The seven words that ate my year

I was supposed to be focused on business development last year. Instead, I was doing technical work.

It started reasonably enough. A client had an emergency. We were short on resources. I’d done this type of work for years before moving into business development, so I stepped in. One time. No big deal.

Then another emergency came up. Same client, same logic. I was already familiar with their situation. It made sense. And there was still no one to help.

Then a third. And somewhere around the fourth, the emergencies stopped being emergencies. They became expectations.

The first time, I told myself it was just this once. By the fourth, I was thinking, “How the hell did I get stuck doing this again?”

“While you’re in there, could you just…”

That phrase. I’ve heard it a hundred times. It sounds small. Reasonable, even. But it’s how scope creep becomes identity creep. Each “could you just” pushed me further from the role I was supposed to be filling and deeper into a role that wasn’t mine anymore.

This happens to professionals all the time: the “quick fix” request from someone who doesn’t have a clue. It looks easy when you do it, but you’ve acquired the tools and knowledge over the course of your career. Even when it is easy, it’s still not part of the scope. And it derails the other things you are supposed to be doing.

By mid-year, I wasn’t the person focused on business development. I was the person doing technical work. Again. And the job I was actually supposed to be doing? It quietly starved while I fed someone else’s emergencies and did someone else’s job.

The Pattern

I had two projects I wanted to launch in 2025: a podcast and a book. Neither shipped.

Not because I lacked ideas or motivation. Because I was too busy being everyone’s shock absorber.

One thing I’ve learned about engineers and technical leaders: we don’t avoid hard conversations by doing nothing. We avoid them by doing more work. We catch what others drop instead of addressing why it’s dropping. We pick up the slack instead of naming the problem.

It looks like being a team player. It feels like leadership. But underneath, it’s avoidance with a better reputation.

Catching things was just the visible part. The tasks. The deliverables. The stuff that shows up on a to-do list.

The deeper cost was what I was absorbing: other people’s chaos, urgency, and tension. Stuff that doesn’t show up anywhere except in your energy and your capacity. I was carrying weight that wasn’t mine so everyone else could stay comfortable.

It took a hard season in my personal life to see the pattern clearly. I wasn’t just catching problems at work. I’d become the shock absorber for every system I was part of, absorbing dysfunction so nothing around me had to change. I had spent decades doing this, personally and professionally. Failure wasn’t an option, so I would rush in, protecting everyone else from the consequences.

I’d spent years being indispensable to everyone else’s problems while my own priorities got bumped to next quarter. Next year. Someday. Check the calendar. Someday ain’t there.

The worst part? I couldn’t even articulate why I was exhausted and resentful. I’d “chosen” to help, after all.

Why This Matters To You

Most January newsletters ask what you’re going to add this year. New goals. New habits. New ambitions.

Wrong question.

If you’re anything like me, the problem isn’t that you’re missing something. It’s that you’re carrying too much that isn’t yours.

You can’t fill your role if you’re constantly filling someone else’s. You can’t run your own race while carrying everyone else’s weight.

And here’s what nobody tells you about being the shock absorber: the system gets comfortable. It stops developing the capacity it should have because you’re always there to compensate. Your helpfulness becomes the reason nothing changes.

This year isn’t about adding goals. It’s about stopping the pattern that made last year’s goals impossible.

Practical Steps

1. Today: Write down one thing you’re currently catching that isn’t yours. Not something you’re “helping” with. Something you’ve quietly taken ownership of because no one else did, and letting it drop felt like failure. Be honest. It’s probably the thing you’d be embarrassed to admit you’re still doing.

2. This Week: Ask the uncomfortable question: “Am I catching this because it’s genuinely critical, or because I’d rather do extra work than have a hard conversation about why it keeps falling?”

3. This Month: Hand one thing back. Not dramatically. Not with resentment. Just clearly: “This needs to be owned by someone else going forward.” Then protect the space that opens up. Don’t fill it with the next emergency. That’s the test.

The podcast and book will ship this year. Not because I found more hours. Because I stopped filling them with emergencies that weren’t mine.

What are you going to stop catching this year?

Hit reply and tell me. I read every response.