Show and Tell Leadership: From the Kitchen to the Boardroom

I’ll cook my own dinner.

That’s the deal my husband Josh and I made last week: for one work week, I would cook all of my own meals.

Not a shared “new diet” plan. Not a cute couple’s challenge. A deliberate experiment in control, care, and what happens when you change one person’s role in a relationship you’ve both grown very comfortable in.

And—if you’re a millennial leader trying to balance a career, a home, a body, a brain, a relationship, and a hundred browser tabs in your mind at all times—you’ll probably recognize more of yourself in this story than you expect.

This wasn’t really about food

On the surface, the ask was simple:

I wanted to control my own portions and what was in my meals.

I felt comfortable explaining this to Josh, but I also knew it would be easier to show him. In the last few years, I've noticed my preferences getting stronger like leaning for fresh over frozen veggies, certain snacks that feel comforting, and a desire to eat when I’m actually hungry instead of when the clock tells me to or waiting for someone else.

I was hoping that if he could see what I meant—what I reach for, how I make my meals, what feels good for my body—he’d understand my preferences in a way that became much more tangible.

So we agreed: for one week, I’d cook or make all of my own meals.

When care is part of someone’s identity

Here’s the thing about Josh:

He has cooked for us since day one of our relationship.

He enjoys it. He’s good at it. People have told him he’s a great partner for doing it. Somewhere along the way, “I cook for us” became deeply tied to “this is how I take care of you.”

I knew he’d struggle with not feeling needed if I suddenly took that away from him.

And he did.

He wasn’t defensive; he just wanted to know why I wanted to do this. When I explained that I preferred fresh over frozen veggies, he felt like he’d failed at helping me be happy. To him, it sounded like, “You’ve been doing this wrong.” To me, it sounded like, “There’s a specific way my body feels better, and I haven’t told you clearly enough.”

I had to reassure him:

My preference wasn’t me judging the quality of his care.

It was a sign that I needed to use own my voice more directly and, as someone who speaks with her hands, to do more than just use my voice.

If you manage people, this is the moment when a team member says, “Actually, this workflow doesn’t work for me,” and you feel a tiny sting of “So what I’ve built isn’t good enough?” Even when that’s not what they actually said or implied.

The guilt of doing it myself

Doing it all myself sounded empowering on paper. In practice, it brought a pile of feelings I didn’t fully expect.

There were many times where I felt stressed doing it on my own. I was often trying to fit cooking into little pockets of time and may not have offered to make a serving for him, or I went shopping to grab the thing I needed and didn't take a moment to extend the offer to see what he might need. That practicality came with guilt, feeling like I might be excluding him from things he would enjoy or benefit from.

The hardest part wasn’t the chopping or the cleanup.

It was watching him make food only for himself and knowing what was running through his head.

Josh even bought takeout one night and ordered something for me. Under normal circumstances, I would have happily accepted. Instead, I turned it down and encouraged him to keep it for lunch the next day. It was a tiny, very awkward moment of holding my boundary in real life, not just in theory.

I also had moments where I wanted to ask for help—not because I couldn’t cook, but because I didn’t want him to feel pushed away. But I knew that if I didn’t stay committed to doing it all on my own for that week, I’d miss the deeper impact: both on my own appreciation, and on his understanding of what actually works for me.

If you’re a millennial leader, this is what it feels like when you stop over-functioning, delegate something, or set a new boundary at work: it’s logistically fine and emotionally excruciating.

What changed when I took up space in the kitchen

Once I started showing up in the kitchen more, something interesting happened: the system shifted.

Because I was in the kitchen more, I was naturally doing more dishes and cleaning as I went. It created a cleaner, more enjoyable space for both of us. Josh, in turn, picked up other chores like vacuuming and laundry while I cooked. The division of labor didn’t fall apart—it rebalanced itself.

And, I did make time to cook for him too, just not every meal.

That part matters. This wasn’t about pushing him away from care. It was about letting myself participate in it more fully. Sometimes I’d cook only for me. Sometimes I’d cook enough for both of us.

I also started listening to my own cues:

• I made sure to eat when I was actually hungry.

• I kept snacks on hand.

• I didn’t feel guilty about eating things like PB&J or a fried bologna sandwich when that’s what sounded good.

It became easier to say no—to extra servings, to foods that didn’t feel great, to defaulting to whatever was easiest.

Food, for that week, became a vehicle for self-leadership: tuning into what I wanted and needed, making small decisions in my own interest, and trusting myself to follow through.

“Are we going to drift apart?”

One of Josh’s fears was that we’d drift apart if we weren’t eating the same thing at the same time.

Meals had been a shared ritual. His cooking was part of our shared story. If that changed, what else might change?

In reality, we still ate together—just with different plates. The connection was still there. The form just looked different.

That’s something many millennial leaders bump into: if I stop doing this thing I’ve always done, will I lose connection with my team? Will they think I don’t care? Will I stop being “the good one” if I step back from over-caring?

What this week showed both of us is that connection isn’t limited to one behavior. You can maintain closeness even as you renegotiate roles.

The end of the experiment… and the beginning of something better

By end of day Friday, I told Josh the experiment was officially done.

His response?

“Oh no, no. We are now doing this together.”

We made breakfast together over the weekend. Saturday, I requested turkey meatloaf, something I had bought ingredients for but knew he made better than I did. He gladly obliged. The point wasn’t to permanently cut him off from the kitchen; it was to let both of us re-enter that space with more clarity.

We also grocery shopped differently. Our bill was the lowest it had been in months because we focused only on what we needed for the week. When Josh asked if we wanted multiple types of fruit, I simply said, “If we’re getting apples, then I’ll eat apples this week.” And he just… accepted that. We moved to the next thing. With my ADHD brain, too many choices can feel overwhelming. Too few can feel just as jarring. Simpler worked.

The beauty of our relationship—and of many relationships—is that we’re better together, not in separate lanes doing huge independent chunks of work, but in overlapping, integrated tasks. Doing things side-by-side. Being actively present with each other.

I don’t want to do it all myself. I want to feel like I’m part of the doing.

What this has to do with millennial leadership

If you strip away the kitchen, this experiment is a leadership case study.

Many millennial leaders are:

• Used to over-functioning (at home, at work, everywhere).

• Carrying unspoken guilt when they ask for something different.

• Afraid that changing a pattern will break the relationship instead of strengthening it.

• Trying to balance career, health, mental load, caregiving, and a personal life without a playbook.

This little “I’ll cook my own meals for a week” test touches several core leadership competencies:

• Self-awareness: Noticing your needs, preferences, and patterns—what helps you function and what quietly drains you.

• Self-management: Creating a plan, following through, and tolerating discomfort long enough to see if the change actually helps.

• Empathy: Recognizing that your change may trigger other people’s identities and fears—“Do you still need me?”—and making room for those feelings.

• Communication: Explaining your “why” clearly enough that people can join you instead of feeling replaced.

• Boundary-setting: Saying, “This is mine to own for now,” and holding that line without turning it into a wall.

• Collaborative mindset: Letting the system rebalance, instead of rushing back in to rescue everyone from temporary awkwardness.

For millennial leaders, especially, this is the job:

We’re not just managing projects. We’re renegotiating inherited roles—at work, at home, in our own heads.

When “show and tell” is the leadership tool

In this case, “show and tell” worked.

It broke one person out of the assumption that they had to be the caretaker, and it empowered the other to step into the activity. We both saw what needed to change, not just heard a request.

But it’s worth naming: these little shake-ups aren’t risk-free.

Before you pull a move like this—in a relationship or on your team—it’s worth asking yourself:

What’s the actual goal of this experiment?

• Can I stick with it long enough to get real insight, not just discomfort?

• Does the potential harm outweigh the possible positive outcome?

• And is leaving things exactly as they are truly an option?

Because often, the answer to that last question is no.

Letting things quietly continue isn’t neutral; it’s a choice, too.

So maybe for you, this week’s “meal experiment” looks different:

• Turning your camera off for one meeting so you can be fully present in another.

• Letting your team own a decision without swooping in to “fix” it.

• Asking for what you actually need at home instead of hoping someone will read your mind.

The details will be your own. The pattern is the same.

A small, intentional shake-up. A clear purpose. A willingness to feel the awkwardness. And a commitment to come back together and decide, honestly, what’s worth keeping.

If you imagine your own life right now, what’s one small “show and tell” experiment you could run this week to reset a pattern that’s no longer working for you?

If you made it this far - you might get a chuckle out of knowing that this morning (Monday) I went to do "my part" and push the french press, and shot coffee all over myself and the kitchen. Looks like I should stick to scrambling the eggs next time.