You can't be jealous of someone you wouldn't switch places with

On LinkedIn theater, career envy, and what success actually looks like

I was scrolling LinkedIn last week when I saw it - a post from someone I used to work with. You know the type: “Humbled to be supporting these amazing women on their leadership journey. So grateful to witness their growth and resilience. This is what real impact looks like. #womenleaders #mentorship #grateful #authentic.”

My ADHD brain did that thing it does, instant comparison mode. Look at their success. Look at their influence. Look at how put-together their career looks from the outside.

Then I remembered what it was actually like to work with this person.

The micromanagement disguised as "high standards." The way they threw team members under the bus in meetings while taking credit for wins. The stress-induced insomnia their direct reports developed. The turnover rate that HR quietly worried about but never addressed.

And suddenly, that perfectly curated post looked different.

the full package deal

Here’s what I’ve learned about career envy, especially with a brain that moves fast and feels everything intensely: you can’t be jealous of someone you wouldn’t actually switch places with.

Not just their job title. Not just their salary. Not just their LinkedIn follower count.

Their entire life.

Their 6 AM anxiety attacks about numbers they can’t control. Their complete inability to enjoy success because they’re always chasing the next thing. The exhaustion of constantly performing a version of themselves that doesn’t actually exist.

Their need to curate empathy online because they’ve forgotten how to feel it in real life.

When you really think about switching places, taking on someone’s full reality, not just the highlight-reel career envy evaporates pretty quickly.

the ADHD trap

Those of us with ADHD brains are especially vulnerable to this. We’re dopamine-seeking creatures living in a world designed to trigger comparison. LinkedIn is basically a casino for professional self-worth, and our brains are primed to pull that lever every time we see someone else’s success.

But here’s the thing, we also have superpower-level pattern recognition when we’re not caught up in the emotional spiral. We can see through the performance if we pause long enough to actually look.

That "visionary leader" who posts about innovation? You remember how they shot down every creative idea and micromanaged every detail.

That "people-first culture builder"? You know they never learned a single team member’s name.

That "authentic storyteller"? You've seen the private Slack messages.

the reality behind the curtain

After 15+ years in media, I’ve seen it over and over. The people with the most polished online presence often have the messiest behind-the-scenes reality.

The executive who posts about work-life balance while sending midnight emails. The “mentor” who builds a personal brand on support but quietly undermines anyone rising too fast. The “strategic thinker” whose main strategy is stealing credit.

Their posts about leadership and growth mindsets feel especially hollow when you know they learned nothing from the damage they left behind.

questions that cut through the noise

When LinkedIn envy hits (and it will), here’s what I ask myself:

• Would I want to live with their stress levels?

• Would I want their sleep quality and mental health?

• Would I want to look at myself in the mirror with their integrity record?

• Would I want their reputation among people who actually know them?

• Would I want to wake up every day needing to perform their version of success?

Usually, the answer is a hard no.

building your own definition

Here’s what I’m learning: success that requires you to become someone you wouldn’t respect isn’t actually success. It’s just expensive anxiety with better PR.

The goal isn’t to tear others down. Some success is earned with grace and integrity. But when career comparison threatens to derail your path, remember the full package deal.

You're not just choosing their corner office. You're choosing their 3 AM worry sessions. You're choosing their need to constantly prove themselves. You're choosing the exhaustion of maintaining a facade that gets heavier every day.

You’re choosing to become someone who needs to perform empathy because they can’t access it anymore.

the ADHD advantage

Here’s the unexpected gift of having a brain that processes everything intensely: we tend to be terrible at compartmentalising our humanity for career advancement.

What feels like a disadvantage, caring too much, needing work to align with values, is actually our protection against becoming people we wouldn’t want to switch places with.

My ADHD brain might make traditional career climbing harder. But it also makes it nearly impossible to trade my integrity for influence or my relationships for recognition.

That’s not a bug. That’s a feature.

the real question

Next time you’re scrolling and feeling inadequate, try this: if you could wave a wand and completely swap lives with someone, take on their full reality, not just the curated highlights, would you actually do it?

If the answer is no, you’re not missing out. You’re just seeing clearly.

And that clarity? That’s worth more than all the humble-bragging posts in the world.