There are days when you’re absolutely crushing it – deftly navigating a complex leadership conversation, adjusting your people strategy on the fly, making decisions with clarity and confidence.
And then there are days when you close your office door and sob like your soul just got sideswiped by a rogue Slack message.
Let’s talk about that second kind of day.
One of the underrated joys of working from home is the ability to emotionally unravel in private. You can mute your mic, turn off your camera, and dissolve into tears between calendar blocks. You can go full fetal on your bed after an awful conversation and reemerge 12 minutes later with under-eye gel patches and a fresh lip gloss, ready to tackle the next fire. No one sees it.
But when you’re in the office? There’s no graceful escape route. There’s no “BRB, having an existential crisis.” There’s just… the breakroom. Or the parking lot. Or, if you’re lucky, an office door that closes all the way.
Work is hard. And it’s often emotionally draining.
Especially in HR or leadership roles where we absorb not just our own pressure but everyone else’s, too. The expectations are relentless. We’re supposed to be strategic, credible, resilient, emotionally intelligent, and calm under pressure – sometimes all in the span of one meeting. Yet, snuggled up next to the meetings and metrics, emotional labor at work is what quietly drains even the most resilient among us.
Because we’re still human.
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I’ve cried at work. You probably have too.
I remember one particularly epic meltdown years ago when I was working in health care. After a terse exchange with an employee (a very challenging RN) that left me simmering with frustration, I closed my office door and just wept – ugly, full-body crying – for a solid ten minutes. No performative dabbing. No stoic composure. Just release.
And you know what? I felt better afterward. Lighter. More grounded. More me.
There’s this quiet fear that if someone catches us crying, we’ll instantly lose credibility. That the tears will erase our strategic edge. That we’ll be dismissed as “too emotional” or “not leadership material.”
We still live under the residue of outdated professionalism, where emotional expression is treated like a liability instead of a sign of humanity.
But you know what? Emotion doesn’t make you less of a leader. It makes you more real.
Brené Brown likes to tell us that vulnerability isn’t weakness – it’s the birthplace of courage, creativity, and connection. Her research shows that leaders who embrace emotional honesty – not oversharing, but real presence – are more trusted, more effective, and more resilient. It’s not about turning the office into a therapy session. It’s about recognizing that being human at work isn’t a liability – it’s a strength.
In fact, research on psychological safety tells us that when leaders model emotional openness, it creates space for trust, risk-taking, and real conversations.
People don’t need perfect leaders. They need present ones.
Even Google’s landmark Project Aristotle – launched to discover what makes teams most effective – found that psychological safety was more important than anything else. Not experience, not intelligence, not structure. Safety.
Let’s also acknowledge this: women, and especially women in leadership, carry a heavier emotional tax. We’re expected to smile, stay composed, be approachable but not soft, firm but not aggressive, emotionally intelligent but never emotional. It’s a constant calibration, and honestly, it’s exhausting. Also note: there are some real conversations to be had about if the aforementioned Brene Brown’s research, messaging and exhortations even make sense for Black women. (read this and this).
But if you’re wondering how to “look strategic” when you’re barely holding it together, here’s the secret:
You already do.
Because strategy isn’t about detachment – it’s about making intentional decisions, even when they’re hard. It’s about holding space for people and still holding the line. It’s about being human and leading with strength.
So yes, have your cry in the breakroom.
Wipe your eyes, straighten your spine, and walk back in like the competent, capable leader you are.
And if someone sees you? Own it. Don’t apologize. Just say, “Rough moment. I’m good now.” Then carry on.
Because that’s what real leadership looks like.
*****
