When the Marketing Budget Runs Out

I sauntered into the room untidy and unkempt, with a variety of natural but somewhat offensive noises exiting my worldly body. She looked at me and said, “Ah, I see the marketing budget’s run out then!”

At the time, Honor and I were about two years into our relationship – both second time-rounders (well at least, but who’s counting). The speed with which things get real at this age and stage can be surprising. Perhaps it’s the universe’s unwavering approach: handing us the same lessons more quickly until we finally get the learning. Either way, the commentary was pure genius – hilarious and full of wisdom in the same moment.

That quip still sits with me. Because of course, she wasn’t talking about actual dollars and cents – she was naming something universal. The masks we wear. The careful packaging of our personalities. The glossy campaigns of charm and effort that help us present a version of ourselves we think is most likely to land well.

It’s not just relationships. Think about the dance when a new boss arrives. Everyone instantly aware the landscape has shifted. Some lean in fast to impress. Some hang back cautiously. Some deliver carefully curated “truths” designed to colour the leader’s view in their favour. The air is thick with a heady mix of hope and fear.

We all do it. We all wear masks. It’s not inauthentic so much as it is human. The ego is endlessly busy protecting and promoting – a sometimes helpful and sometimes misguided execution of our desire for control.

The trouble is, the marketing budget always runs out. The charm offensive has a finite shelf life. At some point, the cracks show. The noise escapes. The energy required to keep the façade polished is simply unsustainable. And then – real life begins.

When the campaign ends, what we’re left with are agendas, perceptions, and perspectives. What we sometimes call “politics” in organisations is really just different agendas jostling for space. Each one feels justified. Each one has its own logic. Much like nations at war, everyone believes God is on their side.

Actual politics exist of course, yet much of what we experience daily in workplaces – and in relationships – is simply the challenge of alignment. What do you want? What do I want? Where do our needs overlap, and where do they grate against each other?

This is where things get interesting. On the other side of the marketing budget lies the real work. And in that terrain, high performance becomes possible.

Psychologist Bruce Tuckman gave us “forming, storming, norming, performing.” Katzenbach and Smith gave us “working group, pseudo-team, potential team, real team, high-performing team.” Different models, same insight: you don’t get to genuine collaboration without going through the messy middle.

The beauty of getting real is that beyond the curated honeymoon lies a deeper, more enduring reward.

In relationships, I sometimes miss the limerence of the early years – the sparkle, the lightness, the novelty. Yet what we have now is richer. Love as a verb. Real conversations about the patterned echoes of our upbringing, the attachment styles we each carry, the residual imprints of relationships past. Real me meets real you. Together, we live more authentically, more productively. Not always easily, but with infinitely more depth.

It’s the same with teams. The moment the polish wears off, the masks slip, and the politics surface, you’re finally in the territory where transformation is possible.

For my money, high performing teams – like lovingly honest marriages – are characterised by three things:

• Feedback without armour. The ability to give and receive feedback without spiralling into defensiveness. To stay open when every instinct screams “protect.”

• Holding the tension. The capacity to sit in unresolved complexity, recognising that the problem itself often carries more intelligence than any quick-fire solution.

• Conflict as progress. The skill to navigate disagreement with the understanding that conflict is not a threat to progress but the very means of achieving it.

It’s no small thing. Few teams get there. Few relationships either. The ground is hallowed because it requires something rare: courage to meet ourselves fully.

The journey to genuine performance – whether in teams or in love – is always the same: a journey inward.

• The critical self-awareness to see our patterns and distortions.

• The willingness to look in the mirror and not flinch.

• The openness to be challenged by perspectives that don’t match our own.

• The humility to laugh at ourselves instead of armouring up.

This is the work. Not the polished marketing version, but the unvarnished campaign of becoming.

Yes, the marketing budget runs out. It always does. Yet what lies beyond is infinitely more interesting – and more sustainable. It’s the point where human messiness collides with honesty, where masks slip and possibility opens.

It’s where the real work begins – and where the real love, the real leadership, the real performance finally have room to breathe.

If you’d like some help getting your team or organisation to this place, and you believe you have what it takes to go there, I’d love to help you.