The Leadership Style That Backfired

Years ago I was leading a charity through a transitional stretch. New staff coming on, programs being restructured, funding pressure ... the usual. At the same time, I felt good about where we were headed. We had momentum, and a way forward.

I had a team member who was fairly new, and every time she came to me with a problem, I handed it back to her. Supportively. I let her know I believed in her. I was certain that I was doing the right thing.

I had built my approach to developing people around a core principle: coach, don't tell. I'd always hated being told how to do something when I already knew how. I preferred hearing what outcome was expected, not the method to get there. So when a team member would come to me stuck on a process, I automatically coached. I asked questions instead of handing over answers. What do you think about this? How would you handle it? I was building her autonomy. Supporting her capacity. Or so I told myself.

It never seemed to work with her.

Seeing my tension, a trusted team member asked if we could meet for lunch. He kindly let me know: Mark, she's feeling really frustrated. You need to stop asking her for her solutions. She doesn't know yet. She's too early in her career, she's unsure of herself, and right now she needs you to be more directive.

That landed hard, because it named the exact thing I'd been actively avoiding. Telling someone what to do was a move that felt controlling. I'd falsely decided that nobody wanted to hear directives. Truth is, I was wrong. She wasn't looking for autonomy. She was looking for a boundary. Clear direction, answers to her questions and final approval. Something solid to practice and get my feedback on before she had the confidence to improvise.

That's the problem with choosing a favourite leadership style. We can get stuck in a process or formula we prefer, when we need to actually use a wide variety of methods that depend on the situation and the moment.

That's a skill found in leadership presence: knowing when to adjust for the team members right in front of you. It's easy to get stuck in a method.

I'd assumed my own preference was a universal good. I don't like being told what to do, so I built an approach around never doing it to anyone else. But that preference for creative independence was mine. It came from years of experience and a fair amount of confidence in my own judgment, neither of which a newer team member has had time to build yet. What felt like respect from me landed as unfair expectation to her.

People like to know the boundaries, and where they can engage, before they have to play within them.

Leadership styles get talked about like they're fixed qualities: the warm servant, the composed collaborator, the autocratic director. But presence is not about what you intend; it's more about how it feels for others. And what lands depends entirely on who's standing in front of you.

I didn't see this on my own. I couldn't have. Presence, by definition, is the thing everyone around you can read and you can't. That's what makes a colleague willing to pull me aside worth more than any amount of journalling or self-reflection. He saw what I couldn't. Not that I was a bad coach, but that I was running the wrong play for her.

If you've ever wondered whether the way you lead is landing the way you think it is, that's exactly the gap the Check-In is built to surface: not what you meant, but what your team actually experiences.

En route, but aren't we all.