I notice.
She sits up straighter. “Well, leadership roles require flexibility.”
There it is. Flexibility means my life bends around the job. Not the other way around.
I nod slowly. “Right.”
“But you’re capable of it,” she says. “That’s why you were selected.”
“I know I’m capable.”
That’s not the problem.
I can sit in conference rooms until my eyes dry out. I can take everybody else’s frustration and turn it into action items. The new systems, the difficult conversations, the tracking, the coaching, the constant need to make leadership feel like someone has the messy parts under control, I can handle it.
I can do the job, but that doesn’t feel like a good enough reason.
Jacquetta tilts her head. “You don’t sound excited.”
“I’m not.”
The words leave my mouth before I dress them up and make them feel pretty, and once they’re out there, I don’t want to call them back.
Jacquetta goes very still.
I almost laugh. I have seen this woman stay composed through employees crying, yelling, threatening grievances, and admitting they forwarded confidential documents to their personal email because they “wanted to work from home.” But me saying I’m not excited about a promotion has her blinking in real time.
“You’re not?” she asks.
“No.”
“Lily, this is a significant opportunity.”
“I know.”
“It comes with a salary increase.”
“I know.”
“And visibility.”
“I know.”
“And a leadership path.”
I take a deep breath. “I know all of that.”
“Then I’m not sure I understand.”
I fold my hands in my lap, so I don’t start fidgeting with everything on my desk. “I’m grateful you thought of me. And I know I can do the work. But I don’t want this role.”
The silence in the room has a pulse.
Jacquetta sets her tablet on her lap. “You don’t want the role.”
“No.”
“Can you tell me why?”
