The Monsters I’ve Killed
Trees cracking under the weight - April 2013
You’re in a fight to the death, my friend.
Fight like you’re chained to the wheel.
You’ve got the past on your breath, my friend.
Now name all the monsters you’ve killed.
Let’s name all the monsters you’ve killed.
―Jason Isbell, “Chaos and Clothes”
These words entered my life at just the right time―a time when I needed to be reminded of all the monsters I had already killed. Isbell’s song is about struggling with sobriety and one friend encouraging another, but to me it was a confidence booster of a different kind. I took a piece of paper and wrote “The Monsters I’ve Killed” at the top. Then I underlined the title and underneath it started to list all the calamities, acts of nature, political power struggles, public controversies, and heartbreaks I had already managed through with my head held high. In recognizing these events and situations―these monsters―I knew I would have what I needed to thrive through whatever came next.
The first on the list was the ice storm of April 2013. I had worked for the City of Sioux Falls for only six weeks when a thick layer of ice covered every surface in the community. Six inches of snow was in the forecast. I was told to go to the EOC at the LEC, and I had no idea what any of those six letters stood for. Soon I was sitting at the PIO table (three more letters) writing news releases to keep our community safe, from both the weather and the con artists who would be swiftly coming to town to cut down trees.
Another item on the list of monsters I had killed still hurts. You might be surprised by that word “heartbreaks” above. Those of us who consider ourselves professional communicators try so hard not to let anything we encounter reach the heart level, but sometimes we face monsters that are very personal. We have to publicly define and defend tragic events. We have to stand up for things that others don’t agree with. People we know―and thought we knew really well―let us down.
No one ever, ever saw coming what was succinctly explained in a text message to me one day. Thankfully I did get that text message before reporters started calling―maybe five minutes before, but at least before. Of course, five minutes is not enough time to draft a thoughtful news release. It’s not enough time to get all the facts. It’s not enough time to formulate an intelligent response. It’s not enough time to make sense of the emotions running through your body. Not after you read a text message like that.
Even when you work in crisis communications, you absolutely cannot predict the future, but you can rely on the communications that worked in the past for any number of situations and apply it to the new fire. Even when a hydrant isn’t nearby. The next time the adrenaline kicks in and you must rely on your training to know what to do next, remembering the monsters already dead and conquered helps. It’s a somewhat harsh and brutal way to cope, but it’s what got me through the weeks of communications following that text message. The words I didn’t want to help communicate but had to, on a subject that hit too close to home.
Next week is Halloween, the one day we aren’t afraid of the monsters that appear on our doorstep. We are expecting them that one evening each year. But that’s not the way monsters usually show up. They come at the most unexpected times, when you already have too much on your plate. Oftentimes you don’t know you need crisis communications expertise until you do, and then you need it in a hurry. It might be a natural disaster or other act of God, and information―quickly!―is what will maintain public safety. It might be an employee’s very personal failing made very public, and a genuine response will help turn the tide of public perception. H Squared Communications can help. I’ve been there, slaying monsters and keeping track of their names to give me confidence for the next one.
Today my list doesn’t look so scary. The events of our pasts just become part of you, like it or not. The least you can do is name them and keep fighting to the death, my friend.