Don't Be Air. Be Fire.

Episode 2: Don't Be Air. Be Fire.

How much energy have you spent preparing for conversations that never happened?

Replaying interactions.

Anticipating conflict.

Trying to understand why someone doesn't like you.

In this deeply personal episode of Please Mute Your Trauma, Tiffany Collins shares the story of a recent doctoral residential that forced her to confront an uncomfortable truth: sometimes the greatest battles we're fighting aren't happening around us—they're happening within us.

After arriving emotionally prepared for a conflict that never came, one simple piece of advice shifted everything:

Don't be air. Be fire.

Together, we'll explore how trauma can teach us to become hypervigilant, why we often give our attention to people and problems that haven't earned it, and how reclaiming our focus is an act of dignity.

This episode is an invitation to stop replaying conversations that never happened, stop preparing for battles that may never come, and start investing your energy in the people, work, and purpose that truly deserve it.

Because meaningful work doesn't begin when everything around us changes.

Sometimes it begins when we choose to stop supplying oxygen to the things that are stealing our peace.

In This Episode:

• Why trauma prepares us for battles that never happen
• The hidden cost of hypervigilance
• How our attention shapes our experience at work
• The connection between dignity and self-worth
• What it really means to "be fire"

Reflection Question:
Where are you giving your energy to people, problems, or possibilities that haven't earned it?

Learn more about the podcast and join the conversation at www.pleasemuteyourtrauma.com.

Coming soon, you'll be able to share your own workplace stories and questions through the podcast voicemail feature—because some of the most meaningful conversations begin when we realize we're not carrying these experiences alone.

Because work becomes meaningful when dignity is protected.

If you've ever sat through a meeting wondering whether anyone was listening, received a pizza party instead of support, or been told to "bring your whole self to work" only to discover there were terms and conditions attached, this episode is for you.

Learn more about the show and connect with Tiffany at:

www.pleasemuteyourtrauma.com

Because work becomes meaningful when dignity is protected.

Transcript

0:00

Can I ask you a question? Have you ever noticed how one person can completely take over your head? Not because they're important, not because they're right Not because they have any actual power over your life But somehow they move in, they refuse to pay rent, they ignore multiple eviction notices And before you know it, they've established full-fledged squatters' rights Meanwhile, the people who actually care about you, remember them? Those guys? They're standing outside while the wrong person is inside rearranging the furniture, hanging your grandmother's wallpaper in the kitchen, and acting like they co-signed the mortgage But somehow the only opinion you can think about is the person who doesn't Welcome back to Please Meet Your Trauma, the podcast where we unpack trauma, workplace dysfunction, nervous system reactions, and the completely unhinged conversations we have with ourselves that thankfully never make it out of our mouths. Which is probably for the best because if most of us narrated our internal dialogue in public, we'd lose friends, get uninvited from family gatherings, accidentally start arguments we never intended to have, and probably spend an unreasonable amount of time explaining to strangers, "No, no, no, that was an inside thought." You know what I'm talking about. The coworker who doesn't respond to your email for three hours and suddenly you're convinced you're getting fired. The manager who you brush past in the hallway and they use the phrase, "Can we talk?" Which, let's pause. That is the corporate equivalent of hearing your mother use your full government name. And in my case, nothing good has ever followed those words The one awkward interaction that somehow becomes a three-day documentary replaying on repeat in your head Around here, we talk about why that happens, what trauma has to do with it, and how dignity and meaningful work might be part of the solution. I'm Tiffany Collins, and if there's one thing you should know about me, it's that I never stop asking questions. Questions about people, questions about work, questions about why some experiences stay with us for years, while others disappear by lunch There are days I'm not entirely sure if I'm a researcher, Curious George, or somebody's nosy neighbor. I just know I need answers And today I wanna talk about five words that completely changed the way I think about where I'm gonna put my energy. Don't be air, be fire A few weeks ago, I was at my doctoral residential, which is six days of research, statistics, lectures, presentations, group projects, awkward conversations, too little sleep, too much caffeine, and sprinkle in just enough imposter syndrome to keep things interesting. It's a unique environment where you're simultaneously trying to learn, contribute, build relationships, and convince a whole room of actual academics that you deserve to be there. For those of you not in a doctoral program, it's basically a week of summer camp. If summer camp involved an academic journal, existential crises, a room full of people casually citing research you've never heard of as if everybody received the same reading list before camp. By day three, everybody is completely trauma bonded over deadlines, questionable life choices, and the amount of reading still sitting untouched in their hotel room. There is a lot of laughter, there's a lot of jokes, and a lot of moments where exhaustion takes over and somebody says something completely unhinged that causes the rest of the room to lose it. For example, accidentally referring to a group of women as a harem, or asking an AI to write a fairy tale about your life, and somehow that same AI concludes that your most redeeming quality in your story is that you're broke By day three, none of us are operating at capacity. Those are some of my favorite moments. The moments when everyone stops trying to impress each other. When the imposter syndrome quiets down for a minute. When the titles, degrees, and expectations fall away, and people just become people And suddenly we're all laughing at ourselves because if we didn't, apparently our AI will do it for us. Because for all the stress, there is something really special about spending a week with people who understand exactly how absurd this doctoral journey can be This residential was different for me, not because of what happened during the week, but because of what happened before I got there. You see, we have residentials every trimester, and if I'm putting all my cards out on the table and being completely honest, I struggle with imposter syndrome I've also never been the most socially confident person in the room, though I feel as though my ability to pretend otherwise probably- deserves an Oscar. So when I had a rough experience at a previous residential, I carried it with me. Maybe you've done that too. One awkward interaction, one comment, one person who got under your skin, and somehow you're still replaying it long after everyone else has forgotten about it. And that's what happened to me. As this residential got closer, I started preparing, not for the classes, not for the presentations For interactions. I honestly thought about backing out of the week entirely, but thankfully I had second thoughts because I did want to eventually graduate. I rehearsed conversations that hadn't happened. I drafted responses to comments that hadn't been made. I mentally managed scenarios that didn't even exist In fact, this is no joke, I spent the entire six-hour drive replaying conversations, analyzing interactions, and preparing for situations that hadn't actually happened yet. And the worst part, I knew I was doing it. I knew none of it was helping, and the best is I couldn't seem to stop My body was tense. My nervous system had apparently mistaken a doctoral residential for some sort of hostage negotiation. At some point, I was so worked up that if somebody handed me a Fitbit, it probably would have assumed that I was being chased through the woods or participating in some kind of cardio event that I absolutely did not sign up for. I was exhausted. And the most ridiculous part is that I was exhausted by something that existed entirely in my own head I have been known to be like a dog with a bone and not let things go. So in this situation, I was basically functioning as a backup boxer. My gloves were on, I'd just put my mouth guard in, and I was fully prepared, just waiting for someone to look in my direction so I could yell the line I have been preparing my whole life for, "Put me in, coach. I've trained for this." The problem? There wasn't a fight But trauma also doesn't care about technical details. If it senses even the possibility of conflict, it'll have you standing ringside ready to defend yourself against a punch that hasn't been thrown by a person who may not even be thinking about you By the time I arrived, I wasn't showing up excited. I was showing up exhausted and tense. I was watching, evaluating, looking for signs that something was about to go wrong, and then something unexpected did happen. What, you might ask? Nothing. Absolutely nothing happened. The fight I had spent weeks preparing for never arrived. The tension I had been carrying wasn't needed. The conversations I rehearsed never happened. The responses I drafted stayed in my head. The threat I had spent weeks preparing for didn't exist And that's when I realized something uncomfortable. The thing that was exhausting me wasn't the situation. It was the story I was telling myself about the situation. Hmm. That's a hard thing to admit And as the week went on, something else became very clear to me. I already knew who my people were. I knew who supported me. I knew who encouraged me. I knew who wanted to see me succeed And maybe most importantly, I realized I had spent a lot of energy focusing on the wrong people You see, I realized that not every opinion deserves equal weight Not every person gets access to my peace. Not every relationship needs to become a friendship. And not everyone gets a front row seat in my head, which is something I'm still practicing. But once I stopped trying to win over everyone in the room, I realized I could actually be present in the room. I could allow myself to enjoy conversations, the people, the experience, and somewhere in the middle of all that, a friend noticed something I hadn't. A pattern One that I had been carrying around for years without realizing One evening during a conversation that was far more insightful than I think either one of us expected, which probably says more about me than him, and notably took place before we started drinking wine, which I feel obligated to clarify for the integrity of the story. This friend looked at me and said, "Don't be air, be fire." At first, I had absolutely no idea what that meant because in my mind it sounded like something you might find on a motivational poster that's hanging in your yoga studio next to a picture of a mountain and a quote about manifesting abundance A few days later, the drive home was different. It was quieter, more reflective The laughter had faded, the presentations were over, and somewhere between California and Arizona, my brain decided it was finally time to process everything that had occurred The more I started thinking through things and thought about it, I realized my friend wasn't talking about the residential or this one small moment of time. He was talking about me. He was talking about a pattern And maybe what made it so hard to ignore is that it came from someone who knew me well enough to see it. Someone I had come to trust. Someone I had grown to deeply value. The kind of friend who cares enough to tell you the truth even when it's uncomfortable. Not to criticize you, not to hurt you, but because they can see something that's getting in the way of your growth And it was in that moment I realized he wasn't describing a bad week. He was describing a habit. A pattern I've repeated so many times I stopped noticing I was doing it, and maybe one you've repeated too Trauma teaches us to become air. Not intentionally, not consciously, but consistently We learn to focus on the threat, the criticism, the conflict, the possibility that something might go wrong. And over time, we're giving our attention to things that haven't earned it And the more I realize this isn't just a Tiffany problem or an HR problem. In fact, it's not even a problem I've kept just in my personal life I feel like we all do this at work. Think about how much time and energy you spend trying to win over that one person. You know the one. The coworker who never seems impressed. The leader whose approval always feels just out of reach. The person who somehow occupies more space in your head than they ever earned in real life Meanwhile, people are around you who respect you, support you, and enjoy working with you. But who gets all of your attention? The one person who doesn't care And that's where trauma gets sneaky. Trauma tells us the threat is the most important thing in the room. We have to pay attention to it, to monitor it, to prepare for it, control it. But what if we've confused vigilance with wisdom? What if we've mistaken hyperawareness for protection? What if the thing stealing our peace isn't what happened? But what if that's what we keep feeding Because if that's true, then we've been fighting the wrong battle., The more energy I spend managing imagined threats, the less energy I have for meaningful work, less energy for my life Less energy for my family, less energy for creativity Less energy for the people who actually matter Trauma isn't just costly because of what it makes us feel. It's costly because of where it steals our attention. The real question isn't why that person was living in my head rent-free. The real question is why I kept choosing to renew the lease. Eventually, that question led me to dignity. And the more that I thought about it, the more I realized this wasn't really about overthinking. It wasn't about confidence. It wasn't even about that person. It was about worth. It was about my worth. I've spent a lot of time over the last year studying dignity, and one of the things I've learned is that most people misunderstand what it actually means. Dignity isn't confidence .Dignity isn't self-esteem. Dignity is the belief that your worth isn't up for negotiation. Every time I organize my emotional life around someone who doesn't value me, I am negotiating something that was never supposed to be negotiated. Every time I let one person's opinion outweigh my people's support, I'm surrendering part of my dignity. Every time I shrink, over-explain, over-perform, or overanalyze in hopes of becoming acceptable, I'm just quietly communicating that someone else's approval matters more than my own sense of worth. I think for me, looking back, I've made that trade more times than I'd probably like to admit, and especially at work. Organizations often reward people for becoming air. We're taught to be flexible, be adaptable, be easy to work with, be resilient. Take on one more project. Stay a little later. Do a little more, and ask for a little less. And if you're really good at all those things, we'll call you a high performer. Ask me how I know. The problem is that somewhere along the way, a lot of us have learned how to become indispensable while forgetting we already are valuable. And I'll be honest, becoming indispensable feels productive until one day you realize you've spent so much of your time proving your worth, that you've forgotten you already have it. Here's what I've come to believe. The reason dignity matters isn't just because it changes how we see ourselves. It changes how we experience our work. Because when you're constantly trying to prove your worth, you're not free to do your best work. You're busy managing fear, managing uncertainty, managing the possibility that someone else might decide you're not enough, and that's why this matters. Meaningful work isn't created by constantly proving your worth. Meaningful work happens when your worth is no longer up for debate Meaningful work happens when you can contribute, create, and connect without spending half your energy managing fear. Meaningful work happens when dignity is protected, not just by organizations, but by us. I believe that's what my friend was trying to tell me. Being Fire isn't about becoming louder. It's not be- about becoming more difficult. It's not about winning every argument It's about becoming grounded. It's about knowing who you are. It's about knowing where your energy belongs. And it's about realizing that not everyone deserves your attention. Not everyone deserves access to your peace, And not every opinion deserves a vote in how you see yourself. Trauma convinced me I needed to prepare for every possible threat. Dignity reminds me I don't have to attend every fight I'm invited to. And truthfully, most of them were never mine to begin with. Wow, that may be one of the most important lessons I've learned this year or in the past several years. Your attention is finite. Your energy is finite. I've spent far too much of mine preparing for a fight that never happened. The question isn't whether something deserves your attention. The question is whether it's worthy of your fire. Where are you being air? Are you replaying a conversation that ended weeks ago? Are you trying to earn approval from someone who has no intention of ever giving it? Are you feeding fires that should have gone out a long time ago? What would happen if you stopped supplying the oxygen? What would happen if you redirected that energy toward the people, the work, and the purpose that actually matter? But most importantly what would happen if you became fire instead? And that may be the most freeing realization of all, is that not everyone deserves a front row seat in your head. Thank you so much for joining us this week. This podcast is researched, written, recorded, and occasionally overthought by me, Tiffany Collins. Because apparently my coping mechanism is turning unanswered questions into podcast episodes. So if you'd like to learn more about the show, my research, speaking engagements, or consulting, or you wanna follow whatever question I'm currently obsessing over, you can find it all at pleasseetyourtrauma.com. You can also follow along on Instagram, where at some point I'll be sharing episode updates, behind-the-scene moments, research insights, and the occasional workplace observation, that should have stayed in my head but didn't. And if you've ever listened to an episode and thought, "Wait, is she talking about me?" The answer is probably no. But the fact that you thought that might be worth exploring. Either way, I am glad you're here. One of the things I'm most excited about is hearing from you guys. Next month, I'm adding a voicemail feature to the website, not because I need more unanswered questions in my life. Trust me, I've got plenty of those. But because I wanna know what you're carrying. I wanna hear about the workplace experiences that you still think about, the questions you can't seem to shake, and the stories that ever made you wonder, "There's no way this only happened to me." Because if there's one thing I've learned studying trauma, dignity, meaningful work, and human beings in general, it's that we're usually a lot less alone than we think we are So until next time, protect your peace, protect your dignity, and remember, work becomes meaningful when dignity is protected, and that includes protecting your own.