Firm owners understand pressure. Deadlines do not move. Clients expect answers. Teams rely on steady leadership. The work must get done.

What is less often discussed is what happens when real life collides with that reality. Not inconvenience. Not stress. Loss.

On a recent episode of Unbalanced, Liz Farr, CPA and host of The Disruptors podcast, shared a story that many in the profession will recognize, even if they have never said it out loud.

Years into her accounting career, her older brother died unexpectedly during tax season. She received three days of bereavement leave. After that, she returned to work, including Saturdays, to finish returns before October 15. Her family postponed his memorial service until after the tax deadline.

What stands out is not anger. It is something quieter.

She did not think to ask for more time.

The culture we internalize

Liz described how she had internalized what it meant to be a CPA. Long hours. Emotional restraint. Reliability above all else. You show up. You produce. You push through.

Her firm’s expectations mattered. She needed the paycheck. But she also believed, deeply, that this was simply what the job required.

This is how culture works. It does not always need enforcement. It becomes absorbed.

For many firm owners reading this, that absorption is familiar. The profession has long rewarded endurance. The ability to compartmentalize. The capacity to function under pressure without visible strain.

Liz reflected that going back to work was not only obligation. It was also structure. The work was compliance focused and routine. She could perform it almost on autopilot. In the middle of chaos, that rhythm felt stabilizing.

Work was healing. And it was also avoidance.

Both things can be true.

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The socially acceptable escape

Later in the conversation, Liz and the hosts explored a harder idea. For some high performers, work becomes a socially acceptable addiction.

It is validated. It is praised. It provides identity. When personal life feels unpredictable or painful, work offers structure and control.

Liz experienced further loss in the years that followed. Both of her parents died suddenly in a car accident when she was 30. Decades later, her middle stepson, who struggled with addiction, was murdered while homeless.

In each case, she described how work functioned differently. When she was younger, after her parents’ death, she was unable to function for weeks. Three days of leave would have been impossible. She could barely manage logistics, let alone professional responsibilities.

After her stepson’s death, returning to work as a writer was far more difficult than returning to tax work had been years earlier. Writing required emotional presence. It could not be done on autopilot.

The contrast is instructive. Not all work provides the same refuge. Not all grief presents the same way.

For leaders, this matters.

Why three days is not enough

Most firms have a bereavement policy. Many offer three days.

Policies are necessary. They provide clarity and consistency. But grief does not follow policy timelines.

Liz spoke candidly about how different losses required different responses. In some seasons, structure was grounding. In others, functioning was nearly impossible.

Her reflection was not that firms need unlimited leave. It was that leaders need empathy and flexibility.

She suggested offering options beyond the default. Start with a few days. Extend if needed. Allow part-time temporarily. Offer work from home. Encourage structure if that helps. Reduce load if that is what is required.

Most importantly, recognize that accountants, especially high-functioning adults, often struggle to ask for help.

In many firms, the unspoken expectation is that strong people handle their lives quietly. That belief can prevent honest conversations about what is actually needed.

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The shift the profession is facing

Liz believes the profession is changing. As accounting shifts toward advisory and deeper client relationships, the work demands more than analytical precision. It requires emotional intelligence.

Firms cannot operate as if their people are automatons. Advisory work depends on human connection. Trust. Listening. Judgment.

That requires leaders who understand that their teams are not just producers of output but people with full lives.

For small and mid-sized firms, this reality is amplified. In teams of five, ten, or thirty, culture is felt immediately. If someone is navigating grief, the ripple is noticeable. How leadership responds shapes the entire environment.

The balance is delicate. Clients still expect service. Deadlines still exist. Revenue still matters.

But the question becomes less about policy and more about posture.

Do leaders assume resilience and silence, or do they create space for conversation and choice?

Forgiveness and forward motion

A central theme in Liz’s reflection is forgiveness.

Forgiving her brother for his addiction. Forgiving herself for not intervening. Forgiving her former employers. Forgiving herself for working long hours and suppressing emotion.

Her perspective is not rooted in blame. It is rooted in growth.

She offers a simple but powerful philosophy. Be kind to yourself. Recognize that you responded the best way you knew how at the time. Leave that burden in the past so you can create your future from the present, not from resentment.

For firm owners, that counsel applies in multiple directions. Toward former leaders. Toward younger generations who challenge tradition. Toward oneself.

Many managing partners built their careers in environments that normalized endurance. It can be uncomfortable to reexamine those norms. It can feel like questioning one’s own past decisions.

Yet leadership evolves.

Listening to conversations like this one is not about self-criticism. It is about reflection.

What humane leadership looks like

Humane leadership is not soft. It does not abandon accountability or standards. It does not remove deadlines from tax season.

It acknowledges that people experience life differently. It offers structure when structure heals. It offers space when space is necessary. It invites dialogue rather than assuming silence.

It also recognizes that sometimes, returning to work quickly is not dysfunction. For some, it is survival.

The key is agency. Choice rather than assumption.

For firm owners navigating their own losses or supporting team members through theirs, there is no universal formula. There is only presence, empathy, and a willingness to adapt.

The profession is still rooted in numbers. It always will be.

But it is increasingly defined by how well it understands the humans behind them.

If you would like to hear the full conversation with Liz Farr, listen to the complete episode of Unbalanced here.

To learn more about how Anchor supports modern firm operations, you can explore a walkthrough here.

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