I don’t want it to be true.
For years, I've championed the critical role of feedback in fostering strong leadership. I've diligently created both formal and informal avenues for staff and students to share their thoughts, I actively solicit input, even building dedicated feedback sessions into my work. On one level, I believe I've succeeded in inviting feedback. Yet, a deeper unease suggests I'm often just going through the motions, not truly unearthing the feedback that truly matters.
I vividly recall a piece of feedback from two colleagues during my very first management role. It stung then, and still carries a subtle sting today. Delivered in a social setting, partly in jest, their message was stark: I needed to learn to genuinely apologize, as I’d be saying it often in the future if I didn't become more considerate of others’ feelings. My natural inclination is to be right, and if not right, at least not wrong. This can lead me to be overly analytical and detached when pursuing correctness, a detachment that only intensifies when I realize I've erred. In short, I can be remarkably obstinate. Over the years, this feedback has proven prescient countless times. I resisted its truth back then, and there are still moments today when I wish it weren't so.
While I believe I've grown in being more considerate and adaptable when faced with tension, I also recognize this obstinacy as a significant leadership weakness. The feedback was true then, and it remains true now. The crucial difference is that back then, I actively denied its truth. Today, I accept it. It’s effortless for me to push people away, act without consideration, and disconnect from others’ emotions. This trait is often masked by other behaviours, a knack for deflecting immediate tension into a future state. Perhaps this is partly what fuels my innovative spirit – the ability to transform the tension caused by my less desirable behaviours into a positive future situation and relationship. I often sidestep relational responsibility for past actions, preferring to swiftly and readily redefine future connections.
I acknowledge the truth of this feedback, and I also understand that some aspects are within my control, while others are not. Firstly, I haven't, and likely won't, eradicate these negative behaviours entirely; they are deeply ingrained in my personality. My obstinacy, in certain contexts, even holds value for me and my leadership style. It's a fundamental part of the whole person I bring to work. However, recognizing that this aspect can alienate others compels me to mitigate its negative consequences. I've cultivated a practice of reflection. If I can't be considerate in the moment, I strive to be considerate afterward. This reflection has sharpened my self-awareness and made me more thoughtful in how I respond to people in specific situations.
To become truly strong leaders, we must ask for feedback – that's the easy part. The real challenge lies in unearthing the truths we'd rather not confront. When I solicit feedback in my work or teaching, I'm rarely surprised. The scenarios and questions are often subtly designed to elicit positive responses, or if critical feedback emerges, it typically pertains to preferences or already well-known issues. For instance, I often inform my students that I might overlook minor details in course delivery. I try to avoid it, but it happens. When it does, I can anticipate feedback on that specific point. While valuable, this known feedback, which I actively try to address, offers little long-term impact on my overall approach. The real struggle is how to uncover the feedback we don't want to be true – the kind that keeps us awake at night, pierces our hearts, makes us squirm. This is the feedback that, when truly embraced, becomes a transformative gift.
This profound feedback is often elusive. The ultimate goal is self-awareness, but self-awareness isn't solely an internal journey. It's a blend of how we perceive ourselves and how others perceive us. While asking for direct and specific feedback is helpful, we need to dig deeper. Actively engaging with people and experiences outside our comfort zone can illuminate previously unseen reactions and behaviours. Consider asking someone to specifically observe (or even record) your behaviours in various work situations. The ultimate aim is to create discomfort, and then reflect on its source to unlock deeper self-understanding.
Simply gathering information isn't enough; we must also prepare ourselves to embrace the truth more readily. One crucial lesson I've learned about receiving feedback is that I'm more open to truth when I can establish some psychological distance between myself and the feedback. For example, when I ask my students for feedback, I'm asking as a "professor," subtly shifting the focus from feedback directed at "John" to feedback about my role. This small distancing creates a psychological buffer, making the feedback feel more about my professional role than my personal identity. To truly accept feedback, you must create this psychological distance, allowing you to frame the information constructively. This distance empowers us to receive positive feedback with clarity and to transform negative feedback into productive insights.
It's incredibly challenging to create psychological distance, especially when the feedback we receive is deeply intertwined with our self-identity. I've noticed it's far easier to accept critical feedback from students about my teaching than from direct reports at work. It becomes even harder to hear from friends, and truly agonizing when it comes from loved ones. Yet, I've also discovered that the feedback from those closest to me often rings truest, and ironically, my desire for it not to be true intensifies with that closeness.
If you want to gauge the leadership quality of your senior decision-makers, observe how they gather, receive, and utilize feedback. Effective leaders solicit feedback in diverse forms, process it constructively, and make decisions based on its truth. The truth of the feedback may or may not instigate behavioural changes. It could lead to profound personal transformation or simply reaffirm the type of leader they aspire to be. Either way, it cultivates a deeper understanding of oneself, which ultimately fosters healthier relationships – both current and future.
I frequently find myself apologizing or needing to apologize, a testament to my enduring obstinacy. While I've improved at recognizing and mitigating its negative effects, the most significant shift has been my acceptance of the feedback I received over three and a half decades ago – it was true then, and it remains true today. However today it is something of value whereas 35 years ago it was a source of tension.