Earlier in my career, I struggled with an underlying sense of imposter syndrome. I had a master’s degree. I was gaining agency experience with major clients in Manhattan. And I was putting in the work—long hours, travel, desperate Hail Marys to reporters, on occasion. But somewhere beneath all of that was the nagging feeling that I needed to be a different version of myself to be worthy of my position.
I was so busy trying to fit in that it hadn’t occurred to me to learn how to belong.
Brené Brown’s work on belonging helped me understand something I wish I’d known much earlier: fitting in and belonging are not the same thing. Fitting in asks us to become who we think others want us to be. Belonging requires bravery to be ourselves.
That’s a significant distinction when you consider how much of our lives we spend at work and how much energy we waste trying to earn an acceptance that ultimately must come from within. On that hamster wheel, we inadvertently give away our power to people who have more situational authority—or who at least appear to.
When fitting in comes at a cost
What happens when trying to fit in comes at the expense of our own identity?
I remember disclosing my first pregnancy to my employer and feeling as though I were wearing the Scarlet Letter. It made me feel professionally vulnerable, and it turns out, for good reason. I had to fight for my maternity leave, and shortly after returning to work, I was asked to leave. Permanently.
That experience summed up my experience there. The environment wasn’t right for me from the start. I always knew it in my gut, but I didn’t have the confidence then to turn down the job and walk away. When you’re accustomed to trying to fit in at the expense of your own truth, it’s easy to internalize rejection. Instead of questioning whether an organization is right for you, you question whether you’re right for the organization.
Fortunately, I’ve also had wonderful bosses, professors and colleagues who helped in my journey of becoming. They encouraged my ideas, challenged my thinking and recognized strengths I wasn’t always confident enough to recognize in myself. Those relationships taught me as much about belonging as the difficult experiences did.
The Nedlog Rule
For years, I’ve shared a principle with my kids and friends that I call the Nedlog Rule. It’s the reverse of the Golden Rule, with golden spelled backward. My interpretation is simple: Don’t do less for yourself than you would do for others.
I thought I coined the phrase until I researched it and discovered that others have apparently been spelling golden backward long before I got around to publishing anything (I’m looking at you, Martha Beck). A few mentions of the Nedlog Rule aren’t near enough for a principle this genius and freeing. The Universe is essentially giving us permission—more than permission, mandating us—to believe in ourselves the way we do for others.
My interpretation grew out of something I kept observing in my own life: how readily I advocate for my loved ones while often cringing or suffering self-induced panic when attempting to cheerlead for myself. Think about how we encourage our friends to pursue their dreams, stand up for themselves, establish boundaries and celebrate their accomplishments. We remind them of their worth when they begin to doubt it; we tell them to leave diminishing situations and pursue environments where they are appreciated and can thrive.
How often do we extend ourselves that same consideration?
I’ve spent much of my career encouraging other people to recognize their strengths and going to great lengths to ensure leaders saw the potential in my team members. My spirit feels genuine happiness and contentment when I’m a helper. I don’t get the same dopamine rush from putting myself first. At one time I thought it was my sole purpose: be the sponge for the intense boss so that the chaos stops with me; champion a colleague so they get the promotion I secretly want; blend in so I’m not noticed too much while having enough wins not to be ripe for the chopping block when downsizing happens.
I struggled to champion myself. I didn’t even know I was supposed to. I was waiting for my championing to come from someone else. In my mind, self-promotion was akin to bragging (which is heavily ironic, since I now claim my husband’s last name, which is Bragg). Bragging, like tattling and gossiping, became social behaviors I learned to suppress to earn the virtue I thought was most important: humility.
This is where the Nedlog Rule meets Brené’s concept of true belonging.
If we’re willing to encourage others to be themselves, recognize their worth and refuse to settle for environments that diminish them, why would we expect anything less for ourselves? Accepting lesser outcomes for ourselves isn’t humble; it’s sacrificial. Women have battled this idea of selflessness being the ne plus ultra at the expense of equality, and often sanity, for centuries. Humility doesn’t require self-sacrifice, and advocating for ourselves doesn’t require arrogance. But there is something predictable about the sacrificial lamb: it always gets sacrificed. And it never helps the lamb.
The Nedlog Rule isn’t a license for selfishness or an excuse to disregard our professional responsibilities. It’s a reminder that our own needs, values and contributions deserve a place at the table, too. Clearly, don’t be a jerk and abandon your values because others think it’s okay. It isn’t. Retain your integrity with an almighty grip. Keep championing those around you. Just don’t do less for yourself than you would do for others.
Putting that principle into practice requires examining the ways we undermine ourselves.
The exhausting business of fitting in
Think about how much wasted energy we spend futilely trying to manage other people’s perceptions of us. We rehearse what we’re going to say in meetings. We hesitate before offering an unconventional idea. We worry about appearing too assertive, too emotional, not good enough—not whatever enough.
We become so preoccupied with how we’re being perceived that we sometimes forget our job is to contribute value. It’s not to smile on command, say yes when we mean no or wait for a pat on the head while performing the version of ourselves we think someone else wants to see.
Of course, professionalism requires us to adapt to different situations. But there’s a difference between exercising professional judgment and continually suppressing our convictions or contributions to gain acceptance. Sometimes we need to work on our confidence. Other times, we need to examine the environment that’s undermining it. Often, we need to do both.
The Nedlog Rule asks us to recognize that distinction and extend ourselves the same encouragement, patience and respect we would offer someone else. But there’s another side to this equation. Just as we shouldn’t have to abandon ourselves to belong, neither should the people around us.
The Golden Rule: Making room for others
If the Nedlog Rule challenges us to examine how we treat ourselves, the Golden Rule challenges us to examine how we treat everyone else. Treat others as you would want to be treated. It’s a common universal principle that has been in print for thousands of years. Just because its ancient wisdom has been around for the ages doesn’t mean applying it in the workplace is always straightforward.
Our colleagues bring different cultures, experiences, political opinions, personalities and personal convictions to work. Sometimes they also bring Halloween candy, a kid whose babysitter canceled or a chip on their shoulder. One never really knows. Some of the differences and surprises enrich our relationships. Others challenge our assumptions, make us uncomfortable or downright mad.
Extending dignity and respect to people who share our perspectives and our personal space is relatively easy. Extending that same consideration to those whose beliefs or actions—or personal hygiene—we fundamentally disagree with requires greater intention.
Authenticity doesn’t mean saying everything we think
Learn to button it.
Professionalism requires judgment. It means understanding our responsibilities, respecting boundaries and recognizing that our words and actions affect others. No one liked the know-it-all in the third grade, and no one likes them now.
But it shouldn’t require us to manufacture a personality or pretend to hold beliefs we don’t have.
We can choose not to participate in a particular conversation without being dishonest. We can respectfully disagree without turning every difference into a confrontation. And we can establish personal boundaries without demanding that others adopt them.
Two Rules. One Workplace.
Looking back on my early career, I wish I’d spent less time questioning whether I belonged and more time appreciating what I brought to the table. (But, as my mother used to say: “If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.” Did anyone else’s mother say that? No? Just mine? Okay then.)
I also recognize that belonging comes with responsibility. If I want the freedom to bring my authentic self to work, I must respect that same freedom in others. The Golden Rule challenges us to treat others as we would want to be treated. The Nedlog Rule challenges us to hold ourselves to that same standard—not settling for less than we would encourage someone else to pursue.
Neither requires us to compromise our values, manufacture a personality or agree with everyone around us.
Together, they challenge us to create workplaces where people can contribute without pretending to be someone else, disagree without diminishing one another and establish boundaries without abandoning mutual respect.
The goal isn’t to find a workplace where everyone thinks alike. It’s to create one where we can be ourselves, respect our differences and still find meaningful ways to work together. And, to make money for the organization. Note to future employers: I’ve got you, boo.
Treat others as you would want to be treated. And don’t do less for yourself than you would do for them. That’s the Golden Rule and the Nedlog Rule at work.
Research and references
- Beck, M. (2016). The Elur Nedlog
- Brown, B. (2017). Braving the Wilderness: The Quest for True Belonging and the Courage to Stand Alone. Random House.