Cancer Broke My Filter

Lately, I feel like I should slap a bright satin sash across my chest. The kind that beauty pageant contestants wear. Only instead of Miss This or Miss That, mine would say: Angry. Exhausted. Loose Canon. Approach with caution.

Nobody is safe.

As someone who has spent most of my minutes on this planet feeling optimistic, positive, hopeful, and happy, it’s been quite disorienting to witness this new cast of characters throwing elbows and vying for the lead role in my mind & heart: Anger, Sadness, Frustration, Exhaustion, Impatience, Intolerance, Overwhelm.

Oh, and Rage. Did I mention Rage?

Who is this person?

In May, with my next surgery three months out, I set myself what seemed like a very simple and reasonable goal: Go into my August surgery sunkissed and healthy. Physically, mentally, and emotionally.

Simple. I got this.

I ordered organic green juice, got myself back to the yoga studio, planned some fun summer trips, and got my swimming mileage back up to pre-cancer distance. All signals indicated that the worst of it was behind me.

Then…

I started the next set of infusions and medications. The stuff that prevents cancer recurrence. I was so busy getting through chemo, that it hadn’t occurred to me that this new phase of treatment also came with a new set of symptoms & side effects: Moodiness, weepiness, insomnia, and headaches, to name a few.

Chemo may have knocked me down physically, but this next phase of treatment was knocking me down emotionally and mentally.

I started therapy to process my feelings.

I started hypnotherapy to get my mindset and behaviors aligned.

I met with SCCA oncology and psychiatry to get my meds sorted.

I continued to eat healthy food and exercise regularly.

So why was nothing working?

Then…

I spent the weekend with girlfriends in Bolinas, CA. We walked, talked, ate, drank, danced, laughed, and cried–about our lives & loves, our triumphs & struggles, our careers & kids, and the state of the world. All the juicy things that bright, interesting women talk about when put in optimal conditions: beautiful house, beautiful view, beautiful beach, beautiful company, beautiful food.

I had been avoiding the news to protect my fragile state of mind & heart, but there was just no escaping the topic of Uvalde (it had just happened) and the impending Supreme Court decision to overturn Roe v. Wade.

Looking back, this was a turning point for me.

By the time I got home, I was cracked wide open. Part of me wished I could shove it all back down. Zip it. Lock it. And stick it in my pocket. But another part of me could see transformation on the horizon.

For weeks, I felt too unstable to see anyone or make any plans. I only spent time with the people I knew could handle me in any state. I trusted that from my cocoon, a butterfly might emerge.

Then…

I got Covid. And it severely messed up my exercise routine, my work schedule, my energy level, and my kids’ social lives (right at the start of summer). It was deeply sad for them and for me.

I raged against Seattle.

Fucking Seattle. Don’t people know that the rest of the country is no longer losing their minds or their basic common sense over Covid? Maybe I can convince Brad and the kids to move to Idaho, where everyone is like Covid-shmovid.

This was my mindset at the time. As someone who is vaxed and relaxed, I was angry and sad that after 2+ years Covid was still affecting our lives.

I escaped that funk within 10 days or so and hopped on a plane with Brad for a much-anticipated trip to NYC for the wedding of our dear friend. It was delightful.

Then…

Within a week of our return, I woke up to a tight and painful feeling in my chest. I was scared. A middle-of-the-night visit to the ER revealed it was Bronchitis and the flu. It was one of my busiest work streaks, and I had finally gotten back into my routine, which was disrupted. Again. I wasn’t happy.

Fuuuuck. Who gets the flu in July? I don’t have time for this!

Then…

The dominos started falling.

The tragic stories and implications of Roe v. Wade began to seep into my soul. The medication mishaps and impacts started to break down my defenses and act as truth serum. I began to see things I hadn’t seen before. Feel things I hadn’t felt before. And say things I hadn’t said before.

Who is this person?

At first, when the official news of Roe v. Wade hit my ears, I remember thinking, “Huh, this is strange. Why don’t I feel anything?” I sniffed a little disbelief and disgust within me, but I couldn’t help but wonder, “Where is The Rage?”

Then it happened. Messy, imperfect, RAGE.

Shortly thereafter, on a Saturday in July…

I overheard my brother-in-law telling my sister-in-law how to drive. “A little to the right. Watch the curb.”

My sister-in-law replied in a tone dripping with sarcasm. “Wow, I’m not sure how I ever parked a car before I married you. Thank God you are here to help me.”

It was a scene that had played out in my own marriage. Too. Many. Times.

But I saw it with new eyes and new feelings this time. The levity and sarcasm of the past disappeared and were replaced with utter rage.

Hmmmm. Ok, I see. The Supreme Court thinks we cannot be trusted with our bodies and our husbands think we cannot be trusted with the car keys.

Not on my watch.

I turned to Brad and his brother in the back seat and addressed his brother first.

“G, you know what happens for me when I hear you tell your wife how to drive?” Without giving him a chance to respond to my clearly hypothetical question, I switched my gaze over to Brad, “It makes me want to punch Brad in the face.”

Guess who is now making a concerted and genuine effort to NOT tell me how to drive? You would be correct if you answered “Brad.”

The following Monday…

I had a car full of kids, headed to the waterpark to celebrate Ben’s birthday.

A ruckus unfolded in the backseat. Something to do with the phones, so I firmly but kindly asked the boys to put their phones in the back–out of reach–or pass them up front to me. Two of the boys obliged immediately. One acted as if I was invisible and went about his business. The other pretended to put his phone away, but minutes later, I heard his sister turn to him and say, “Don’t be an asshole. Mitch told you to put your phone away. Do it.”

Amen, sister.

I instinctively knew if it was Brad in the driver’s seat, every one of those boys would have listened to his instructions without hesitation.

As this realization sunk in, I looked at them in the rear-view mirror and thought, “These little fuckers are going to be the CEO’s & Supreme Court Justices of tomorrow, and they’ve already learned to ignore women’s voices? At the ripe young age of 12?”

Not on my watch.

I was mad.

Then it got worse.

After arriving at the park, the boys ran off without helping unload the car. At lunch, after shuttling between three snack shacks to get them all what they wanted, the only child to say please, thank you or clean up after themselves was Ben. I caught a look on Ben’s face, a couple of different times, that said Yikes. Sorry, mom. I know my friends are being jerks.

Later that day, I had a good talking-to with Ben and a good cry with a friend about my disappointment and fear that this behavior was indicative of how little the world is really changing.

I made the decision to draft an honest text to the parents of the kids in question. I ran it by Brad to ensure it was not social suicide. He didn’t change a word. I pressed send. I got positive responses from the parents, but I also got a not-so-positive text from Ben.

“Mom, why did you do that? Now all my friends are texting me.”

My reply was quick and truthful. “Because I am more interested in being respected than preserving social harmony for you.”

He had no further questions.

On Tuesday morning…

I opened my calendar to see that my first meeting of the day was with an all-white, all-male executive team. A team I’ve been working with for the past year with the goal of helping them increase diversity (at all levels of their business) and be an inclusive and equitable place for women and people of color to thrive — not just for the old school white guys at the top who make the rules.

Goddammit. I am not up for this today. Another group of white guys who are moving too slowly. Who get it but don’t get it, all at once. Yay for me.

I heard my apathy, my anger, and my cynicism taking over again.

Who is this person?

It wasn’t me, and I didn’t like it.

So I marched upstairs to my office, and with 15 minutes to spare before the meetings began, I wrote out what I wanted to say. The things I believed they needed to hear. The things I believed were in service of their goals.

The CEO kicked off the meeting and turned it over to me. I set the context and shared the 5 things I had scratched down on my notepad. I also explicitly decided to allow myself to be more intense and passionate than usual. I asked them at one point, “Do you hear the edge in my voice? The anger? I am choosing to show you this anger because many women in the world, and right here at your company, are feeling this right now. And as leaders, it is your job to acknowledge it, empathize with it, and navigate it.”

I knew the guidance and feedback I shared, and the way in which I shared it, would be tough for some to hear. I said it anyway. When I finished, I asked them to weigh in on what they heard and how it landed.

The CEO began by thanking me and repeating back what he had heard, in his own words. He had taken copious notes and he nailed it. Another leader spoke up about his fear. “Mitch, I worry that we will be like the other client you told us about. That we will work at this for years and see little progress.”

I noticed the number two leader in the room with his arms crossed, remaining quiet so I called him into the conversation. “I haven’t heard your POV. What are your thoughts?”

His tone was sharp and dismissive. “Well Mitch, I didn’t come here today expecting a lecture. I mean, is there a problem? I think we are making progress here. Why such urgency in your tone?”

Oh wow. Did he really just serve that up to me on a silver platter? LECTURE. Really? THAT is your choice of words to describe my expertise?

Not on my watch.

He could not have known how much anger and impatience was living inside my body, as a result of 20+ years working with resistant leaders who lack that sense of urgency. Or how many times I had fantasized about saying what I really think. Or how little I had to lose.

I let him finish and then responded without a single caveat. No, “with all due respect”. No humor, charm, levity, or diplomacy. Just raw me.

“First of all, I find your word choice “lecture” in describing my expertise to be highly offensive and inappropriate. I do not recommend you use that word to describe the expertise of the women around here unless you would like to see their letter of resignation.”

You could hear a pin drop.

I went on.

“Secondly, last I checked, you are paying me a lot of money and spending a lot of time with me to help you create the kind of culture and workplace you desire. My job is to tell you the truth in service of those goals. If you don’t like it, fire me.”

The room was frozen.

“Lastly, for now, you asked a very good question there at the end…is there a problem? Yes. There is a problem. In fact, I have spent the last year sharing feedback with you about the problems. The women at your company have been forthright–in focus groups–about the problems they face here. There are some clear and troubling themes. Being treated like second-class citizens. Dealing with insidious comments about their clothing and appearance when it isn’t to the liking of their male counterparts. Being treated like administrative assistants when that is not their role. Being underpaid, under-promoted, unheard, and under-appreciated. There is more. But it is all available to you in the feedback I shared in October and again in June. Shall I go on?”

With that, his body language and tone shifted. He asked, in a less aggressive voice, “Oh. Ok. Well then, where should we start?”

My answer was quick. “A little humility would be a great place to start.”

It had never been more apparent to me: My job was to help his ass, not kiss it.

After years of working hard to be palatable, appropriate, and diplomatic. After years of learning how to speak “man”. After years of using just the right amount of charm, humor, and levity–so that I could be heard–the gloves had officially come off. I’m not sure it has ever felt so good to deliver a truth bomb straight between the eyes. I was the Will Smith to his Chris Rock.

I ran downstairs when the call ended and told Brad every painstaking detail of how the hour had unfolded. He high-fived me and said, “I’ve never been more proud.”

A few days later, I had a beautifully productive debrief convo with the leader I had called out. It was rich with respect, vulnerability, and learning (for both of us). That moment, and the subsequent conversation with the entire leadership team who had been present that day, have intensified their commitment to this work and my confidence in my voice.

yes!

On Friday…

I found myself with another opportunity to use my anger for the sake of the greater good. Different client. Different day. The same feeling tumbling around in my guts.

I’ve learned to recognize when I have a deeper, scarier, truth within me. My heart starts to beat a little faster, my palms get clammy, my stomach turns, and my cheeks flush.

There were 200+ folks from a biotech company in a 2-hour Zoom session. I was sharing data about women and people of color being disproportionately affected by burnout. The air got tense, and I could feel and see the oh-shit moments unfolding in the eyes of participants after an interactive quiz and poll revealed that this data was not just out there. It was in here. Right inside the walls of their company.

I knew the CEO and I were aligned, and I knew he had my back after working together for many years. The relationship and the moment was ripe and ready for an even truer truth. I got edgy and real. I said things in ways that I had never said before. And I did not back down in the face of pushback and resistance.

I knew that if I led the way, others would follow. And that is exactly what happened.

A very honest and vulnerable conversation ensued after a couple of Black and brown women told stories about the kinds of things they came up against in their workplace. The day-to-day ways they have to fight to be heard, valued, and promoted, despite their vast expertise and competence. Some folks who had come to the company from different countries, cultures, and educational institutions shared a similar sentiment.

With utter courage and vulnerability, each of them spoke with raw emotion: anger, frustration, grace, and gratitude (for the company being willing to do this work). Some tears were shed.

It was not easy for them. But wow, was it effective.

I could see the light bulbs going off in the Zoom room video screens looking back at me. The wave of compassion and oh-shit moments was visible in their faces, hearts, and damp eyes. From the CEO to more junior employees, people were paying attention.

When things get real, people pay attention.

I also saw the faces of the only’s and one-of-few’s cheering with their affirming faces, head nods, and supportive comments in the chat. The expressions and body language across Zoom-room tiles told a story. Like the cheering crowd at the Boston Marathon giving energy and fuel to the runners.

It was nothing short of beautiful. Two hours packed with transformational honesty and empathy. A highlight of my career.

The session ended and for the second time in a week, I ran downstairs and shared the details (as many as I could remember) with Brad. He has always been my champion. The guy who adds a zero to the end of my contracts and says, “You need to charge more”. The one who listens and wipes my tears after a hard or frustrating day. It was a victory for both of us.

On Saturday…

I woke up filled with gratitude. I was also suffering from an emotional hangover. Ben came out into the living room on Saturday morning, and I must have looked a bit dazed and haggard. He gave me a big hug and lovingly asked, “How are you doing Mom?”

I squeezed him tight and looked down at his big blues. “Ben, it’s been a weeeeek. An intense week. Thanks for your love and for understanding that I had to tell the truth to your friends’ parents.”

He took a pause before saying, “I get it, Mom. I told my friends that it’s your job to help grown-ups be more respectful at work. And that’s all you’re trying to do here.”

Drops of gratitude leaked out my eyeballs.

yes!

“Hmmmm, perhaps my broken filter is a good thing,” I thought.

When I was diagnosed with cancer, I was forced to make some tough decisions about where I was going to spend my time and energy. I made those decisions as best I could based on my values, what I thought I could handle, and my commitment to my health. From a work perspective, I chose my priorities not based on who was writing checks but on who I believed to be the real deal. The clients who are truly committed to this work (rather than checking a box) and those whose missions I believe in.

My brush with mortality, along with my utter fatigue at the glacial speed of change, has unleashed a voice in me that I didn’t know I had. Not that I was a delicate flower before, but I’ve realized — gradually and then suddenly — in a whole new way, that it is counterproductive for my clients, my relationships, and the world, for me to exercise too much diplomacy.

I have come to the realization that I would rather bring my full voice and expertise to the table (even at the risk of failing, being disliked, or being fired) than die without having left it all on the field.

That is the person I want to be and the person I want my kids to remember.

Other fierce conversations have unfolded in my life over the past month. It has been messy. There have been tears and clean-up. Endless doubts and second-guessing myself. Painful struggles. My family has wondered if the happy, optimistic me will ever return.

As for me, I see a butterfly emerging from her cocoon.

I know that the highs will be sweeter after this dark phase. Because in darkness, it’s human nature to find the light.

I hope this version of me is here to stay. And I hope it brings true value to my clients, my family, and the world.

Mitch Shepard is an Applied Behavioral Scientist, Cheif Truth-Teller & CEO of HUMiN, a mother of two, a wife, a passionate world traveler, a trusted coach & adviser to global leaders, and an ass-kicker of cancer.