Meant for More: The Restlessness Senior Leaders Don’t Talk About

You’re near the top (maybe have been for a while?) and, in a quiet hour, you think: Is this all there is? Or you catch yourself counting the years – “Wow. Another 5, 10, 15 years of this?” and the question lands like a pebble in your shoe. 

That’s the restlessness I hear in the leaders I work with. It’s not some big dramatic crisis, but a low, nagging sense that what they’ve built or achieved no longer feels quite like the thing they want to keep tending.

But, interestingly, this restlessness is something I’ve noticed senior leaders rarely discuss openly. It’s a feeling they keep to themselves, while simultaneously keeping up appearances, which can feel quite isolating. 

So I thought we could dig a little deeper into this today.

Restlessness is never particularly tidy

Perhaps it is disappointment disguised as a question: “I thought I’d feel more fulfilled by now”. It sounds like curiosity and grief at the same time. I’ve felt it myself, that restlessness: a travel-itch for new experiences that the boardroom couldn’t scratch. 

I didn’t always hear colleagues say it out loud; we weren’t on those intimate terms. Now, in my coaching work with executives, I hear it all the time! Leaders want more meaning, and a surprising number of women saying (fairly bluntly) they have no interest in the next rung up the corporate ladder. They can see the next job but they don’t want it. 

That doesn’t mean they aren’t ambitious, though. It means their ambitions have changed.

Gender might play a role

I wonder if there’s also a gendered truth here. Often men in leadership are even quieter about “the itch”, not even acknowledging it. 

I’ve noticed they’re more likely to camouflage restlessness with “impatient leadership”: being unreasonably demanding, hypercritical, while also looking for the next bigger, better, higher paying job. Whereas women leaders are perhaps more likely to voice their issue out loud and actually name the feeling. I’m not saying that because I believe this restlessness is absent for men, but because admitting it has different social costs. Crude stereotyping? Maybe. But it’s a pattern I see enough that it’s worth mentioning.

There’s nothing wrong with you

Noticing the restlessness is an act of (radical) self-awareness. That’s a good thing. But the first mistake leaders make is to treat restlessness like a fault. “There’s something wrong with me,” they whisper, because it seems like no one else is feeling this. They hide it for fear of being seen as “not committed.” 

What leaders are missing here is that restlessness is most often intuition — breadcrumbs your inner life is leaving. And if you’re convinced intuition isn’t your thing, think about the repeated feelings like data. Notice it coming up, log it. Recognise the pattern and take action.

I believe that the deeper truth is this: your feeling (AKA data) is pointing toward something true about who you are now and what you want next. Your job is to pay attention to those breadcrumbs (data points) before they harden into resentment or burnout.

What’s really going on?

I find it fascinating that there’s less stigma now when it comes to burnout. But something that’s less well-acknowledged is that while burnout is the symptom people will openly talk about; restlessness is often what sits beneath it. And the vulnerability linked to that? That’s the currency leaders avoid spending. Owning that you’re not “up” to the role in the way you once were is terrifying. It risks imposter syndrome, judgement, and even career consequences — so most leaders keep quiet.

I’ll give you a practical example. A client of mine had spent years in the not-for-profit sector and reached a point where everything on her plate felt familiar and flat. She was burned out and bored in equal measure. Instead of doubling down, she broadened where she looked for work. That leap landed her in a C-suite role at a landscaping and construction firm, a sector she’d never considered before now. It was unfamiliar, energising, and useful. The pivot didn’t erase what she’d done before, it ultimately deepened her leadership and all her skills. 

Restlessness sounding familiar?

If you recognise this feeling in yourself, don’t rush to act. Sit in the unknowing.

The very first thing I ask leaders to do (and I mean the very first) is to journal, longhand. No apps. Paper and pen. (I know, I know. It’s not what you wanted to hear.)

Ask yourself the simple questions and sit with the answers: What do I yearn for? What would make my calendar lighter or richer? What am I afraid will happen if I say out loud that I’m restless? 

Writing is an act of deep self-trust; it’s how you follow your own breadcrumbs.

A couple of practical prompts to start you off:

• What would a good day look like for me if money and status were irrelevant?
• Where in my life do I feel most alive? What is it about that feeling that matters?
• If I had to name one thing I’m avoiding, what would it be?

Don’t try to fix the feeling immediately. Don’t try to shake off that discomfort. Get curious. Explore it. Feel into it. Let it guide you. 

You don’t have to fly solo on this

And if the next step feels too big to take alone, get a coach. Reach out to someone who has been there, who can hold the space without judgement, and who can help you test options safely. Sometimes the outcome is staying put, but staying with new clarity. Sometimes it’s a decision to pivot that changes everything.

And remember: Restlessness is not failure. It’s an invitation to a different kind of leadership — one that’s less about the next title and more about the life you want to steward. 

If this hums in your bones, take out a notebook, write for fifteen minutes, and see what your breadcrumbs add up to. 

And if you’d like company on that first step, I’m here to listen.