October 3, 2023
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I Had No Idea What Support Looked Like Until He Insisted On Showing Me
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I’ve always prided myself on being an independent person. If I can do something myself, I will. If I have a problem, I can usually figure out the solution. If something scares me, I see it as a challenge to overcome.There’s nothing wrong with asking for help, but figuring things out on my own has made me a stronger, more competent person.
When I got my first full-time job in a distant outpost of marketing, that spirit of independence came with me. I didn’t love that job, far from it. Still, I worked hard and was a high performer.
About a year in, I made a costly mistake. The details are immaterial. My company supplied assets to marketers and I promised an asset that, as it turned out, I couldn’t deliver. An honest mistake, but the client didn’t see it that way.
I got creative and came up with an alternative offer of equal value. To this day, I believe my solution was ingenious, but the only thing that matters is that the client disagreed. Loudly.
By then, the situation was dire and I had to tiptoe to my boss to tell him what was going on. I’ve had my share of bad managers, but Glen wasn’t one of them. He’s a smart, respectful guy. When the owner held a “company-wide” golf tournament and invited only the men (yes, really), he refused to go, on principle.
Nowadays you can’t get away with an all-male golf tournament during work hours. But this was the 90s, so Glen taking a stand was bold and progressive.
Glen was understandably unhappy when I shared the news, but his words shocked me. I thought he’d be upset that I accidentally overpromised. Instead, he asked, “Why didn’t you come to me when you realized your mistake?”
My stomach dropped. The room was too quiet. I looked at him, unable to find words.
“You came up with your own plan instead of coming to me? You made a bad situation worse and risked an important client relationship. Why would you do that?”
My eyes went to the floor, humiliated. I immediately felt defensive. Hadn’t I done everything I could?
I took a breath to regain control. Then I told him the truth as I saw it.
“It can be hard to talk to you. I know you’re overworked. Sometimes when I come in to say ‘hi’ it’s very apparent you don’t want me in your office.”
It was a stressful environment and Glen took the brunt of it. Prior to his promotion, he’d been a senior colleague and we’d joked around all the time. Now, if you stepped into his office unannounced, his expression made you regret the day you were born. I wouldn’t go in there for help unless it was DEFCON 1.
He looked surprised, then thoughtful. He hadn’t considered how his stress impacted others. Finally, he responded.
“Okay, then. You and I are going to meet each week, Wednesdays at 3:00 pm. We’ll talk through your files. If you have any issues, we’ll discuss them. We’ll keep going until I feel confident that when you have a problem, you’ll bring it to me. How does that sound?”
Really? Just for one mistake? My mind was going in a million directions. I was mortified, even though he didn’t present it as punishment.
It didn’t seem fair. I was the problem solver, I knew how to handle myself. I didn’t need a babysitter! But I realized there was no getting out of it and I had to be professional. I agreed, then quickly left to sulk in private.
Glen and I met each week to go over my files. At first, I kept it high level and presented everything as unicorns and rainbows. I wanted to prove how in control I was so I could put an end to these meetings. He had to ask incisive follow-up questions to get any real information.
But as the weeks went by, I got more comfortable sharing issues. He had me take the lead on problem-solving but as we walked through my proposed solutions I felt my shoulders sink down in relief. My workload started to feel like a shared responsibility.
It took me a while to figure out I was being mentored. Far from being a punishment, I started to look forward to talking strategy with Glen. I learned quite a bit and as a result, grew in my role.
We were months in when, in one of those lightbulb moments, I finally understood Glen’s perspective on the original client issue. The mistake wasn’t the problem, trying to cover it up was. Any one of us can make a mistake, we shouldn’t be blamed for that.
The problem comes when you don’t share that mistake with those who have a stake in the outcome.
I grew up with a parent who didn’t make sharing mistakes easy. I was a pretty good kid, but in her eyes, I was guilty until proven innocent at all times. I spent my entire childhood on the defensive against someone who was determined to see me as “bad.”
When I was 12, she called me from work one day and reamed me out for not doing the chores she’d assigned me, without even checking that I hadn’t done them first (as it turns out, I had).
Growing up that way taught me mistakes are unacceptable. So I learned — you don’t admit to them. You cover them up or fix them yourself.
I was that kid everyone described as “so good,” “so quiet,” They’d say things like “I didn’t even realize you were here!”
In reality, I was just petrified to put a foot wrong.
I remember as a teen getting so frustrated with this treatment I yelled at her “I’m a good person! Why are you the only one who can’t see that?”
The day of my client mishap, it never occurred to me to ask for help. That wasn’t who I was — I dealt with everything on my own, like I’d been trained to do. I didn’t know what sharing a load felt like.
In my weekly meetings with Glen, I slowly realized most people don’t feel that way. Stumbling, having challenges, making mistakes, that’s part of life. It doesn’t mean you’re a bad person. I had value whether I was acing every test or not.
The day after my big realization, we had our weekly meeting. Afterward, Glen said, “I think we can cancel next week’s meeting if that’s okay with you.”
He knew. I’d finally figured it out.
I’ve had some managers who’ve left irreparable damage. Many managers don’t have the first idea about working with people.
But on the flip side, Glen taught me two incredibly important lessons about life. Mistakes happen, it’s how you handle them that counts. And even for us independent folk, two heads can (sometimes) be better than one.
