Today I got bad news about my dog, Danger. He’s been my shadow for nearly 13 years. His birthday’s tomorrow. He’s supposed to have those mutt genes that make him live forever. He’s supposed to eat crazy shit and never suffer because he’s a Brazilian street dog and was built for this. He’s a survivor. Strong, scrappy, seemingly invincible.
But now, suddenly, he’s not.
While I’m doing everything I can to keep him comfortable and stay hopeful, I’m scared. I’m sad. I’m overwhelmed with guilt… for every day he didn’t get a walk, for every time his water bowl sat empty.
And I still have to work.
Just like we all do. Most of us don’t get the luxury of falling apart after our 9 to 5.
Compartmentalization as Coping
I’ve done this before.
Five years ago, during my divorce, I was leading a major pitch. One that more than doubled the size of the agency and cemented me in my first CCO role. It was a big one and it was a hard one. My divorce was not one of those “conscious uncoupling” divorces. It was heavy with fear, frustration, and loss.
To process all of it, I’d block 20-minute walks into my calendar just to cry, catch my breath, and then go back to developing the work like nothing was wrong. I could not have done it without the incredible partnership of the Ogilvy Canada team at that time. But for my part, it was a masterclass in compartmentalization.
Before you start unfurling the red flags on my behalf: psychologists don’t see compartmentalization as inherently unhealthy. Used consciously, it can actually reduce emotional overload and help us function under pressure (VerywellMind).
The goal isn’t to pretend the pain isn’t there, it’s to give it space so it doesn’t take over everything.
Grief and fear are very real, important parts of the human experience. But they are the experience, not who we are.
The Dual Process Model
What my divorce taught me—and what I’m being reminded of now—is that you have to let yourself oscillate.
One moment, you’re feeling the weight of it. The next, you’re laughing on a call or solving a creative problem that has nothing to do with your pain.
This reflects the dual-process model of grief, which shows the healthiest outcomes come when people alternate between loss-oriented and restoration-oriented states.
Translation: you’re not meant to grieve 24/7. You’re also not meant to pretend nothing’s wrong. You’re meant to move between them.
Allowing yourself that movement, that range, is what keeps you alive. And employed.
Guilt and grief are often interwoven. We punish ourselves for how we feel, then punish ourselves again when we find a moment of joy inside it. But when we can just be with it, we process it better. When we escape its grip for a moment, we remember that life is bigger than what feels like the weightiest thing in the world right now.
The word bereavement comes from “reave”—to be robbed, to have something forcibly taken from you.
I’ve lost the comfort of believing (even if delusionally) that my sweet companion would always be part of my life.
So now, I am grieving and working side-by-side.
Grief Can Still Spark Creativity
Here’s the strange truth: sometimes grief cracks us open in ways that deepen the work.
We become more tender. More attuned. More honest.
Research shows that adversity can enhance creativity by shaking up our mental patterns and forcing new ways of seeing (arXiv).
Author Susan Cain calls this the power of the bittersweet. The ability to create not despite sorrow, but through it.
Work as Refuge—But Not Escape
When everything else was breaking, work was the one thing I could hold on to. I could still do that.
I’ve always wondered: if my life had been easier at home, would I be where I am in my career?
Work has always been a refuge for me. Even when things were unfair or hard, I found ways to bring value, create meaning, and show up for other people. And some days, that was enough.
But it’s a fragile balance. When work becomes your only safe place, you risk burning out in silence.
Work can provide structure, distraction, and even meaning for grieving employees—but only when they’re given psychological safety and time to adjust (LSE Research).
That’s why it’s important to find the people you trust. Share the burden with them.
I wish I could say everyone in this industry will support you through hard times. But some people are motivated by their own darkness and they will find ways to use your pain to their advantage.
So find your inner circle. The ones who show up consistently and generously. Let them in.
If you want to know what your agency can do to support you, talk to HR—but know that they’re rarely incentivized to give you the most compassionate advice. They’ll give you the contractually obligated version. A generous leader is usually a better place to start.
Ask for Grace Without Apology
We often hear, “you never know what someone’s going through.”
But sometimes you do because they told you.
And in doing so, they gave you a chance to respond with grace.
We deserve to offer that opportunity to others, too. Not to trauma-dump but to let them know enough to understand how to care.
Keeping it to yourself isn’t heroic.
Your vulnerability might be the thing that gives someone else permission to be their own kind of functional mess when crisis enters their world.
And what might otherwise look like you being “off your game” might actually become a picture of grace in the midst of struggle.
If You’re Hurting and Still Working
If you’re suffering life while trying to work, remember:
You don’t need to be a machine.
You don’t need to be a mess, either.
You’re allowed to be both hurting and creative.
Both scared and still showing up.
If you’re going through something hard, whether it’s loud or quiet, fresh or long-running, know this:
You’re not weak for compartmentalizing.
You’re not fake for functioning.
You’re human.
And maybe the most creative thing you can do right now is survive. With grace.