Jen Spencer, PhD

The Woman You Are at 11 p.m. Is Trying to Tell You Something

I read something a while back in Jen Hatmaker's book Awake about the "shadow self"—the idea that we all carry around a version of ourselves that doesn't quite match the one we show the world. The private thoughts, the doubts, the exhaustion we hide behind a smile. The gap between our inner experience and our outer performance.

I couldn't stop thinking about it. Not because it was a new idea—psychologists have talked about the "shadow self" for over a century—but because of where my mind immediately went with it: straight to work.

Specifically, straight to the women I've spent my career around: teachers, nurses, social workers, counselors—women doing jobs that matter for people who need them in systems that often don't give back nearly as much as they take.

Because here's what I've seen, over and over again: there's a version of these women who shows up to work every day—competent, warm, "fine," holding it together for the kids, the patients, the clients, and the team.

And then there's the version that exists underneath that: in the car on the way home, in the shower, at 11 p.m., staring at the ceiling.

That version is exhausted.

That version is angry, sometimes, in ways she doesn't feel allowed to say out loud.

That version is wondering, quietly, Is this what I signed up for?

That gap between the woman at work and the woman underneath isn't just stress. And it isn't just burnout, either, even though that's the word we usually reach for.

I think it's something closer to what is now being called moral injury.

Burnout vs. Moral Injury (and Why the Difference Matters)

Burnout sounds like exhaustion. Like you've simply run out of gas, and the fix is rest: a vacation, a bubble bath, a few deep breaths.

Moral injury is different. It's the wound you carry when you're repeatedly put in situations where you can't do the thing you know is right—not because you don't care, but because the system won't let you.

It's the teacher who knows a child needs more support than she's allowed to give.

It's the nurse who knows a patient needs ten more minutes than the schedule allows.

It's the social worker who watches a family fall through the cracks of a system she didn't design and can't fix.

Moral injury isn't about caring too little. It's about caring so much, for so long, in conditions that keep asking you to set that caring aside—and the toll that takes, day after day, on your sense of self.

And here's where the shadow self comes back in: that private, exhausted, sometimes resentful version of you isn't a flaw. It isn't proof that you're not cut out for this work, that you're not grateful, or that you're "not handling it well enough."

It's information.

It's your inner self trying to tell your outer self something true:

This is costing you more than anyone is acknowledging.

Why This Hits Women Especially Hard

I don't think it's an accident that the fields most associated with moral injury—teaching, nursing, social work, caregiving in all its forms—are fields dominated by women.

We are so often raised, trained, and praised for exactly the qualities that make moral injury more likely: selflessness, endurance, putting others first, and not making a fuss.

We're good at the performance.

We're good at being "fine."

Many of us have been doing it since we were kids, managing our outer selves so carefully that we sometimes lose track of what our inner selves are actually feeling until it shows up as snapping at our families, crying in the car, or lying awake replaying a hundred small failures that weren't really ours to carry.

If any of this is resonating with you, I want to say something clearly: the gap you feel between the woman everyone sees and the woman you actually are isn't weakness.

It's data.

And it's worth paying attention to.

What to Do With That Gap

I'm not going to tell you the answer is a bubble bath (though, sure, take the bath if you want it). The real work is bigger than self-care, and honestly, it's not all on you to fix.

But here's where I think the shadow self framework becomes genuinely useful—not as something to hide from, but as something to listen to:

Name it honestly. If your inner experience and your outer performance are miles apart, that's worth saying out loud—to yourself first, and then maybe to one trusted person. Not as a confession, but as information.

"I'm holding it together, but underneath, I'm running on empty" is not an admission of failure.

It's the truth, and truth is where change starts.

Stop treating the gap as a personal failing. If you feel resentful, exhausted, or like you're losing pieces of yourself to a job that asks everything and gives little back, that's not a character flaw.

That's a reasonable response to an unreasonable set of conditions.

You're allowed to feel that without it meaning you don't care about your work or the people you serve.

Protect small pieces of autonomy. Moral injury thrives in environments where you feel powerless. Even small acts of choice—how you start your morning, how you spend ten unscheduled minutes, what you say no to—can help your inner and outer selves feel a little less at war with each other.

Find your people. One of the most powerful things that happens when women start talking honestly about this gap is realizing how many other women are carrying the exact same thing, quietly, behind their own "fine."

You are not the only one.

Not even close.

The Bigger Picture

I do this work—speaking, writing, and consulting—because I believe organizations have a responsibility here, too.

The gap between who their employees are and who they're allowed to be at work isn't just a personal wellness issue; it's an organizational one. It shows up in turnover, burnout, and good people quietly walking away from work they once loved.

But while that bigger change is happening—and it's slow, and it's not fully in any of our hands—I hope you'll start with this:

The next time you notice that gap between the woman holding it together and the woman underneath who's tired, angry, or aching for something different, don't push her away.

She's not the problem.

She might just be the one trying to tell you the truth.

Protecting Your Capacity in Careers That Feel Like a Calling

There is a unique kind of exhaustion that develops in people who genuinely care about their work.

It happens in healthcare, education, social services, nonprofit leadership, government, and corporate environments where high performers often tie their identity to being dependable, capable, and helpful. Over time, many professionals begin operating under the belief that the more they sacrifice, the more valuable they become. They stay late. They answer emails at all hours. They carry emotional burdens no one sees. They become the person others rely on because saying yes feels safer than disappointing someone.

Eventually, many of these professionals do not simply burn out. They experience moral injury, an identity-level wound that occurs when work tied deeply to purpose and personal meaning begins to erode the very person doing it. This goes deeper than burnout.

What makes this particularly dangerous is that the individuals most at risk are often the most devoted.

No one teaches us how to protect our capacity while pursuing meaningful work. We are taught to work harder, care more, and repeatedly prove ourselves. We are praised for overextending ourselves until overextension quietly becomes our professional identity.

For years, I believed that being constantly available demonstrated commitment. I thought immediately responding to messages, identifying problems quickly, and asking detailed questions showed diligence and analytical thinking. In reality, I was unknowingly creating patterns of dependence, anxiety, and overexposure that slowly diminished my own self-efficacy.

Albert Bandura’s work on self-efficacy helps explain why this matters. Self-efficacy is our belief in our ability to successfully manage challenges and perform effectively. It is not confidence in the abstract. It is built through mastery experiences, observation, feedback, and our ability to regulate ourselves under pressure.

When professionals constantly seek reassurance, overfunction for others, or operate under chronic stress, self-efficacy weakens. We begin outsourcing trust in ourselves.

Protecting capacity requires intentionality.

One of the most important lessons I learned was that professional vulnerability should exist within a support system, not through constant permission-seeking from colleagues. There is a difference between collaborative problem-solving and repeatedly looking for validation before acting.

Strong professionals ask thoughtful questions, seek guidance when appropriate, and remain open to learning. But they also practice autonomy. They make decisions. They tolerate discomfort. They trust their preparation.

That autonomy extends into boundaries.

Many professionals unknowingly train others to expect unlimited access to them. We answer emails late into the evening. We respond on weekends. We interrupt family dinners to solve workplace problems that could wait until Monday morning. Then we wonder why we feel depleted.

Boundaries are not about disengagement. They are about sustainability.

Choosing not to answer a nonurgent message at 9:30 p.m. is not laziness. It is capacity protection. Deciding that weekends will not become extensions of the workweek is not selfishness. It is recognizing that recovery is essential for long-term effectiveness.

The professionals who sustain high performance over time are not necessarily the ones who work the most hours. They are the ones who intentionally manage their physical, emotional, and cognitive resources.

Self-care is often discussed superficially, reduced to bubble baths and inspirational quotes. Real self-care is much less glamorous. It is sleep. Nutrition. Movement. Emotional regulation. Saying no. Managing stimulation. Allowing yourself to recover before you reach depletion.

It is recognizing that your nervous system is not separate from your professional performance.

Once we begin stabilizing our foundation, we can focus on strengthening self-efficacy through skill mastery.

Albert Bandura identified mastery experiences as the most powerful source of self-efficacy. Confidence develops through repeated opportunities to practice, improve, and succeed incrementally. Professionals often believe they need to appear fully competent immediately, but sustainable confidence is built through accumulated experience.

This is why mentorship matters deeply.

Find someone skilled whom you can observe closely. Watch how they navigate conflict, communicate under pressure, and maintain professionalism without overexplaining themselves. Observe how they ask questions strategically.

There is an art to professional communication that many of us were never taught.

I wish someone had explained this to me earlier in my career.

I believed that identifying every issue and voicing every concern demonstrated thoroughness and intelligence. I thought asking numerous questions showed I cared deeply about getting things right. Sometimes it did. But I later realized that constantly presenting problems without solutions can unintentionally position someone as overwhelmed, uncertain, or negative, even when their intentions are good.

In complex work environments, perception matters.

Effective professionals learn to approach questions differently. Before raising concerns, review the available guidance and existing resources thoroughly. Enter conversations prepared.

Instead of simply presenting a problem, offer a potential solution or recommendation alongside your question.

For example, rather than saying:

“I don’t understand this process,”

try:

“I reviewed the current guidance and related resources. Based on what I found, I believe this approach may address the issue, but I wanted your perspective before moving forward.”

That subtle shift communicates preparation, initiative, and critical thinking.

Similarly, airing frustrations publicly or repeatedly focusing on mistakes can unintentionally shape how colleagues perceive your leadership potential. This does not mean suppressing legitimate concerns. It means learning discernment.

Professionals who are viewed as stabilizing forces within organizations are often the individuals who identify challenges while simultaneously contributing to solutions.

Being solution-oriented does not require perfection. It requires intentionality.

Another critical aspect of protecting capacity is resisting the urge to take on everything out of fear. Many high-performing professionals quietly believe that if they stop overfunctioning, things will fall apart or others will perceive them as less competent.

In reality, constantly stepping in can prevent colleagues from developing their own confidence and ability to contribute.

Sometimes others are simply waiting for opportunities to help, lead, and grow.

Healthy teams require shared responsibility. Sustainable leadership requires allowing others to participate meaningfully rather than carrying every burden personally.

Delegation is not weakness. It is trust.

Careers rooted in purpose can be deeply fulfilling, but purpose alone cannot sustain us indefinitely without protection, boundaries, and intentional skill development.

The goal is not to care less about our work.

The goal is to care sustainably.

Because the people who give the most should not be the first to collapse.