When You’d Rather Be Anywhere Else: Surviving the Leadership Offsite
There’s a particular kind of dread that hits before a company offsite. Not the “I hate my job” kind — the quieter kind that creeps in when you realize you’ll be “on” for multiple straight days. Surrounded by people you mostly know through Slack handles and project updates. Stuck in a resort somewhere, miles from home, expected to collaborate, connect, and “build culture” through who knows what – with visions of trust falls, escape rooms, and brainstorming sessions with color-coded Post-Its.
I know it’s supposed to be useful. It probably will be. But that doesn’t make it easier.
Because for some of us — the introverts, the ADHD brains, the ones who process deeply and perform reluctantly — these events can feel less like opportunities and more like endurance tests. It’s not just social fatigue. It’s the pressure to be visible, to show enthusiasm, to translate authenticity into something extroverted enough to be recognized as “engagement.”
I want to show up well. I want my team and peers to feel supported. But I also want to survive the week without melting into the carpet. So instead of pretending I’ve mastered this, here’s how I’m trying to get through it — and maybe, to get something meaningful out of it.
1. Start with a Personal “Why”
Before I packed, I’ve been forcing myself to clarify what this week is for. Not the official goals about “alignment” or “synergy,” but my own personal purpose.
For me, it’s about representation and relationship — making sure the work my teams are doing is visible, that our priorities aren’t lost in the noise, and that I strengthen trust with the leaders I depend on to make that possible. That’s it.
If I can stay tethered to that purpose, it gives me a way to filter what matters. Every social event, breakout session, or forced icebreaker becomes less about enduring and more about scanning: Does this connect to my why? If yes, engage. If no, conserve energy.
2. Budget Energy Like It’s a Finite Resource
Offsites are an endless loop of micro-interactions: meals, breakout groups, conversations in hallways. Each one pulls from a limited battery — and mine doesn’t recharge easily in crowds.
So this time, I’m trying to be intentional.
- Front-load the focus. I’ll give my best energy to the sessions and people that actually matter to my role. If that means being quieter in the less relevant parts, that’s fine.
- Plan for decompression. I’m carving out time to walk, to write, to step outside — even if it’s just for ten minutes between sessions. Those small resets are the difference between burnout and presence.
- Accept the tradeoffs. I won’t be at every happy hour or breakout session. I’ll miss some “bonding” moments. But I’d rather be selectively engaged and genuine than universally present and hollowed out.
This isn’t about disengagement — it’s about staying sustainable.
3. Lower the Bar for “Participation”
There’s this unspoken rule at offsites that leadership equals visibility — that being everywhere, talking to everyone, and smiling through exhaustion is what good leaders do. I’ve bought into that before. It never ends well.
So this time, I’m lowering the bar. Not for effort, but for performance.
If I can contribute with curiosity, listen more than I speak, and be thoughtful in the moments that count — that’s enough. I don’t need to be the loudest or the most charismatic person in the room.
My goal isn’t to collect participation points; it’s to make real contributions when I can and conserve energy when I can’t.
4. Observe the Culture, Don’t Get Swept by It
One of the things I’ve learned from previous offsites is that “team building” often reveals more about a company’s culture than it creates. The games and icebreakers are fine, but the real signal shows up in how people interact when no one’s looking.
Who talks over others? Who makes space? Who checks in with the quieter people?
So I’m treating this offsite as an ethnography more than a performance. Watching how collaboration, hierarchy, and vulnerability actually play out in practice. That’s data I can use later — to understand how my peers work, where influence flows, and where friction hides.
If I can come back not just exhausted but informed, that’s a win.
5. Practice Leadership Through Boundaries
This one’s still hard. The expectation is that leaders are always “on” — always available, always part of the fun. But the truth is, showing that you can step back without guilt is also leadership.
I’m trying to model that quietly. Taking breaks when I need them. Not apologizing for introversion. Being fully present when I’m there, and fully detached when I’m not.
If anyone notices, great — maybe it normalizes that kind of balance. If not, that’s fine too. The example still exists.
6. Stay Kind to Yourself
This is the one I forget most often. It’s easy to slip into self-judgment — to think, Why can’t I just be more social? Why does this stuff exhaust me so much?
But the truth is, these environments are designed around extroverted norms. If you don’t thrive in them, it’s not a moral failing; it’s a mismatch of systems and needs.
So I’m trying to stay kind — to give myself permission to be imperfectly engaged, to reset when I need to, to acknowledge that “showing up” looks different for everyone.
And maybe that’s the quietest kind of leadership: refusing to contort yourself just to fit the mold of what “engaged” looks like.
7. When It’s Over
I know I’ll need recovery time. That’s not weakness — it’s part of the rhythm. The decompression afterward is where I usually find the insights that stick: what worked, what drained me, what connections actually felt real.
So I’m already planning that time. A quiet night when I get home. Reconnecting with my family. Reclaiming my own pace.
Because offsites come and go, but the real work — the human work — is what happens when the stage lights go off and we return to the systems we’re actually building together.
These are just — the options I’m thinking through, the choices that make sense for how I’m wired and what I need to stay grounded. Someone else might thrive on the energy I find overwhelming, or draw connection from the same activities that drain me. That’s the point, really: leadership isn’t one-size-fits-all, and neither is belonging.
I’ll follow up once I’m back home — with a clearer sense of what helped, what didn’t, and what unexpected benefits came from this week. For now, this is my game plan: survive the stage, stay authentic, and see what I can learn along the way.
