— A Real Talk Reflection on Control, Trust, and the Shifting Nature of Leadership
There’s a leadership instinct that’s easy to confuse with strength.
The instinct to protect the outcome. To smooth the path. To ensure everything stays on track.
It can feel like responsibility. Like presence. Like doing the right thing at the right time.
But sometimes, that instinct is really something else: Control, dressed up as care.
I learned that the hard way, early in my practice of adaptive leadership, during a client call I didn’t mean to take over — one that was supposed to mark a step forward for a leader I deeply trusted.
And in a single moment, I realized:
Supporting someone’s growth sometimes means resisting the urge to help.
The morning was deceptively bright — sunlight poured through the windows, casting clean lines across the conference room floor. But the air outside was biting. One of those early spring days that looked warm but still held winter in its bones.
We had a client governance call in 30 minutes.
A typical stakeholder touchpoint — with just enough history to require extra care.
Operationally routine, but reputationally meaningful.
I had already made the decision that morning—one I believed in. But the real test would come in how I showed up when it counted:
I was going to let one of my leader's drive the call.
They were ready. Truly.
They had been one of my earliest hires during a period of chaotic growth — when roles were fluid, expectations were high, and we had to build process while delivering results in real time.
From day one, they had shown clarity of thought, poise under pressure, and a natural ability to lead others. I leaned on them often — not just for tactical execution, but for how they showed up: Steady. Strategic. Deeply accountable.
They had led major deliverables, built client trust, and earned my confidence.
Over time, I had shifted how I led them.
In the early days, I had leaned hard into the Directing style from the Situational Leadership model: clear steps, constant check-ins, full visibility. It was necessary.
But as they gained traction, we moved into Coaching.
Conversations became more strategic.
I stopped telling them what to do and started asking:
“What’s your take?”
“How would you approach this?”
“What’s your plan for the conversation?”
We talked strategy. We debated messaging. We role-played scenarios and explored how to show up with clarity and intention.
They rose to every challenge.
So when I asked them to lead the call—with a key stakeholder and a sensitive history — I stepped back and gave them full ownership.
A continued step forward in a leadership relationship built on trust.
They were ready. I knew it.
The Real Moment
The call started as expected — calm, professional, efficient. They covered the usual cadence. Updates. Metrics. Minor adjustments.
Then, about halfway through, the stakeholder brought up a lingering concern: An issue from months ago, now resurfacing.
One we had navigated carefully before.
The leader I was coaching had prepared thoroughly.
We’d reviewed the key messages. Aligned on tone. They were clear on our position and how to deliver it with both confidence and empathy. This was a sensitive but solvable topic.
Their eyes flicked to mine — just for a second, then back to the computer screen.
It was a flicker I’d learned to recognize: not panic, not confusion, just a search for confirmation.
There was a pause. A breath.
And I spoke.
My voice was calm, practiced. I reframed the concern, acknowledged the previous friction, and clearly laid out how we had adapted our approach.
I was articulate. Measured. In control.
The stakeholder nodded in satisfaction. The conversation moved on.
But I didn’t.
After the call, we debriefed. The leader closed their laptop and offered a small smile and a polite nod and said:
“Thanks for stepping in.”
It wasn’t frustration. It wasn’t blame. But it wasn’t pride, either.
It was neutral. Respectful. Professional.
And it hit me like a gut punch.
Something about that phrase settled in me like a stone.
Because I knew — in that moment — I had sent the wrong message.
I don’t trust you to lead this.
Even though I never said the words, my actions spoke for me.
The Impact
That was the moment I knew I had made the wrong call — not during the meeting, but after.
Not because the outcome was wrong.
But because I could feel what had shifted beneath the surface.
Over the following week, the changes were subtle… but unmistakable:
They started looping me in on emails they previously handled solo.
Before meetings, they asked, “Do you want me to take this part, or would you rather handle it?”
Their tone was still competent, but their spark was dimmer.
During client conversations, I noticed more pauses — not the thoughtful kind, but the hesitant kind.
They weren’t retreating.
They were recalibrating.Watching for signs.
Waiting for me to step in again.
And just like that, the growth we had built — the autonomy, the confidence, the upward momentum — had quietly stalled. Not because of their readiness, but because of my reluctance to fully release control.
It wasn’t that they were less capable.
It was that I had unintentionally undermined their sense of ownership.
One decision — one reflex — and I had stalled the very growth I’d been cultivating.
The Reflection
Looking back, their pause wasn’t a gap.
It was presence. Composure. Leadership.
And instead of letting it unfold, I filled it — not because they weren’t ready, but because I wasn’t.
I hadn’t prepared myself to trust the space between the question and the response.
This wasn’t about their performance.
It was about my leadership.
About the parts of me that still want to ensure a perfect outcome.
About my aversion to watching someone I care about stumble publicly.
About the fear that if something goes sideways, I’ll be the one accountable.
About my belief that I could do it just a little better, just this once.
But leadership isn’t about shielding others from failure.
It’s about building leaders who can navigate it.
In that moment, I chose performance over development.
I chose control over coaching.
I chose my comfort over their growth.
If we’ve done the work — prepared our people, supported their development, built shared understanding — then we have to let them own the moment.
Even when it’s hard.
Especially when it’s high-stakes.
The Hero Habit is seductive. It whispers that we’re being helpful. That we’re protecting outcomes. That we’re ensuring quality.
But it can also rob others of the one thing they need to grow:
The opportunity to lead in the hard moments.
How I Took Responsibility
I pulled them aside. We stepped into a breakout room.
No laptops. No multitasking. Just honesty.
I shared what I’d noticed — not just in the meeting, but after.
I owned my decision to step in and acknowledged that I overstepped.
I told them the truth:
“You were ready. I saw it. I should have let you lead.”
They were generous, as always.
They nodded slowly. “I paused because I wanted to be thoughtful, not because I didn’t know what to say — I just needed a second.”
That hit me harder than I expected.
They hadn’t hesitated.
They had been preparing.
And I had mistaken that pause as a gap I needed to fill.
That pause — the one I filled too quickly — was the exact space where growth could’ve happened.
We talked for a while. I made it clear that I saw what happened — and that I would do better. That I trusted them. And that I would back that trust with silence next time.
How I Should Have Handled It
I should have stayed in coaching posture.
I should have held the silence.
I should have trusted the conversations we’d had, the strategy we aligned on, and their ability to navigate ambiguity with grace.
Let them feel the weight of the moment — and rise to it.
I should have used my presence as support, not as override.
And had they struggled?
We could’ve coached through it as we always had. Debriefed. Learned.
But I didn’t give them the chance.
The Lesson
Since then, I’ve changed how I lead during moments of transition.
When a leader is shifting from Direction to Coaching — from doing the work to owning the space — I remind myself that readiness isn’t about flawless performance.
We cannot coach and control at the same time.
It’s about resilience. It’s about presence. It’s about giving people room to lead, even if it means letting go of control.
Letting go isn’t about abandoning people — it’s about creating space for them to rise. And rising isn’t always clean or flawless. Sometimes it’s messy.
But that’s where real growth lives.
This leader went on to navigate far more complex conversations. Earned client accolades.
And when they paused, I waited — and I watched them step forward.
Their confidence returned — not because I said the right thing, but because I finally stopped saying anything at all.
Looking Ahead: Situational Leadership in Action
This experience is one of the reasons I’m launching a new content series next month:
Situational Leadership in Action — starting April 7.
I’ll explore what it really takes to lead adaptively — not just in theory, but in the daily decisions that shape how leaders grow.
I’ll walk through the four leadership styles:
Directing. Coaching. Supporting. Delegating.
I’ll unpack real stories, build awareness around performance readiness, and tackle the quiet discomfort of letting others lead.
I’ll break down the signals to look for, the temptations to resist, and the moments to lean in or step back.
Because trust isn’t just a value — it’s a behavior.
And letting go is the most courageous act of all.
Real leadership isn’t about doing the work.
It’s about building others who can.
Your Turn
Have you ever stepped in when you should have held back?
What helped you build trust during leadership transitions?
Let’s talk about the moments that don’t feel like wins — but change everything anyway.
