It may be. As might be PTSD. Grief definitely is. Those compelled to make a meaningful difference in the world (a new psychological profile I call “changemakers”) experience sorrow our society isn’t equipped to support. This may fuel self-doubt, isolation, and depression. Given that changemakers are the world’s most precious resource, I remain committed to helping us understand (incl. through my current PhD) and support changemakers in their vital work.
A while ago, somebody was surprised to see books on grief on my change-and-transformation bookshelf. I quickly explained that I had, for over a decade, built grieving into my transformation projects to help people let go of the past before they can embrace change. That surprise, however, snagged on something bigger: my own grieving as a professional changemaker.
While I’m still making sense of this, I do grieve every initiative that falls short of its potential. So do most changemakers I’ve asked, albeit our language varies.
Please let me know how this lands with you! Let’s advance this understanding together.
Image credit: Thomas Wolter from Pixabay
On this series
Depression is as familiar to me as rain. In my commitment to support all changemakers in their vital work, to serve as my own social experiment, and to build on hundreds of hours of interviews worldwide, I have chosen to share my experience with these heavier feelings to help make space for a greater range of human experience.
In the earlier posts in this mini-series (click for Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3), I looked at our darkness through the lenses of religion, mental health, psychopathy, optimism, the social value of unhappy people, and the Serenity Prayer. In this post, I consider if changemakers are predisposed to depression, and why the grief of changemakers warrants further research.
This content is hard to publish, so please “like,” share, and comment if it resonates! That will mean more than you know.
3 layers of grief for changemakers
Grief feels layered to changemakers. I remain my own living social experiment, so I’ll illustrate on my lived experience.
1. Grieving what could have been
When I plan a transformational initiative, I clearly see the future it would make possible. I see the physical changes, feel the energy, hear the dialogue. In order to reverse-engineer a transformational pathway and to inspire others — often including my clients — for the grueling work of making it a reality, perhaps I must inhabit that future. It might also mean that what makes me formidable as a changemaker-for-hire also breaks my heart when that future is cut off. When what is left to fill my mind’s eye is avoidable suffering, disingenuous drama, and problems inflated as time passes without a solution.
A recent transformation I led was for the department of education in Australia.Over 3.5 years, we co-created and implemented multiple programs that seamlessly leveraged every ounce of public funds for maximum benefit to the next generation, their communities, and the state.It was a major success I shared as a case-study throughout my book, Change-maker’s Handbook (2023).
Since I wrote about it, however, a new government has defunded these programs. As a contractor, I was cut early. Most key staff have since left.
Did you realize that schools are only one of two – prisons being the other – types of buildings we force people to occupy?
I grieve for $8B that could have shaped a generation. For the millions of children who won’t get the healthy schools that could have unlocked their cognitive potential and wellbeing — schools built with living materials, modeling regenerative career paths that could have fueled local economies and brought communities to life. I grieve for families who won’t get access to public assets for community benefit, including in crises like wildfires and floods. For all who do not get to see the government make good on its commitment to the First Nations and Country. For a construction industry reduced to sub-par work because that’s all they get paid for. And for all the relationships I personally got to step up to the opportunity only to leave them hanging.
If “there are no failures,” why do they hurt so bad? How can I not feel the loss if I know what it meant to real children, families, and communities in need of solutions?
The Silicone Valley and the broader innovation community have adopted the science adage, “We didn’t fail 1,000 times, we merely learned 1,000 ways that don’t work.” But when tackling complex social issues, the stakes are too high to shrug off setbacks.
I suspect that many if not most discoveries have come from curious people unencumbered by empathy. And “praise be.” Because it is different — harder — for us.
When we work on real-world problems — problems that persist or worsen with every setback — how can we be that cavalier about the cost of our failures?
2. Wondering if you made it worse
As a transformation professional, I have an earned appreciation for the fable of the scape goat. When I start a job, I usually get stories of all the “horrible” people that came before me. It may have played to my ego when I was younger, but I have learned to instruct my teams to do as much good as possible while taking out as much garbage as we can.
“We may be lucky to be the last crew, the one on site for the ribbon cuttings and the photos,” I would tell them. “However, we’re still doing the vital work of transformation if we’re the earlier one.”
I got to a point that if I knew I would be pushed out, I would encourage my client to “load me up” with blame if it meant the next change agent could finally cross the finish line. A courtesy I am not sure my industry acknowledges or reciprocates. However, I was a teenager when I first committed to doing change in a way that doesn’t hurt as badly as it hurt my family – and my country more broadly -- during the implosion of the Soviet Union [hyperlink to origin story post]. So, impact – the net “good” that comes from change - is all that has ever mattered to me.
All that said, I have wondered if the backlash against our efforts at times negates the good we create. Would the existing efforts in that department of education, however clunky and disconnected, have made more progress had I not “helped” clarify and amplify them? If I hadn’t drawn attention? In other words, would the future generations have been better off without me?
I wonder if by envisioning and endeavoring to create something better, I make it worse. Furthermore, I wonder if the scar tissue from a failed transformation -- left in an organization or community -- diminishes the likelihood of another attempt.
As often as I — and my teams — are but a link in a chain that may make a difference, I wonder if the world would have been better off if I never intervened. Sure, a changemaker can be a floodlight that sparks change, but what if it prompts somebody to knock ALL the light bulbs out?
Yes, that is no way to think. But when has a rational argument stood up to grief? And that is what we’re exploring in this post.
3. Grieving the opportunity cost
Opportunity cost is a business term for all that we don’t get to do or have because of the choices we make. It refers to the trade-offs. I know it’s a bit technical for most of us, but please bear with me because I haven’t found a better term to describe this third layer of grieving that changemakers experience.
Think about all those movies and shows where the hero has to sacrifice everything they love to save “the world.” So, consider that struggle for somebody fighting extreme poverty, climate change, human trafficking, or deaths of despair. How can they possibly choose ANYTHING over their best chance to make a difference?
If “wicked problems” readily succumbed, they wouldn’t be “wicked,” would they?
So, it is hard not to reevaluate the costs when our effort fizzles out. When we’re left with ALL the other things we could have done and been.
Yep, opportunity-cost thinking is a sophisticated what-if guilt trip. However, it is important for understanding changemaker grief because so many of us do what we do at an enormous personal and professional cost. Many changemakers happily charge discounted rates for our work because we, in essence, act as “impact investors” pursuing social impact alongside our clients. Therefore, when an initiative fails, we grieve what it would have made possible as well as all we personally sacrificed to give it a chance. And that is one of the MANY things we do not understand, honor, or reward about changemakers. Yet.
Changemakers don’t think “it’s just a job” because we are vested in the impact, not just tasks and outputs. To do what we do, we must come to believe that better is possible. We boyo others on our hope, our vision. So, when those fall short, it hurts, and we grieve.
The world doesn’t get to have it both ways. As long as changemakers care and invest the best of ourselves in audacious causes for the greater good, we grieve when we fall short.
What does this mean?
Sadly, I can’t tie this one with a bow.
What I know is that, after two decades of professional changemaking, there are moments when I am so sad I cannot breathe.
I know that everything I work to honor and defend is loved and worthy. And if that is true, how could I not grieve its loss?
I know that that historically, we have chosen to overlook what happens to most of those who fight for the greater good. We may remember a few “witches” burned at the stake and know the names of Martin Luther King Jr., Mother Teresa, or Nelson Mandela. Otherwise, we seem to accept that changemakers burn hot and burn out. We don’t wonder how; that many overdose, drink themselves to death, suffer from chronic pain, or take their own lives. A rare few are sainted. Most fade from history, remembered only for what they gave, not for what it cost them.
I know a changemaker who can no longer digest food, and another who has been diagnosed with complex PTSD from their work in sustainability. I know people who stood up to whaling ships. People who witnessed the last hours of those stranded, starving polar bears. I know changemakers who’ve given their lives to prevent biodiversity loss, climate change on behalf of island nations like Mauritius, and rape of children by UN Peacekeepers.
And I know that their trauma — real as it is — isn’t nearly all of it. I know that they also grieve every life lost and every ounce of suffering that might have been avoided had they made more of a difference.
I know that with a few exceptions of ancient cultures, we are bad at honoring grief for loved ones. We’re utterly pathetic — as any combat veteran will attest — at helping each other grieve experienced suffering. And there is not even an adjective to describe just how abysmal we are at grieving anything — people present or future, other creatures, places, cultures — that our neighbors wouldn’t deem worthy of a casserole.
How do we support people who experience disproportionate grief because of their commitment to the rest of us?
I don’t yet know how we support changemakers through the grief that appears to be the cost of working to make the world a better place for others. But I know that positivity art, gratitude journals, and incents aren’t going to cut it.
I have never met a therapist who truly understands this form of grief, and I have spoken with many through this work. The good ones talk about boundaries, letting go of what we can’t control, self-care, etc. All — important but missing something deeper.
A few of us may be outliers. That may explain why there does not appear to be other research or writing on the changemaker experience. However, based on what I’ve experienced myself and the data I have collected, it seems more likely that understanding and professionalizing changemaking is our next frontier. That changemakers’ grief is today where PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder) and CTE (chronic traumatic encephalopathy) once were — unrecognized, misdiagnosed, and even shamed.
In other words, we increasingly admit — through a partnership between research and storytelling — that certain lines of work can severely traumatize our best people and work to both treat and prevent such trauma.
My eyes water when I imagine where we could have been if we had sustained most of our “greats” for more than a couple of runs of changemaking. If we treated the changemaker experience more like “tours.” If those who’ve dared the impossible didn’t feel its crashing weight alone.
I work to have changemaking acknowledged as a trade, a profession. In doing so, I hope for a future where changemaker grief is as well understood as the grief faced by first responders or the military: an anticipated professional hazard, not an invisible burden. One that is met with better tools and support, so that the people who are our best chance at a better future can continue to do their vital work without being destroyed by it.
Help us all understand the changemaker experience! What about the 3 layers of grief resonates with you? Anything you can add to further flesh this out?
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