I recently read Strangers by Belle Burden, her memoir about the abrupt end of a 20-year marriage. It hit painfully close to home.

Throughout the book, I felt genuine empathy for Belle, followed by a surprising and uncomfortable emotion: jealousy.

Belle is a Vanderbilt heir. When her world fell apart, her grief experience looked very different than mine. She lost herself on long walks through the idyllic streets of Martha’s Vineyard. Her teenage daughters comforted her with homemade pasta.

When my life fell apart, it was a total sh*t show.

My world didn’t stop because I was in pain. Bills still had to be paid, client deliverables still had deadlines, and my young sons were in no position to cook anything.  Not even toast.

One personal memory stands out above the rest. I received a text from my lawyer, the kind that changes everything, just minutes before I had to lead a 90-minute virtual session for a Fortune 500 company on delivering and receiving feedback. (I could teach a masterclass in compartmentalization, by the way.) I remember gasping, blinking back tears, and then stopping that emotion mid-experience because now wasn’t the time. I’d get to it later. And by later, I mean a few years later. (Not healthy, but I’m keeping it real.)

That season was absolutely depleting. And my jealousy isn’t meant to diminish Belle’s experience. It’s an acknowledgment that my story is like so many of the people you lead – carrying something intense in the background of life, but still showing up to do what that old Dunkin’ Donuts commercial reminds us: we’ve still got to make the donuts.

We’re not tone-deaf leaders. We know there are countless people on LinkedIn right now – hustlers, professionals, parents – quietly carrying something heavy while still suiting up and delivering. This post is for them. And for the managers who lead them.

If you lead people going through hard times:

Give grace – but make it structured grace.

• If someone on your team is going through something significant, offer them a defined window to grieve, stabilize, and work through it. Open-ended ambiguity doesn’t help them – it traps them.
• Encourage professional support. Normalize counseling. Share your company’s resources proactively, not as an afterthought.
• Agree on a timeline together. What does “getting through this tough patch” look like over the next 30, 60, or 90 days? A clear, co-created plan gives them agency  and gives you both something to hold onto.
• Keep the performance bar visible. People in crisis still need to know where they stand – for their confidence, their sense of normalcy, and their job security. Quietly lowering standards without saying so isn’t kindness. It’s a slow erosion of their dignity.
• Check in, don’t check up. A brief “how are you doing today?” signals care. Hovering signals distrust. Know the difference.

That’s not lowering the bar. That’s leadership.

If you’re the one showing up anyway:

You’re not alone – and you’re not weak for struggling.

• Communicate your needs clearly and early. Vague signals lead to assumptions. Your manager can’t support what they don’t understand.
• Build your support system outside of work. Whether that’s childcare, counseling, a trusted friend, or a season of structural flexibility – don’t try to white-knuckle this alone.
• Be honest with your manager, but be strategic about what you share and when. You’ve built real credibility. Protecting it isn’t about hiding your humanity – it’s about not letting your crisis become your headline.
• Protect your routines where you can. The small anchors – a morning walk, a consistent start time, one task you finish each day – matter more than you think. They signal to your nervous system, and to your team, that you’re still here.
• Give yourself permission to not be okay, and then permission to keep going anyway. Both can be true.

Here’s what I know for certain: whatever you’re carrying right now is temporary.

We will all go through something. The best teams – and the best leaders – make room for that truth while still holding each other accountable.

Grace and standards aren’t opposites. The best leaders know how to hold both.