209. When Loyalty Becomes a Liability

Loyalty can become a trap that keeps us playing small in our careers. Certain professional relationships can disguise control as concern, making it difficult for us to recognize when loyalty has crossed into liability. Understanding the difference between gratitude and guilt empowers us to protect our growth and redefine success on our own terms.

And releasing relationships that keep you playing small isn't about being ungrateful—it's about being honest with yourself.

Are you staying loyal to professional relationships that subtly keep you from advancing your career? Are you mistaking guilt for gratitude, telling yourself you should be thankful for what you have rather than pursuing what you truly want? Are you experiencing high-functioning misery—still performing on the outside while quietly unraveling on the inside?

You'll learn that loyalty, while a strength, can become a liability when the relationships you honor benefit from you staying small. It’s important to recognize when manipulation is disguised as mentorship and reclaim the power to make career decisions rooted in self-trust rather than fear.

WHAT YOU WILL DISCOVER

• Why recognizing when loyalty has become a liability is essential to protecting your professional growth and long-term career fulfillment

• 5 red flags to identify when a professional relationship has crossed from supportive to restrictive, plus 5 actionable strategies to move forward with confidence

• Why redefining strength is the key to breaking free from relationships that keep you playing small

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TRANSCRIPT

Welcome to the Stop Sabotaging Your Success podcast, episode two hundred and nine. I'm your host, Cindy Esliger. This is the podcast focusing on what we can do today to take control of our careers and overcome the inevitable barriers to success that we encounter along the way. 

Starting over often feels scarier than staying where you are. But when you are experiencing frustration in your career, it doesn't mean you're broken—it might mean you've been compromising too much, for too long, without enough support, recognition, or alignment with who you've become. You don't have to wait until everything falls apart to make a change. You can choose to protect your growth and redefine success on your own terms, starting today. 

In this episode, we're talking about something that doesn't get discussed nearly enough in professional circles: the relationships that feel like support but actually function more like anchors. You know the ones—the colleague who questions your loyalty when you consider new opportunities, the mentor who reminds you of how much they've invested in you right before telling you why your career aspirations are naive, or the friend who disguises control as concern. We're going to unpack why releasing these relationships might be the most strategic move you can make for your career, how to recognize when loyalty has become a liability, and what to do without burning yourself out in the process. This is about learning to differentiate between being a team player and being stuck, between gratitude and guilt, and between supporting others and sacrificing yourself. 

So, let's talk about loyalty. In male-dominated fields like engineering, women are often told to be grateful for our seat at the table. We're reminded not to rock the boat, to prove we're team players, to show we can handle whatever gets thrown at us without complaint. And here's the thing: most of us are incredibly loyal. We're loyal to our teams, to our mentors, to the colleagues and bosses who gave us a chance when we were just starting out. We pride ourselves on being conscientious and consistent. We don't walk away from commitments lightly. 

But somewhere along the way, that loyalty can become a trap. Because while we're busy being grateful and proving ourselves, certain relationships—be they colleagues, mentors, even friends—start keeping us small. And they do it so subtly that we don't even notice it's happening. They remind us to think logically and strategically. They warn us about how certain decisions could sabotage our career. They tell us we're too smart to make a change they wouldn't make themselves. And because we trust them, because we value the relationship, we listen. We second-guess ourselves. We stay put. 

But what they don't say: sometimes they need us to stay small so they can stay comfortable.

Let me give you an example similar to what I experienced. You're considering a career move— maybe it's a new role, maybe it's a completely different field, maybe it's finally pursuing the thing that's been calling to you for years. You mention it to someone you trust, someone whose opinion you value, and instead of curiosity or encouragement, you get concern. 

They ask if you've really thought this through. They remind you of everything you'd be giving up. They tell you that the team would evolve without you and you'd have nothing to come back to. They warn you that you'll look flaky or unfocused, that future bosses will question your loyalty and commitment, and that your colleagues will lose trust in you. They tell you you're forfeiting an incredibly powerful network. They use words like 'frivolous' and 'waste your time' and end with something like, "Don't be stupid".

And here's the kicker—they usually throw in some bonus flattery about how brilliant and talented you are, how they want you on their team, how they intend to invest in you and your future, as if that somehow makes the rest of it less manipulative. 

Now look, there are scenarios where career advice is genuinely helpful, when someone who cares about you points out a blind spot or asks thoughtful questions to help you think through a decision. But that's not what this is. This is intimidation disguised as investment. This is control wrapped up in concern. And the goal isn't to help you make the best decision for yourself—it's to keep you exactly where you are because your continued presence serves them. Only in my case, I didn't recognize that soon enough. 

In these types of environments, other people actively benefit from your staying put. Your presence preserves their headcount. It maintains their network. It keeps the status quo humming along. And if you're good at your job—which you probably are—your leaving creates a problem they don't want to deal with. So, they make it your problem instead. 

They make you feel like wanting something different is somehow a betrayal. Like changing your mind is unprofessional. Like prioritizing your own growth is selfish. 

And because we're conditioned to avoid being seen as difficult or disloyal or ungrateful, we internalize it. We start believing that if we leave, we're betraying the people who believed in us. We tell ourselves we should be grateful for what we have, that wanting more is somehow wrong. We convince ourselves that we're not the kind of person who walks away from commitments. We worry about what other people will think if we change our mind. 

But here's what I want you to consider: what if changing your mind isn't a character flaw? What if it's actually evidence of growth? 

Let's reframe three of the most common beliefs that tend to keep us stuck: 

First, there's this idea that leaving is betrayal. That if you walk away from a role or a relationship after someone has invested in you, you're somehow letting them down. But here's the thing: investment shouldn't come with strings attached. If someone genuinely wants what's best for you, they'll support you even when your path diverges from theirs. The fact that they helped you at one point in your career doesn't mean you owe them your entire future. That's not mentorship—that's manipulation. 

There's a difference between being grateful for what someone has done for you and feeling obligated to sacrifice your own growth to keep them comfortable. You can appreciate the role they played in your development and still recognize when it's time to move on. Those two things can coexist. In fact, they should. 

Second, this belief that wanting more is selfish. Let me assure you, it's not being selfish to want more for yourself. Knowing when something no longer serves you isn't betrayal—it's honesty. It's self-awareness. And self-awareness is not the same thing as selfishness. Selfishness is acting without regard for others. Self-awareness is understanding what you need to be effective, fulfilled, and aligned with your values, then making decisions accordingly.

Your values are allowed to shift. What was right for you five years ago doesn't have to be right for you today. You're allowed to have given something your all and still decide it's no longer what you want. That's not flaky—that's being human. It's evolution. And yet, we're so afraid of being judged for changing our minds that we stay in situations that no longer fit us, just to avoid looking inconsistent.

So, here's something to consider: maybe consistency is overrated. Maybe what we should value instead is alignment—and being consistent with who we are now, not who we used to be. 

Third, there's this whole narrative around strength that needs updating. For so long, we've defined strength as the ability to endure, to push through, to tolerate difficult situations and keep performing anyway. We've been praised for being strong enough to handle things that would break other people. And sure, there's value in resilience. But there's a point where resilience becomes a trap, where being strong enough to handle something terrible becomes an excuse to stay in it. 

I want to offer you a different definition of strength. Strength isn't about what you can endure—it's about having the courage to choose what's right for you, even when it's hard. It's about being strong enough to leave, to create a new path, to say, "I deserve better than this". Strength is internal. It's for you, not a performance for others to witness. 

When I think about times in my life when I felt truly strong, they weren't the times I was tolerating the intolerable. They were the times I finally said, "Enough". The times I chose myself over other people's expectations. The times I trusted my own judgment over someone else's opinion of what I should do. 

Now, I know you might be thinking, "But what if I make the wrong choice? What if I leave and regret it?". And look, that's a valid concern. There are no guarantees. But here's what I've learned—staying in something that's wrong for you because you're afraid of making a mistake isn't actually playing it safe. It's accepting a different kind of risk. It's the risk of waking up five years from now and realizing you let fear make your decisions for you. 

Let's talk about what happens when you don't make a change, when you stay in a job that keeps you playing small for the sake of your professional relationships. Because the consequences are real, and they're cumulative. Here are four to consider: 

First, there's the slow-burn resentment. You keep showing up, still delivering, but the joy is gone. You're functioning on autopilot, going through the motions. And here's the insidious part—you might have everything you thought you wanted, like the title, the salary, and the stability, but you're not happy. And then you feel guilty for not being happy, which just makes it worse. You tell yourself you should be grateful, that other people would kill for what you have, and that you're being ungrateful and spoiled for wanting something different.

But feeling ungrateful and actually being ungrateful are not the same thing. You can be grateful for the experience, for what you learned, for how it helped you get to where you are—and still recognize that it's no longer where you want to be. 

Second, there's the erosion of self-trust. Every time you silence your instincts to appease someone else's opinion, you teach yourself that you can't be trusted to make your own decisions. You outsource your judgment to people who don't have to live with the consequences of your choices. And over time, that voice in your head—the one that knows what you need—gets quieter and quieter until you can barely hear it anymore. 

You start second-guessing everything. You question your competence, even though everyone else thinks you're crushing it. You wonder if you're overreacting, if you're being too sensitive, if maybe everyone else is right and you're wrong. And that doubt becomes paralyzing.

Third, you miss opportunities. While you're staying loyal to those professional relationships that don't serve you, the opportunities that would have energized you pass by. Someone else takes that role. Someone else makes the important connection. Someone else builds the career you were too afraid to pursue because you were worried about what your current circle would think. 

And fourth—this is the one that hits closest to home for a lot of high-performers—you end up in a state of high-functioning misery. You're still performing, still meeting expectations, and maybe even exceeding them. But internally, you're unraveling. You're detached, cynical, questioning whether you're even good at this anymore. You dread opening your email because it might mean another task that you don't want to do. Your weekends no longer restore you. You start fantasizing about quitting—just to be able to step off the merry-go-round long enough to breathe.

Sound familiar? That's what burnout looks like when it's wrapped in loyalty. 

It might slowly build over time before you realize that the stability you wanted is actually causing career stagnation. You're not growing, you're just comfortable—and comfort can be a trap. You're doing the same things, solving the same problems, having the same conversations. You're not learning, you're not stretching, you're just maintaining. 

And eventually, that frustration leaks out. Maybe you become the person who's always slightly checked-out in meetings. Maybe your cynicism starts showing through. Maybe you snap at a colleague who asks a simple question. And people notice. Your reputation shifts. Instead of being seen as the person who can handle anything, you become the person who seems burned out, unstable, someone who's no longer worth the risk of putting in front of an important client. Or worse—you stay until you break, and then people wonder what happened to the person they thought they knew. 

So, how do you know when a professional relationship has crossed the line from supportive to restrictive? What should you be watching out for? 

Here are five big red flags to be aware of: 

First, advice that sounds like intimidation. When someone tells you what you should do and follows it up with flattery about how much they've invested in you, pay attention. That's control, not mentorship. Genuine mentors ask questions. They help you think through decisions. They might share their perspective, but they don't try to make you feel guilty for considering options they wouldn't choose. 

Second, concern that's really projection. Sometimes, what looks like worry about your decision is actually someone handing their anxiety over to you, so they don't have to face their own fears. You're now carrying their worry while they stay comfortable. Ask yourself: whose baggage is this to hold? Because if it's not yours, you can set it down. 

Third, people who constantly tell you what you should worry about, but dismiss your actual concerns or aspirations as naive. They're happy to point out all the risks of making a change, but when you talk about what excites you, they call it unrealistic. That's not balance—that's someone trying to keep you where you are to further their own agenda.

Fourth, the 'don't burn bridges' manipulation. They remind you that you'll need them someday, that the industry is small, and that you never know when paths might cross again. And sure, maintaining professional relationships is generally wise. But when someone uses that as a reason why you shouldn't pursue what you want, they're not protecting your network—they're protecting their access to you. 

And fifth, any feedback that feels like a personal attack when you're already doubting yourself—and they know it. If someone is giving you feedback that consistently makes you feel worse about yourself rather than clearer about how to improve, that's not feedback. That's undermining and it's destructive. 

So, what do you do about it? How do you move forward when you're surrounded by people who benefit from you staying small? 

You focus on what's within your control. And I know that sounds simple, but it's actually the most powerful shift you can make.

First, identify whose voice you're listening to. Is the anxiety you feel about making a change actually yours or has someone handed it to you? When you think about pursuing a new opportunity, whose voice do you hear telling you that it's a bad idea? If it's not your own voice—if it's someone else's concern that you've internalized—you can choose to disregard it. 

One strategy that helps with this is to set aside a specific time to worry. I know that sounds counterintuitive, but here's how it works: when you catch yourself spiraling about what someone else thinks or what might go wrong, you tell yourself, "Not right now. I'll think about this during my designated worry time". And then, at that scheduled time—not right before going to sleep—you sit down with a notebook and get all those worries out of your head. Write them down. Look at them. And often, you'll realize that half of them aren't even yours.

Second, set structured boundaries around advice-seeking. Just because someone offers their opinion doesn't mean you asked for it—or that it's for your benefit. Start evaluating advice based on the source. Is this person genuinely invested in your growth, or do they benefit from you staying where you are? Do they have a track record for supporting people even when it's inconvenient for them, or do they only offer support when it serves their interests?

And remember, you don't have to explain your decisions to people who aren't actually affected by them. You don't owe everyone a detailed justification for why you're considering a change. Sometimes saying, "This is the right move for me" is enough. 

Third, make decisions based on joy, not guilt. Start asking yourself, "What would I do if I weren't afraid of disappointing anyone?". And then, do the work to convince yourself you can handle the unknowns. Because you don't need all the answers to create change. You just need to trust that you'll figure it out along the way. 

I remember when I was considering making a major career shift. I had this moment where I realized I was making decisions based on who I thought I should be, rather than who I actually was. I was so worried about what people would think, about whether I was making a big mistake, about whether I was being irresponsible. And then I tried asking myself, "If I knew I couldn't fail, what would I do?". It sounds so simple but it did help me see that I had to figure out how to give myself permission to just do it anyway, even without that guarantee. 

Fourth, have the hard conversations. It's okay to tell someone, "I know this isn't what you'd choose for me, but it's what I'd need to choose for myself". You don't need their permission to do what you want to do. If you wish, you can say something like, "I appreciate your concern, but I need to trust myself on this one". They still might not understand, and that's okay—they don't have to. 

These conversations aren't fun. They're awkward and uncomfortable, and sometimes, they don't go well. But avoiding them doesn't make them go away—it just prolongs the discomfort and usually makes things worse.

And fifth, and this is the hard one, accept that some bridges do need to burn. We've been taught never to burn bridges, and generally that's good advice. But sometimes, to protect yourself and move forward, certain bridges might have to burn. That's not weakness, that's self-preservation. 

Not every relationship is meant to last forever. Some people are in your life for a season, to teach you something, or help you through a particular phase. And when that season ends, holding on doesn't serve either of you. It just creates resentment on both sides. 

When you're wrestling with these types of decisions, we tend to think we have to manage other people's reactions, preserve their comfort in order for them to maintain their confidence in us. We tie ourselves in knots trying to make a decision that works for everyone. But here's the truth—you don't have control over what others do or think, and you never did.

What you do have is the power to decide what you're willing to continue tolerating. You get to decide what you'll accept in your professional life and what you won't. You get to decide which relationships you'll invest in and which ones you'll let go. You get to decide when enough is enough. 

And sometimes, a stumble may prevent a fall. Making a change now, even if it feels scary, even if it disrupts the status quo, might save you from a much bigger crisis later. Because the alternative—staying until you feel like you're broken—is so much worse. 

Some of the strongest people I know are the ones who had the courage to walk away from what looked good on paper, to pursue what actually felt right. The ones who said, "This isn't working for me anymore", even when everyone else thought they had it made. The ones who trusted themselves enough to make a change that didn't make sense to anyone else.

That's the kind of strength that actually matters. Not the kind that proves you can tolerate the intolerable, but the kind that says you don't have to. 

Not all professional relationships are meant to last forever. Some are there to show you what you've outgrown. And releasing relationships that keep you playing small isn't about being ungrateful—it's about being honest with yourself. 

You already know what you need to do. Somewhere inside you, that voice is telling you that something needs to change. The question isn't whether you should listen to it—it's whether you'll give yourself permission to act on it. 

Before you can change your career, you have to believe that you have the power to change it. You have to trust that you're capable of handling the uncertainty, the discomfort, the possibility that things might not work out exactly as you planned. And you have to be willing to bet on yourself even when others won't. 

You don't need all the answers to create change. You don't need a perfect plan or a guarantee of success. You just need to trust that you'll figure it out along the way. Because you will. And if you really think about it, you always have. 

Starting over often feels scarier than staying where you are. The frustration you're feeling with your career might mean you've been compromising too much.

You don't have to wait until everything falls apart to make a change. You don't have to wait until you're so burned out that you can barely function. You don't have to wait for permission or validation or for someone else to tell you it's okay to want something different. 

You can choose to put your needs first for a change. 

And that's it for this episode of Stop Sabotaging Your Success. Remember to download your Guide to Recognizing When Loyalty Becomes a Liability at cindyesliger.com/podcast, episode two hundred and nine.

Thank you to our producer, Alex Hochhausen and everyone at Astronomic Audio. Get in touch, I'm on Instagram @cindyesliger. My email address is info@cindyesliger.com. 

If you enjoy listening to this podcast, you have to come check out The Confidence Collective. It's my monthly coaching program where we dig a little deeper into what's holding you back in your career and we find the workarounds. We help you overcome the barriers and create the career you want. Join me over at cindyesliger.com/join. I'd love to have you join me in The Confidence Collective.  

Until next week, I'm Cindy Esliger. Thanks for listening.