Winning At Work… But Losing Yourself In the Process
I watched The Godfather Part II last week, and one scene won’t leave me.
Michael Corleone sits outside at his Lake Tahoe estate, wrapped in silence. The empire is secure. His enemies are gone. The business is stronger than ever. By every external measure, he has won.
And yet, he’s alone. His face is blank, frozen, unreadable. His wife has left him. His brother is dead, by his own order. His children are nowhere to be seen. The man who once swore to protect his family has severed every tie that gave him meaning.
It’s a cautionary tale of leadership: success on every external front, but at the deepest level, a loss too great to repair.
So, what does it mean?
I’ve seen this pattern play out in high performers time and again: the slow, almost invisible cutting off of parts of themselves in the name of control, progress, or success.
Severing work from values: “This isn’t me, but it’s what has to be done.”
Severing emotions from decisions: “If I feel too much, I’ll lose my edge.”
Severing humanity from leadership “If I show weakness, I’ll lose respect.”
And in the early days, the trade looks worth it. You cut away a little here, a little there, and in return you get results, recognition, momentum.
But over time the cost builds, slowly, quietly, piece by piece. And then comes the Lake Tahoe moment. Everything you chased is finally in your hands, but behind the armour and the mask, you realise the very parts that made it meaningful have already been cut away.
The Psychology of Severance
At its core, severance means separation. Sometimes it’s external - leaving a role, cutting ties with someone, closing a chapter of life. But often it’s internal, disowning parts of ourselves we’ve been taught are unsafe.
A man raised to “be strong” may sever his relationship with sadness. Another may cut off his need for support or playfulness because it was mocked or punished. These parts don’t disappear. They retreat into the unconscious, resurfacing later as stress, anger, burnout, or numbness.
We see this in life transitions too - job changes, retirement, divorce, bereavement. Every change involves cutting away roles, communities, or identities that once anchored us.
Done well, with reflection and integration, severance can be healthy. You let go of what no longer serves you, while carrying forward the lessons, values, or relationships that still matter. It’s pruning and it’s painful, but it creates space for growth.
Done poorly, severance is amputation. You don’t just cut away the past, you cut away parts of yourself.
Psychology has a word for this defensive cutting away: splitting. We divide ourselves into the acceptable and the unacceptable, the professional and the personal, the strong and the vulnerable.
Splitting can work in the short term. It’s why the “ruthless leader” is sometimes idolised. By severing, you look clear, decisive, unshakable. But over time, the cost is steep:
The emotions you bury don’t disappear: they come back as snappiness with your team, distance at home, or lying awake at 3am with your mind racing.
Relationships thin out: colleagues trust you with strategy but not with honesty; friends stop checking in because you always say you’re “fine.”
And slowly, you lose sight of yourself: you play the role so well that you’re not sure anymore where the mask ends and you begin.
This is Michael Corleone’s tragedy. He wins the battles. He secures the empire. But in the process, he severs his humanity, his brother, his wife, his family, his own sense of peace. He survives, but at the cost of wholeness.
That’s the psychology of severance: it promises strength, but delivers emptiness.
Integration: The Antidote
The leaders who last aren’t the ones who cut the most. They’re the ones who integrate.
They bring values into their decisions.
They allow measured emotion to sharpen judgment, not blur it.
They lead as whole people, not masks.
Integration is what makes leadership human again. Not just about outcomes, but about being real, whole, and trusted.
Reflection Exercise
Take five quiet minutes this week and ask yourself:
What have I cut away to succeed?
What, if anything, has it cost me?
What small step would help me bring one of those parts back?
Maybe it’s a value you’ve sidelined. Maybe it’s time with someone who matters. Maybe it’s a part of yourself, you’ve tried to suppress.
Michael’s silence at Lake Tahoe is unforgettable because it’s a warning. Severance works, until it leaves you with nothing but the mask.
The real mark of leadership isn’t cutting away. It’s staying whole.
