On learning to choose priorities over emotions — a lesson from the chaos
The other night I had burst of creative energy when I saw an opportunity to help a friend. The messaging on their pitch deck was noisy and they posted a cry for help on LinkedIn.
Although it took about two hours, it didn’t feel like it. And when I was finished I sent it. Went to bed feeling useful.
Then I woke up to silence. No thumbs up. No read receipt. So I nudged in the afternoon, and his reply landed sharper than I expected: “Some of us are working here.” Then a polite thank you.
My first instinct? To prove myself. List what I’d shipped since last night. Defend my value. Remind him I’m busy too.
But then I caught myself, and replied: “I’m doing well. You’re welcome.”
Transactions like this used to wreck me.
Early in my career, when I was in my startup days with scrappy teams, everyone wearing five hats, I lived for the validation. I’d stay up late building decks no one asked for. I’d send unsolicited positioning frameworks to founders. I’d over-deliver on every brief, thinking more effort = more value.
And when the response was lukewarm? Or worse, silent? I spiraled and I took every muted reaction as proof I wasn’t good enough. So I worked harder. Sent more. Proved more.
It was exhausting.
Then I joined a scaleup.
Bigger teams. More structure. Cross-functional chaos at a different altitude.
I remember sending a messaging framework to a respected product lead. Spent hours on it. Thought it was sharp.
His response? “Thanks. We’re actually pausing this initiative.”
No feedback. No discussion. Just words. I wanted to scream. I wanted to ask why he didn’t tell me sooner. I wanted to defend the work.
Then I heard Brené Brown say, “Comparison is the thief of joy.” In The Gifts of Imperfection, she goes further and names comparison a creativity killer. To live and work wholeheartedly, you have to let it go. You have to stop using someone else’s reaction as the measure of your worth.
That line landed hard. Because I realized I seeking validation and suffocating my own creativity by tying it to a response.
Here’s what I’ve tried to put in practice since then, and even still I have to catch myself.
1. Unsolicited work is a gift, and gifts don’t require receipts. If you’re creating to be seen, you’re not creating from generosity. You’re performing. And performance always needs an audience.
2. Silence isn’t rejection. It’s just silence. People are often busy, overwhelmed or underwater. They’re managing their own circles of chaos. A muted response doesn’t always mean your work sucks; it often means their bandwidth is already taken up.
3. In cross-functional work, timing beats effort. It would be best to ask first, sync on priorities, and gain alignment. They don’t confuse momentum with alignment. At the startup, we could ship fast and iterate live. At the scaleup, I had to learn when to wait, when to ask, when to create, and when to let go.
4. Restraint is a powerful move. I don’t need to defend, explain, or perform. Confidence often sounds quiet. Sometimes the win is just not letting someone else’s reaction steal your peace.
5. Your priorities are not your emotions. This is the big one. My emotions will tell you to prove yourself, to react and to make sure people know how hard you worked. If I wanted to set myself up for success, priorities would tell me when to move on and to focus on what actually matters.
What have we learned? The real chaos isn’t the work. It’s the expectation.
As a Product Marketer, I manage launches, timelines, stakeholders, communications, and all sorts of things that don’t live in my domain. But the hardest thing to manage? Being seen, valued, and appreciated.
At the startup, I learned to move fast. At the scaleup, I learned to let go.
And somewhere in between, I learned this: The work doesn’t need applause to be good. My worth doesn’t live in someone else’s response. And sometimes growth can look like restraint.
So, I chose joy over comparison, I chose regulation over reaction, and I chose priorities over my emotions.
It felt quiet. It felt small. But it was the biggest win I’ve had all week.