Anxiety

Where Medusa Gets Real

Why This is Important

Many of us in hospitality perform under constant stress. We are responsible for the life and safety of our guests and colleagues. We train for emergencies, we handle guest and colleague crises, and we’re asked to do more and more with less.

When operations are built on trust and collaboration, with solid training, realistic staffing, and a well‑maintained building, Medusa—our anxiety—is mostly a shadow. But even with the best planning, conditions can quietly become the perfect breeding ground for anxiety.

This is real. I didn’t recognize it in myself until my mid‑to‑late fifties. Looking back, I can see the roots of my anxiety in my twenties. At that age, you bounce back from almost anything. I simply tucked those feelings into little compartments and buried them deep. They don’t go away. They don’t get resolved. They sit there until every compartment is at 100% capacity.

Then it becomes like a sold‑out night when the whole city is full. Suddenly you’re overflowing, and you’re the one responsible for “relocating” and finally settling all those feelings.

For Me, It Started with Anxiety Dreams

In my early days, working at the hotel once known as the “world’s tallest,” I became an AMOD (Assistant Manager on Duty). This role meant running a front desk shift and responding to all guest and emergency issues. We carried the “keys and pager.” The buck stopped with us before it ever reached the Resident or General Manager.

There is no firetruck hose or ladder that reaches the 73rd floor. So we trained. A lot. We watched videos of procedures and burn victims. We went to the Georgia Fire Academy, suited up in 50 pounds of gear in July, and did searches in smoke‑filled training buildings with wet bales of hay set afire.

Some days, the Resident Manager would go to random floors and pull the fire alarms. In the middle of your shift, the pager and annunciator panel would announce an alarm on level 54, southwest quadrant. The Resident Manager would time your response to the exact location. It was great training and very thorough—and literally nerve‑racking.

At the time, there was a quarter‑acre lake in the hotel lobby. My first recurring anxiety dreams were of me trying to swim across that three‑foot‑deep lake to reach the pulled fire alarm station. It sounds ridiculous now, but our response time felt like everything.

Later, when I was struggling (see the yarn: Medusa at the Threshold), I was the manager of the lobby bar and three‑meal‑a‑day restaurant. During our busiest periods, we served 1,400 people in a single day. I was working 80 hours a week, running on fumes. I would wake up at home and think there was a line at my bedroom door waiting to be seated.

Normalizing Bad Days and Bad Things

My fellow managers and friends from that period called that hotel a “meat grinder.” We all saw our share of bad days—especially before the renovation, when most rooms had twin beds and finding 25 VIP rooms in good condition was a real challenge.

We worked through snowstorms when downtown Atlanta shut down and looked like Armageddon, and we were expected to work 17‑hour days doing whatever was necessary as the hotel filled with locals. Everyone working in a hotel experiences these kinds of situations. You cut your teeth on them—mechanical failures, floods, elevator entrapments, you name it. You’re rewarded through acknowledgement for responding quickly and completely to whatever the issue du jour is.

But that doesn’t mean there isn’t a toll to be paid. Your inner Medusa may come out to protect you in the moment, but anxiety is a patient foe.

By the mid‑1980s, AIDS was real and impacting many of our colleagues. As a collective, we lost friends and co‑workers throughout the hotel. At one point, I had two roommates with AIDS who died. It was frightening, heartbreaking, and weighed heavily on many of us. It felt especially present in our industry, and AZT was just becoming available. When you live through so many challenging experiences together, your co‑workers become family. Their lives matter deeply.

From subtle to explicit harassment, from challenging work and learning environments to the loss of co‑workers to illness, I would not choose to relive my twenties in the 1980s. I am grateful for the frontline people and relationships I built. The eight positions I held and the technology I was exposed to in my nine years at that hotel prepared me for my next chapters. But it was a rough decade. It planted the seeds of anxiety and taught me to compartmentalize it for my entire career. It normalized bad days and bad things.

Escape to Seattle

In 1990, I moved into a corporate office role. I use the word “escape” because my inner Medusa was telling me it was time to leave Atlanta. The hotel experience had laid the foundation for my continued success, and I was grateful—but after nine years, I was ready to step away from daily operations.

The corporate office was challenging, but for the first time in my career I had a 9–5, Monday–Friday schedule. There were stressful moments, especially in the first year, but I decompressed. It was wonderful, and I vowed I would never work in a hotel again. (Ha!)

After nine years and five positions, I began my consulting career in 2000. For ten years, I had true freedom and was able to find a healthier balance between motherhood and professional life.

Back to Hotel Life

I returned to hotels in 2010, and I learned something important: anxiety does not disappear. It waits. It builds. Like any experience, anxiety is built on memories. I have always worked in large convention hotels. By nature, they come with big stresses, big occupancy swings, big planning, big financial responsibilities, and big people issues.

In these environments, your stress and anxiety are directly connected to your relationship with your boss. An intuitive, supportive leader—concerned with your development and clear in their communication—makes the stressful road easier. When you are aligned, you feel safe and trust is maximized. This kind of relationship won’t shield you from anxiety, but it will help your inner Medusa relax. You may not even recognize how anxious you are.

At 59, in my final hotel, I did not trust my boss. We were not aligned. I spent 19 months frustrated and was often asked to do things I did not support. I went from total alignment and satisfaction at my previous hotel to a fractured sense of professional worth. My inner Medusa was on constant vigilance, trying to bolster my resilience and inner strength. It was exhausting and echoed the stress of my early hotel years.

My anxiety compartments were beyond capacity. One midnight, I ended up in the emergency room for five hours, convinced I was having a heart attack. It took multiple tests and months of reflection to understand it wasn’t my heart. It was anxiety.

Becoming Your Own Guardian

The gift of a long career is the chance to grow my self‑awareness and learn to listen to my inner Medusa. That means:

• Set boundaries and become your own guardian.

• Recognize aggressors and protect your threshold.

• Do not doubt your inner strength.

• Trust yourself—and your body—to tell you what is right for you.

If you see yourself in this, you’re not alone. I’d love to hear your story or your thoughts on anxiety, boundaries, and being a guardian for yourself and others.