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Hi Reader, Do you speak to yourself as you speak to your best friend? I often don't. I noticed how I would get upset with myself when I don't perform as I want to, when tasks take longer or when I don't show up as the person I want to be. I call myself names that I wouldn't use for my friend. You might recognise it: pondering over something we said, an email we maybe shouldn't have sent, a moment we keep replaying. Voices debating in our heads. It's no news. But this week, I am trying something new: Instead of practising compassion toward myself (hard work!) I started doing it toward random strangers. As a kind of running mantra. The slow cyclist in front of me: they need to feel safe. The one shooting past me at speed: they want to show up on time. The person showing up late to a meeting: they're overwhelmed and trying to hold it together. Two days in: more joy, more lightness. And - believe it or not - more self-compassion. It feels like I found a side entrance: shift the focus outward, and something softens inward too. Maybe the least efficient route to self-compassion, but at least it's working. And somehow this insight connects to something I shared on this week's episode (a solo recording that feels surprisingly scary). I realised that I have a tendency to perform and even to be a smart-ass when I am slightly nervous. Seeing that in myself makes me more compassionate toward people who come across as arrogant. They're probably nervous too. Something may feel at stake for them too. It seems it's easier to be kind to others than to ourselves in the same way it's easier to speak kindly to our friends' faults than to our own. 🎤 Waiting for you on the Unprofessionalism podcast:While working in Vietnam, the uni president told me I was getting away with a lot — working from home, teaching with comic books, skipping the standard slide show — because I was young, female, pretty, and white. As harsh as it might sound, I know my Vietnamese colleagues would indeed never have had the same latitude. The freedom to show up unpolished isn't equally available. Sometimes is contextual. Sometimes we are born closer to that permission than others. Maybe that's why it's been harder than I expected to find female guests for the podcast. Being unprofessional, in the corporate world, it's often a verdict. Putting your name next to a show celebrating not following the script might be risky. This episode is me thinking out loud, as someone who still hasn't fully dropped the mask, about what it actually costs to be yourself at work and how to make this space safer for those who have more to lose 🎧 Click here to listen to the interview📥 Download my 1-page summary​UP_013_Summary.pdf​ 🎧 The workshops work Podcast ClubThe workshops work podcast has retired and I am devoted to preventing the old episodes from gathering digital dust in the archives. The podcast Club keeps the conversations alive. You can stay updated for free monthly gatherings around a theme by joining me on Substack: https://myriamhadnes.substack.com/ You'll receive one email - every 1st of the month with information about the upcoming gathering.​ The next gathering happens on April 29th, 9 PM, CET ​Click here to find out more and sign up.​ That's it from my side. I hope to see you next week! Myriam
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I write about the gap between who we are at work and who we are when we put down the professional mask. Every week, I share one personal story from my life and a podcast conversation with someone who dared to write their own script, choosing authenticity over performance. The podcast is called Unprofessionalism. Each episode comes with a 1-page summary, in case you'd rather read than listen.
Hi Reader, I spent my weekend with a group of strangers to whom I told the most personal story - one that not even my closest friends would be aware of. The shaking of my hands stopped as soon as I started. I didn't need notes because this was my story. While I am used to speaking to groups of strangers, I usually stand there with a specific role: the facilitator. This time, nobody knew about what I was doing from nine to five. All they knew about me was this one story. And wow, that felt...
Hi Reader, Last weekend, I went back to my hometown for the 25th anniversary of high school graduation. I prepared by reading old letters I found in a dusty box, handwritten by friends in 1995. I was terrified. Thrown back to an old version of myself: Puberty-me, who was definitely not too cool for school, who wanted to impress others by smoking too young and drinking too much. Nothing to be proud of, really. But when we finally met and hugged and chatted and laughed, I noticed that the...
Hi Reader, While cycling in the sun, enjoying my free Wednesday, it suddenly hit me like a sharp stone: Over the past five months I’ve been splitting my identity into tidy boxes that wouldn't overlap. Displaying old Facilitator-me on Substack, while the other part of me hatched a new narrative around Unprofessionalism. Unprofessionalism-me tries to write a book and challenges her own professionalism. And suddenly, I look at myself and think how damn professional of me! Isn't it the most...