By Chesney Bradshaw
So you’ve made a good decision. A clean, rational, economically sound, universally applauded decision. Congratulations. Now prepare to be emotionally punished for the next five to ten business years.
Because here’s the problem. Making a smart decision is one thing. Living with it? That’s where the emotional hangover kicks in. Like waking up after a clean break-up and suddenly wondering whether your toxic ex was really that bad. (Spoiler: they were. Please.)
We like to pretend we’re rational beings. We are not. We are emotional soup cans on legs. The day starts with an emotional crisis involving tea or coffee. Then your phone lights up with seven emotionally loaded WhatsApps and a slightly rude forwarded meme from a relative who probably doesn’t like you. And it’s not even 8 a.m.
Someone greets you oddly in the lift. Now you’re offended. Or puzzled. Or enraged. Over a tone. And yet we’re supposed to calmly weigh the pros and cons of uprooting our lives, changing cities, ditching long-time friends and partners, and expect that the aftermath will be neat and tidy? Please.
This is where the cult of “emotional intelligence” rolls in like a fog machine at a high school talent show. Coined by Daniel Goleman in 1995, “emotional intelligence” became the golden goose for every consultant, coach, trainer, and LinkedIn influencer with a neck scarf and a PowerPoint. It was the buzzword that launched a thousand careers — mostly in corporate workshops held in poorly ventilated hotel conference rooms with bad muffins.
The idea behind it — managing your emotions like a grown-up — is solid. The term, however, has aged like unrefrigerated hummus. I propose we rebrand it to something more grounded. Like “emotional survival skills.” Or “not falling apart 101.”
Because here’s the truth: even when you make the right decision — and I mean really right, like ‘moving-out-of-a-flat-that-smelled-like-damp-dogs’ right — you’ll still question yourself. That’s emotion. It wants you to backtrack, to doubt, to spiral.
So what do you do? You sit tight. You trust the rational part of yourself — the part that doesn’t wear slip-slops to serious conversations. You remind yourself that walking away from someone who drained your energy wasn’t cruel. It was hygiene.
And maybe — just maybe — you tell your emotions to take a seat. Preferably in the back, with no speaking role.
