If you were to film a close-up of a new parent changing their baby’s first diaper, or a new manager leading their first team meeting, you would see the exact same expression: a heroic blend of absolute confidence and total inner panic.

Welcome to the fascinating world of transition. Whether you’ve just stepped into a management role or welcomed a newborn, the initial shock is identical. You expected to receive a secret instruction manual along with the promotion, but you quickly realize that this famous guide is invisible and that no one has ever actually received it. You have officially entered the era of permanent strategic improvisation.

Sleep: An Advanced Theoretical Concept

The parent learns to function on micro-naps, surviving between two unpredictable crying fits. The manager discovers that a "quiet evening" is a purely utopian concept, usually wiped out by an email that begins with: "Just a quick question…".

In both cases, personal time becomes a highly theoretical concept, squeezed somewhere between the last late-afternoon meeting and the last night-time bottle.

The Select Club of Unsolicited Advice

The parent receives diametrically opposed recommendations on breastfeeding, purees, and the only "right" way to put a child to sleep. The manager, on the other hand, is flooded with advice on "the right way to engage a team," often dished out by people whose primary management experience is managing… their own opinions (myself included!).

The "Baby Blues" of Transition

For the new parent, it’s that blurry moment where everything is intense and destabilizing, and where a part of you looks back at the old days with a touch of nostalgia.

For the new manager, it is strikingly similar. There is a quiet nostalgia for the projects you used to know inside out, for those quick, concrete wins wrapped up in an hour.

So, out of reflex (and to reassure ourselves), we try to keep one foot in operations: we reply to technical emails, we fix micro-problems, we want to do everything ourselves. It’s as if our old identity refuses to leave the premises. Except that reality eventually catches up: if you’re still doing all the work, you’re no longer managing a team… you’ve just become the official bottleneck.

(Extra)ordinary Victories

The parent celebrates a two-hour nap in a row as an achievement worthy of the Olympic Games. The manager celebrates that rare moment when a new assignment is received with enthusiasm… and without the phrase: "Just to clarify, is this really a priority?".

The Illusion of Control

The moment always comes when a soft truth sinks in: total control was a beautiful illusion that only existed on paper. The baby cries for no apparent reason. The team reacts in a human—and therefore perfectly unpredictable—way. You finally understand that plans mostly serve to reassure the person writing them: because even after anticipating everything, the team shows up with a new demand that no spreadsheet could have predicted.

And yet… we move forward

And yet, they hold the line. Not perfectly. Not serenely. But with a stubborn, slightly tired commitment, and a whole lot of humor.

The parent looks at their baby and thinks: "I don’t understand a thing, but I’m here." The manager looks at their team and thinks: "I don’t know everything… but we’re going to move forward together."

The Art of Growing Together

At the end of the day, the real transition isn't written in a calendar or on a business card, but in your mindset. Moving from expert to manager, just like moving from individual to parent, requires letting go of your own immediate performance to dedicate yourself to the performance of others. It’s a leap into the unknown that requires trading your old certainties for a massive dose of vulnerability.

Because you aren't born a parent; you become one. And you aren't born a manager; you become one too—one trial, one error, and one courageous conversation at a time.

So, when faced with the unexpected, drop the invisible manual and give yourself some compassion, the kind a new parent truly needs. You don't need to be perfect to be good guides. Take a breath, trust your gut, and simply accept that you are growing at the same time as those around you. This is the beginning of a beautiful human adventure.