Last year, I stopped swimming in the Delaware Bay—not because I stopped loving it, but because the jellyfish had become too exhausting. My body doesn’t respond well to their stings. One encounter can leave me uncomfortable for the next ten to fifteen hours. Eventually, I reached a point where the risk outweighed the joy, so I stopped doing something that makes me feel completely alive.
This year, I decided I wasn’t ready to give it up. I bought a jellyfish suit to protect my skin, and before heading out recently, I pulled on cold-water gloves and booties to cover the only places the suit left exposed. As I swam through the bay, surrounded by the very thing that had kept me out of the water the year before, I realized something important.
The jellyfish hadn’t disappeared.
The risk hadn’t disappeared.
What changed was that I had created enough protection to return to something I loved.
It struck me that this is exactly what leaders are trying to accomplish, whether they realize it or not. Organizations spend an incredible amount of time asking how to get people to be more creative, more innovative, and more engaged. They ask how to get employees to think bigger, solve problems, and take ownership. But I don’t think creativity is something leaders pull out of people. I think creativity naturally emerges when people feel safe enough to play.
Children don’t need to be taught how to imagine. They don’t need permission to explore. They simply need an environment where it’s safe to try, fail,
laugh, and try again. Our inner child never really disappears. As adults, it just becomes more cautious. It learns to watch for the emotional equivalent of jellyfish: criticism, embarrassment, unclear expectations, inconsistent leadership, fear of making a mistake, or wondering whether speaking up will come back to hurt us.
When people spend too much energy protecting themselves, they have very little left for creativity. They stop asking questions. They stop offering ideas. They stop experimenting. Eventually, they stop bringing the very parts of themselves that organizations say they value most.
That’s why I keep thinking about my jellyfish suit.
For me, it was a physical layer of protection that allowed me to enjoy the water again. For leaders, the “jellyfish suit” looks different. It might be a clear vision that helps people understand why their work matters. It might be consistent feedback instead of annual surprises. It might be honest communication about what leaders know—and what they don’t. It might be psychological safety, meaningful growth opportunities, or simply creating an environment where questions are welcomed instead of judged.
None of those things eliminate every jellyfish. They simply create enough protection that people are willing to get back into the water.
As I finished my swim that morning, I realized something else. The suit didn’t make me love swimming. I already loved swimming. It simply removed enough unnecessary fear that I could experience it again.
Maybe that’s one of the most important responsibilities of leadership. Not convincing people to be courageous, but creating the conditions where courage, creativity, and engagement naturally emerge.
So here’s the question I’ve been thinking about ever since I climbed out of the bay:
What’s the jellyfish suit your team needs?
Here’s to your greatness,
Misti Burmeister
Misti Burmeister is an award-winning executive coach and high-performance facilitator with 20+ years of experience helping organizations tackle complex people challenges to drive growth and cultural transformation. Known for her ability to ignite engagement and improve communication, she has guided countless leaders in motivating excellence and building thriving, productive teams.