novel, and a protective bubble to stay afloat until I get back to solid ground. Below, you’ll find journal prompts for paid members. If today’s article resonated with you, consider becoming a Solid Ground Member. You’ll receive monthly video lessons and worksheets, along with weekly guided meditations to help you reflect, reconnect, and navigate what comes next. Three Reads for Navigating Change Journal Prompts Here are 3 journal prompts for paid This Is Grief Too members. Take a few minutes to explore what’s keeping you afloat right now—and where you might give yourself permission to stop swimming so hard.

  3. Oct 5

    You’re Fine. So Why Are You Crying? 😭

    This is a free preview of a paid episode. To hear more, visit thisisgrieftoo.substack.com If you’re familiar with the 110 freeway in Los Angeles, you may know that the on-ramps are unbelievably short and ridiculously tight — because they were designed when cars topped out around 45 mph. Some of those on-ramps require a full stop and then a balls out sprint to get to at least 60 mph within 15 feet before merging into speeding traffic. Yowsa. So you might be able to imagine my terror on a lovely Saturday morning when my car broke down just as I was Lando Norris-ing my way onto the 110. My car would not get past 15 mph no matter how hard I pressed the gas. And then the steering wheel started to freeze up. (I later learned that new cars go “limp” when there’s a system disruption. Am I the only one who thinks that this is a very bad idea?) I tell my 16-year-old daughter Aurora that something funky is happening and I pull over. There’s no way we’re going to make the martial arts class we signed up for while the dashboard is flashing: hybrid system malfunction. As I’m digging around for my AAA membership number, I’m trying to stay calm while cars are zipping by us at 70 to 80 miles per hour. I swear they’re moving in closer and faster than my freshman-year homecoming date. My RAV4 is shaking and rocking from the turbulence. I’m desperate to know how quickly a tow truck can get to me. Turns out pretty quickly. AAA says a driver will arrive in about 15 minutes, which is great because the AC is not working anymore. Aurora and I have rings of sweat under our pits and my boobs are dripping. When Martell shows up with the flatbed, he’s got a big smile, sparkly blue eyes, and competency covers him like butter on popcorn. Tears bubble up, but I squash them. We’re fine now. Martell secures the car lickety split and we’re off to the service place within five minutes. The AC in his cab is crisp and we chat about his three children and his dog and how he works 12 hour days and loves to take his kids to the park but they're growing up so fast and they have their friends and hobbies. He gives Aurora a miniature pack of UNO cards and lets me choose a Matchbox car. After we drop off the RAV4 and get a rental, Aurora and I walk-run to the nearest IHOP for a stack of comfort pancakes. It’s been a stressful morning, we debate ordering the max: three full stacks = 15 pancakes. (I will not share the results of that debate.) When we get home, I feel those tears start to bubble again. It’s interesting because they seem to happen when I’m safe. I can’t help but wonder what exactly am I crying about? Turns out holding it together isn’t necessarily the problem. Never having a place to stop holding it together might be. A lot of what I’ve been holding together the last 18 months has been pressing at the seams. Aurora being diagnosed with a chronic illness, both my dogs dying last Fall, navigating a lawsuit against my insurance company, selling our home, moving … Which made me curious about the idea of a “good cry.” Is there actually such a thing? Does crying really provide the emotional release we think it does? Researchers have been studying crying for decades, and it’s not completely true that crying is a catharsis. Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn’t. When people look back on crying, they often say they felt better afterward. But when the researchers actually watched what happened to people immediately after they cried, they often felt worse. So why do I sometimes intentionally seek out a movie, say Terms of Endearment, to help me cry? It turns out, it’s not uncommon to deliberately do things that help us open the floodgates. Not to be morbid, but watching Shirley MacLaine lose Debra Winger does it for me. And while I’m there, I can cry about everything else too. The things that didn’t go the way I wanted. The decisions I didn’t want to have to make. The uncertainty I’ve learned to live with. The endings I chose and the ones I didn’t. I’d been telling myself that I didn’t have anything to cry about with my car breaking down because everything worked out. We were safe. The car would be fixed. I ate a lot of maple syrup with a dollop of pancakes with my kid. Nothing terrible happened. But “nothing terrible happened” and “that was a lot for my nervous system” can apparently coexist. There’s actually a concept in psychology called “expressive flexibility.” The basic idea is that being emotionally healthy means we can hold it together when we need to and have the big feelings when we need to. It really depends on the situation. On the side of the 110 freeway with my daughter while cars are flying past us at 80 miles an hour? Excellent time to hold it together. Talking to AAA? Hold it together. Figuring out the rental? Still useful. Safe at home, curled up in bed, watching Terms of Endearment? I don’t need to hold it together. We do this at work all the time. We get the email during the middle of the day saying HR wants to Zoom at 5 pm. We get blindsided at the meeting with news that the project has been defunded. We get called out for a misstep in front of the entire department. We function. Sometimes beautifully. But functioning and feeling aren’t the same thing. Maybe that’s why that Saturday morning got to me. The car didn’t cause 18 months of emotion. It just happened to be the thing that made me realize how much energy I’d been using to hold everything together. I don’t know that the scientific evidence lets me call what happened a “cathartic cry.” But I know that 90 minutes later, I felt different. You Might Also Like: JOURNAL PROMPTS Here are 4 journal prompts for paid This is Grief Too members. Take a few minutes to notice what you’ve been holding together—and what it might be costing you.

  4. Sep 14

    What Letting Go Helped Me See 🦋

    This is a free preview of a paid episode. To hear more, visit thisisgrieftoo.substack.com I’m a late-to-the-party big believer in taking a break from the normal routines and structures of life to gain fresh perspective. This year, I took about five weeks off from Substack and client work over the summer. The intention was to create space to move out of the home we’ve been in for 28 years so we could radically downsize and try a completely different lifestyle. We’ve left the gorgeous wildlife corridor and serenity of Laurel Canyon in the Hollywood Hills and are now renting a super cool loft in the Brewery Artist Complex right next to the 5 freeway in Los Angeles. I’ve gone from solo nature walks to a vibrant, dynamic community of over 200 artists. My mind, body, and heart are adjusting to the vibe and energy, but my gut says that it’s the right move, especially when I sit on our porch with my cup of tea and watch folks hauling creations, walking dogs, and bartering for goods and services. It’s magical in a whole new way. The stress, though, of the amount of change has got me down to my high school weight. Seems I’m purging more than old clothes and tschotchkes and notebooks and toiletries from fancy hotels. I never thought I was a hoarder until it was time to move. What I’ve also realized is that it’s time to let go of a part of my coaching identity: Moonshot Mentor. It was a name that a former client pitched me, and I felt honored that she would see me in that way — and I really do love helping people go after their big dreams. But what I’m seeing more and more, and what’s really calling out to me, is how every moonshot comes with some form of attachment –- to what achieving that moonshot means to your identity, your purpose, your sense of belonging, your legacy, financial security, recognition. You can’t care about something and not be attached. So when something matters, losing it matters too. I’ve heard from so many people who have experienced professional loss that they’ve felt traumatized, or punished, or left behind as a result of what happened. They’ve felt angry, confused, adrift, and despondent. They’ve lost confidence, their sense of self, stability, or a future. They swing back and forth between “this is all my fault” to “these things happen.” I too have felt all these things. And I got stuck for a decade because I treated speed bumps as evidence that I’d done something horrifically wrong, or that I was unlucky, or that I just wasn’t good enough. When I gave myself permission to grieve and took stock of the meaning I’d created from what happened, I was able to course-correct and stop making decisions from a place of fear, feeling less than, and proving myself to others. And I’m not the only one who had to grieve an attachment … * The lawyer who hated his job with every fiber of his being and had to grieve the identity he had established as someone with status and stature before he could become a therapist. * The creative executive who was laid off and couldn’t get a single interview, who grieved the career dream she held since she was a kid. Through mourning, she realized that what she now loved was salesmanship, and that created a new dream. * The director who was publicly fired and grieved the loss of confidence and her belief in fairness. Through mourning, she regained her footing and a fresh set of beliefs before becoming the artistic director of a major theatre. And so, Moonshot Mentor is becoming This Is Grief Too. This Is Grief Too is a reader-supported publication. Subscribe for new posts about professional loss, career grief, and what’s next. While mentoring moonshots will always be a part of my work, I’m shifting the primary focus to helping people recognize grief in all forms, not only related to the loss of life. I don’t want anyone to suffer because of unacknowledged loss. I want us to get better at recognizing grief when it shows up outside the places we’ve been taught to look for it. Because when we can notice and name what we’re experiencing, we can stop trying to solve the wrong problem. If you’re already a Moonshot Mentor subscriber, there’s nothing you need to do. You’ll continue to hear from me here, just under a new name, with a broader focus and a new rhythm: * Instead of a long-form piece every week, I’ll send a weekly newsletter with shorter insights, practical tools, career strategy, and cool stuff I find along the way. * Career Conversations is becoming This Is Grief Too: Live. Twice a month, I’ll talk with special guests about the highs and lows of their careers, as well as loss, change, and what comes next. Join us live on Substack, with replays available for paid subscribers. * Paid subscribers will get 1–2 deeper dives each month—in writing, audio, or video—with journal prompts to help you reflect on your own experience. You’ll also receive weekly meditations and Solid Ground, my ongoing guided practice for working through career grief. Each Solid Ground lesson focuses on one piece of the process, with practical tools to help you understand what you’ve lost, make sense of what it stirred up, and move forward with more clarity. I’m still in the early days of adjusting to my new life. I miss the sweet quiet of Laurel Canyon, but I’m learning to love the noise and creative energy of my new home. Apparently, you can grieve what you’ve left behind and be excited about what’s next at the same time. Welcome to This is Grief Too. Join me Friday, September 18th for This Is Grief Too: Live with Stanley C. as we talk about creating a mourning playlist. Have a question you’d like us to answer? Feel free to send it here. Before you rush to figure out what’s next, ask yourself what you’re actually grieving. These three pieces explore some of the places grief can hide – in our identities, our ambitions, and the feeling of being stuck. Is Grief Holding Me Back?What happens when grief keeps us from moving forward? How Your Identity Is Stopping You From Achieving Your GoalsWhat if the identity you’ve built around your goals is part of what’s keeping you stuck? What to Do When Stuck at Work?Sometimes being stuck isn’t a career problem. It’s a purpose problem. This Is Grief Too is a reader-supported publication. Subscribe for new posts about professional loss, career grief, and what’s next. Journal Prompts Here are 3 journal prompts for Solid Ground members. Let’s explore what letting go might help you see about what matters, what you’re grieving, and what wants to change.

    What Letting Go Helped Me See 🦋

  5. Sep 7

    I’m Grieving the Home I Chose to Leave 🏡

    This is a free preview of a paid episode. To hear more, visit thisisgrieftoo.substack.com I’m in a contorted cat-cow pose holding a toothbrush with my right hand, leaning heavily on my left to take the pressure off my legs, wondering if this is a good choice at this moment in time. The white tile I’m scrubbing is pretty, but man, it is unforgiving on my bones, especially my knees, which are already showing signs of bruising. When I was in high school, I cleaned houses for a summer to make extra cash. Hated it. I do love cleanliness and organization, but don’t love wearing plastic gloves, chipping away at other people’s … stuff. But here I am saying goodbye to 28 years in this home. Getting it ready for our first open house. Will anyone walking through know that we raised our two daughters here? That I spent most of my Hollywood career celebrating and retreating to this oasis during the inevitable turbulent highs and lows? The last several months have been a fugue state. Shadows, echoes, the smell of roasting chicken, far-off laughter haunt and delight me. Why do these particular memories bubble? I do not know. Prepping the house to sell, purging what I thought were treasures, and now I can’t remember why I kept the stuff in the first place: a Russian urn, a tattered white t-shirt, and oh my goodness, so many books. I’ve forced myself to give them away and radically accept that I will not be reading them a second time. After I clean the bathroom, I tackle the window sills. Then the oven. Then a super deep clean of the fridge. I check every nook for cobwebs and wash the kitchen windows a fourth time because I just can’t get those streaks out. I’m saying goodbye. Cleaning my house with a forensic eye for detail is part of my mourning. It reminds me of how, after death, a body is cleaned in many cultures: Muslims practice ghusl, the Jewish tradition of taharah, or the Ancient Egyptians. It’s bringing devotion and sacredness to what might be considered an everyday act. In each room, in every corner, I whisper, “Thank you.” Memories drop in and out, not fully formed, more like pieces of potato chips at the bottom of the Ruffles bag. Wearing onesies on Christmas Day. Rocco running through the living room at full speed. Chuck melting the toaster in the oven (don’t ask). Pizza parties. Pool bar-b-ques. Sunrise walks. The day Roo arrived during lockdown. Mourning is the visible, outward expression of loss. Grieving is the internal response to losing something that we are attached to. Mourning takes many forms. It can be a funeral or a memorial service or planting a tree. Or it can be cleaning the grout in the bathtub. When my mom died, we knew what to do. There are rituals. But there are so many other endings we’re expected to glide through because they’re just a normal part of life — even endings that we have control over. Despite selling our home being my choice (and my husband’s), I still grieve. I was attached to the safety and security of having a house to live in and build a family. I was attached to the serenity and beauty of having a home in the Laurel Canyon wildlife corridor. I was attached to the privacy of living at the end of a long single-lane road. I’m grateful that I can have a good goodbye: one that I get to have agency around and make choices about what that goodbye will look like even if it’s me on my hands and knees scrubbing every inch of the house that has taken care of me for the last 28 years. Maybe someday, I’ll take a drive into Laurel Canyon, and I’ll think, “There was a woman who lived in a house at the end of Crescent Drive. She had a pretty good run.” If you want to dig a bit deeper, check out some previous posts regarding “letting go.” Thanks for being here. I’d love to hear what you think of today’s post, so if you have a question or comment, please share it below. If you’re grieving a loss and could use some support, Solid Ground is my paid Substack subscriber community. It’s a place to make sense of what you’re experiencing, find ways to mourn, and be met with compassion and encouragement. For paid subscribers, I’ve included five journal prompts below to help you dig a little deeper. See you next week!

  6. Jun 22

    What Happened to You at Work Matters (And I Need Your Help)

    Hi friend. When I was fired from a job I cared about deeply, I was devastated. At the time, I didn’t have language for what I was experiencing. I thought I needed to get back on the horse, get a thicker skin, and get over it. It took me ten years to realize that I was carrying grief. Career grief. Once I understood that, I got unstuck. I gave myself permission to mourn what had happened and all that had been lost alongside my job title. Today, I’m writing a book with the working title This is Grief, Too, and am fortunate to be represented by awesome agents at Peters Fraser + Dunlop. The book draws not only from my experiences but also from the hundreds of clients, students, and professionals I’ve met over the years who have experienced their own forms of professional heartbreak. Now I’d love to hear from you. I’m looking for stories about career setbacks, disappointments, endings, mistakes, missed opportunities, layoffs, firings, failed projects, dreams that didn’t unfold the way you hoped, or any professional loss that still lingers in your heart and mind. The ones that changed something. The ones that you think about from time to time. Or all the time. The ones that shaped how you see yourself, your work, or your future. If you’re willing, I’d be grateful if you would complete a comprehensive questionnaire and share your story with me. With your permission, portions of your experience may be considered for inclusion in the book and related research. You can participate anonymously if you prefer. After reviewing submissions, I’ll invite up to twenty people to participate in individual 90-minute recorded coaching and research interviews. These one-on-one conversations will help inform the book and may, with your additional consent, be considered for inclusion in future book or audiobook materials. More than anything, my hope is that this work helps us become grief literate. Because what happens to us at work matters. The losses we experience matter. And learning how to acknowledge and mourn professional heartbreak may be one of the most important skills we can develop for a long and meaningful career. Questionnaire Link Thank you for considering it. I’d be honored to hear your story. The gremlins tend to get loudest when we’re standing at the edge of change. That’s why this month’s Solid Ground lesson is called Meet Your Gremlins. We’ll explore the inner voices that fuel self-doubt, second-guessing, and hesitation, and how to keep them from making decisions for you. Solid Ground Community is my monthly practice for people navigating career transitions, setbacks, and stretch seasons. Paid subscribers receive a video lesson, worksheet, and live coaching session each month. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit thisisgrieftoo.substack.com/subscribe

  7. May 25

    What is My Purpose

    The week I got fired from a job I loved, I kept opening my laptop and staring at a blank screen. I didn’t know what to update. I wasn’t sure who I was updating it for. My job title had been the answer to so many questions, including, it turned out, the question of who I was. That’s the thing nobody warns you about: career disappointment. The professional loss is real. But the identity loss is the one that knocks you sideways. And somewhere in that fog, a question surfaces. Usually in the middle of the night. Usually, when you’re too tired to push it away. What is my purpose? Here’s what I’ve learned — both from living through it and from walking dozens of clients through the same fire: that question isn’t a crisis. It’s an invitation. And career disappointment, as brutal as it is, might be the most direct route to your answer. Why Career Disappointment Hits So Deep Most of us have been quietly, unconsciously answering the purpose question with our job title for years. I’m a producer. I’m an analyst. I’m a director of marketing. When work is going well, that answer feels sufficient. But it was never really the answer. Your job is not your purpose — it’s a manifestation of it. And when the job disappears, what’s left is the real question you should have been sitting with all along. That’s not a failure. That’s a reckoning. And reckonings, handled right, can change everything. The Three Questions That Find Your Purpose I use a three-question framework with my clients, and I’ve come back to it myself more times than I can count. The questions are simple. They’re not easy. There’s a difference. Question 1: What brings you joy or flow? Not what you’re supposed to love. Not what looks impressive on a LinkedIn summary. What actually lights you up — where do you lose track of time? Learning something new? Creating something from scratch? Solving a puzzle no one else could crack? Supporting someone through something hard? Don’t overthink it. Write whatever comes up first. Question 2: What are you good at? Here’s a pro tip: don’t answer this one alone. Ask three people who know you well. We are chronically blind to our own gifts, especially the ones that come naturally. They don’t feel like gifts — they just feel like us. When I did this exercise, I was surprised to learn that people experienced me as a strategic organizer and planner. Those things came so easily to me I’d never counted them as skills. I thought everyone did that. They don’t. Question 3: What breaks your heart? This is the one people rush past. Don’t. What feels intolerable to you in the world? What injustice makes you angry? What gap keeps pulling your attention? What do you find yourself saying someone should do something about this — because, yes, that someone might be you. Purpose lives in the overlap of these three things. And career disappointment has a way of stripping away the noise so you can finally hear them. Gigi’s Story When Gigi came to me, she had just been laid off after 18 years as an analyst at Boeing — a job she’d landed right out of college. She was devastated. Her career had been a source of real pride, and her goals had always centered on stability: building a family, saving for retirement. But when we started working through the three questions, something shifted. What brought her joy was solving unsolvable problems. What she was good at was long-term data analysis and pattern recognition. And what broke her heart? The idea of leaving the world worse than she found it for her kids. Those three things pointed somewhere she hadn’t been looking: sustainability. Helping companies reduce their carbon footprint. Using her skills to address something that mattered to her at a gut level. Job security, she realized, had never been her purpose. It had been her strategy. Once she could see that, she stopped grieving the job and started building toward something real. Last I heard, she was interviewing for sustainability analyst roles and interviewing like someone who knew exactly why she was in the room. The disappointment didn’t take her purpose. It introduced her to it. How to Write Your Purpose Statement Once you’ve sat with the three questions, the next step is to put it into words. This is where a lot of people stall, so I want to make it as simple as possible. A purpose statement has three parts: what you love, what you’re good at, and what you’re called to change or contribute. You’re looking for the thread that ties all three together. One essential instruction: write it in the present tense. Not I want to, or I hope to. Declare it as if it’s already happening — because at the level of purpose, it is. The difference matters more than it sounds. “I want to help people tell their stories” keeps you in aspiration. “I help people tell their stories” puts you in motion. Here’s one of my favorite examples from a client: I am a warrior of freedom, nourishing and protecting my community through my talent as a chef and futurist, emboldening people to trust their gut. Read that, and you can feel the person behind it. That’s the goal. Not a job description — a declaration. Your first draft will be imperfect. Mine has been rewritten more times than I can count. The essence stays constant. The words get sharper over time. What matters is that you start. The Hardest Part The real barrier to writing a purpose statement isn’t the framework. It’s the fear of owning what you find. Owning your gifts means being responsible for them. Claiming your purpose means you can’t keep playing small and pretending you don’t know what you’re here for. That’s terrifying. It’s also the whole point. Bottom Line Career disappointment is not the end of your purpose story. For a lot of people, it’s the beginning of it. When the job goes away, so does the easy answer. What’s left, if you’re willing to look, is something more durable and more yours: the overlap of what you love, what you’re good at, and what you can’t stop caring about. That’s your purpose. It was there the whole time. The disruption just made it visible. Thanks for reading Career Strategy with Laverne McKinnon! This post is public so feel free to share it. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit thisisgrieftoo.substack.com/subscribe

  8. May 18

    Starting Over at the Top 😳

    This is a free preview of a paid episode. To hear more, visit thisisgrieftoo.substack.com Robert got the call on a Friday afternoon. After trying to find a job in his industry for eighteen months, he faced the hard truth that for someone at his level, there were no viable openings. So he pivoted to Pharma doing sales. A far cry from Vice-President of Marketing at a film studio. He would start the new gig in two weeks. Robert was elated to have a gig, but he was dejected because his degree, his experience, and his wins didn’t translate to the new role. He would be starting in a sales training program with a “bunch of 20 year olds.” He confessed he was embarrassed and anxious to be a newbie. If you’re mid-career or later, and you’re stepping into something unfamiliar, you may feel horribly destabilized. Because knowing your stuff has always been your anchor. And now it’s not enough. Here’s what I want you to know: your credentials are not meaningless. But they’re not the whole story either. In new territory, something else takes the wheel. And most high achievers are the last to figure out what that something else actually is. The Default Move That Backfires When accomplished people step into unfamiliar terrain, they almost always do the same thing: they double down on what got them here. More preparation. More credentials. More proof that they belong. It’s the only playbook they know, and it’s worked for a long time. But in new territory, that strategy can work against you. The pressure to perform expertise you don’t yet have when you’re someone who typically hits it out of the ballpark can be debilitating. Instead of projecting competence, you end up projecting effort, which reads very differently in a room. Why This Happens Your identity has been wrapped up in being the expert for a long time. It’s what happens when you’re good at something and build a career around it. You’re rightly proud of those achievements. But when you’re no longer the expert, your nervous system reads that as danger. So you over-prepare. You over-explain. You puff up with overcompensation. Or you go the other direction and withdraw, waiting until you feel ready enough to show up. Observing the situation, taking notes, plotting and planning. None of these responses is what the new territory actually needs from you. The expert identity that protected you in your old lane becomes a kind of armor that keeps you from learning what you need to learn in order to succeed again. What Actually Moves the Needle When Robert completed his sales training, he told me he almost blew it. He was irritated with the pace of the program, he already knew what he was being told, and he was being trained by someone 15 years younger than him. After the second day, he went home and vented over dinner. Now, Robert’s a terrific dad, and his parental wisdom came back to him at the right moment. His 16-year-old son said to him in mid-vent, “Dad, I thought you said attitude is the best strategy.” Those words stopped Robert in his tracks. He knew he was impatient and didn’t “suffer fools.” But he also knew that attitude was the difference between a door opening or closing, a brief stint or a place to grow, and his own mental well-being. Robert thanked his son, told his family to throw marshmallows at him if he started complaining again, and course corrected his attitude. He started the third day of training with a beginner’s mind and brought cookies. What Attitude as Strategy Actually Looks Like Let me make this concrete, because “show up with a good attitude” is advice that sounds nice and means nothing without specifics. * Ask more questions than you answer. A friend of mine struggled with this early in her career. She had so many thoughts she wanted to share in every meeting that she started keeping a notebook just to get them out of her head. What she discovered was that writing things down calmed her nervous system. It freed her to actually listen. She stopped needing to show she knew everything and started learning more by asking. The relationships she built that way turned out to be some of the most valuable of her career. * Name what you don’t know before someone else does. Early in my time as an executive overseeing primetime programming at CBS, I was given a role that was a significant stretch. On my first set visit to a show that had already been on the air for two years, I said to the production team: you know more than I do. I’m here to learn and be a fan. The room shifted immediately. People who had been braced for a network executive to come in and assert authority instead opened doors they typically kept the suits out of. Naming a gap honestly is a form of leadership. * Let your enthusiasm be visible, and be specific about it. This one is genuinely underrated. Enthusiasm that is vague feels performative. Enthusiasm that is specific feels real. Show up on time or early. When something impresses you, say exactly what impressed you. Look people in the eye. Say hello. Say thank you in a way that names the thing you are grateful for. None of this is complicated, but it lands differently than people expect. * Protect your energy from the things that spiral you. Robert deleted social media during a stretch when he noticed he was using it when he felt bored. That was an important strategic decision because boredom for Robert meant he believed he knew everything he needed to know. Your attitude is an asset. Anything that drains it is worth taking seriously. The Nuance Worth Naming Focusing on attitude is not an argument against skill. You need a baseline. You need to be able to do the work at a competent level before any of this matters. But past that threshold, what differentiates you in new territory is relational and energetic, not just technical. The people who are deciding whether to bring you along, collaborate with you, or invest in you are asking a very human question: Do I want this person in the room when things get hard? That question is answered by how it feels to be around you. Bottom Line Robert finished his sales training. Turns out he didn’t know everything. But with his son’s reminder, he showed up curious, asked questions, and let people teach him. And that attitude shift made the training a pleasant experience. Your expertise is real. Your accomplishments are real. But in new territory, the thing that earns trust is how you show up with grace and interest. Ask more than you answer. Name the gap before someone else does. Let your enthusiasm be specific and visible. Those aren’t soft skills. They’re the strategy. If someone came to mind while you were reading this, please send it their way. You never know the impact a well-timed message can have. This Week One of the many things I respect about Courtney Romano is that she is not asking for permission in her career. She wears many hats: writer, director, producer, strategist, consultant and is a champion for Non-Dependent Filmmaking. Let’s find out how she does it. Journal Prompts Here are four journal prompts for paid Moonshot Mentor subscribers. These questions are designed to help you examine the role attitude has played in your career and what it might look like to lean into it more deliberately in a pivot.

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This Is Grief Too explores the human side of professional loss, career grief, and what’s next. Laverne McKinnon shares stories, honest reflections, and practical tools to help you make sense of what happened, rebuild, and move forward. thisisgrieftoo.substack.com

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