Reader,
It was 4:30 in the afternoon when a meeting invitation landed on my calendar.
5:00 PM. The CEO’s office.
I knew what it meant. I was about to meet the man who would become my new boss. I had 30 minutes to prepare. But prepare for what?
I had been at Martha Stewart Living Omnimedia for almost 20 years. I had grown up inside that company—through six roles, sitting on the launch teams for four magazines, marthastewart.com and MARTHA TV, and going through an IPO, public scrutiny, and media and tech disruption.
Some really great years but also some really hard years.
At the time, we were missing our numbers. My team was tired. I was tired.
We’d seen a lot of turnover, new hires, new leaders. Every time someone new came in, I would help onboard them. Teach them the business. Teach them the Martha Stewart way. Help them understand the people, the history, and all the things you couldn't possibly learn from an org chart.
Here we were again. I remember the long walk across the cement floor to the CEO's office. Our offices stretched an entire New York City block. You could get 10,000 daily steps in without ever leaving the building.
I remember thinking: I really need this one to work. Not just for me. For my team.
I was scared and nervous because this time felt different. A different kind of turnover. I felt like I was in a movie and everyone had the script but me.
I walked into the CEO’s office.
The new boss stood up.
We shook hands.
He smiled.
I had an immediate reaction: I don't think this is going to work. But I thought, Christina, give him a chance. Don't be judgmental. You need this to work. You’ve done this before.
The CEO talked us through the run of show for his introduction to my team the following morning.
As I walked back across that city block, I knew that tomorrow, this man would stand in front of the people I had helped lead through some of the most difficult years of our company's history. My people. Maybe a bit too much ownership, but…
Before the announcement that next morning, I asked the question I had become very, very good at asking over nearly 20 years:
“How can I support you?”
He raised both hands, pointed his two pointer fingers at me and said:
“Just smile."
And I did. I smiled.
For a long time, I thought that was the moment I lost my voice. It wasn't. I had given it away months ago.
Just a few months before, my previous boss had resigned to go work for the competition. The day she left, I was on the phone with Martha. I went immediately into the role I knew so well.
I told her we’ve got this. Here's what we're doing. Here's how we keep the team together. Business as usual. Don't worry.
I was the fixer. The problem solver. The person people came to when something had to get done. A previous leader in the organization had once told me: “People don’t realize how much of this business runs through you.”
I loved hearing that. It made me feel valuable. Needed. Important.
That phone call with Martha? That was my moment.
To say, I’ve been here almost 20 years; I know the business. I’ve led people through growth, crisis, and reinvention, and I'm exactly who you need right now.
It was my moment to say, "I want the job."
I didn’t say it. I didn't say any of it.
I assumed she and they knew.
I assumed my work spoke for itself.
I assumed someone would recognize what I had done and what I was capable of doing next.
I assumed they would ask me.
They didn't.
I didn't ask for the job. I didn't get the job.
For a while, I was angry. It was much easier to tell myself a story about what they hadn't seen in me or valued me for.
It took me a few years to ask myself the harder question: What hadn't I been willing to say for myself?
I wasn't responsible for someone telling me to “just smile,” but I was responsible for everything I hadn't said before that moment.
That was one of the biggest lessons of my career.
Knowing your value and voicing your value are two entirely different things.
That's what I mean when I talk about being the CEO of Me.
It was my responsibility to ask for what I wanted and advocate for my accomplishments. To share a future that I knew could be realized with me running it.
To tolerate the possibility that someone might say no. This is likely what I was afraid of underneath.
Maybe even if I had, I wouldn’t have gotten the job, but then it would have been their decision, not my silence.
Today I know that being the CEO of Me means that I don't outsource my voice, value, or my future.
Where in your career are you waiting for someone else to recognize something you haven't yet been willing to claim?
Where are you not using your voice to ask for what you want, share your value, and get to the other side of that conversation you’ve been avoiding?
The first person who needs to give you permission to use your voice is YOU.
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P.S. Planning a leadership summit, sales kickoff, or other conference or convention? My live and virtual learning experiences help teams unlock new possibilities, think beyond today’s pressures, and turn what they see into meaningful action and measurable growth. Email me by replying to this message.
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