InterHuman Solutions

Recently, I was asked to facilitate a hard conversation between teams in an organization.

One team came in ready to listen, understand what had happened, and figure out how they could move forward.

The other came in prepared to defend its position and share a list of non-negotiables.

Yet, within the first few minutes, something began to shift. The first team truly listened, asked open-ended questions, and reflected what they heard. The second team, which initially seemed to expect pushback, was instead met with understanding and concern. As they realized that they were being heard, both about what had happened and its impact, the tone of the conversation began to change. They recognized that they were on the same larger team and wanted the same thing: a way forward that worked for every team member.

We committed to staying at the table, remaining genuinely curious, and listening to understand throughout the conversation. And ultimately, we were able to work through the conflict and map out a clear path forward.

And it all started with something simple yet foundational: helping people feel truly heard.

This past weekend, I tried to buy a sofa.

As soon as I walked into the store, an associate approached me and asked what I was looking for. I described what I needed. She seemed eager to assist but kept showing me options that didn’t fit—even after I reiterated what I wanted.

I suggested I look around the showroom and find her if I had questions. Yet she stayed beside me, asking for my reaction every time I paused at a sofa or sat down to try it.

I left without buying anything.

It struck me that what happened extends far beyond buying furniture.

While she seemed to hear my words, she didn’t change her approach. And, rather than creating the conditions for me to explore on my own, she tried to direct every step of the process, as if more involvement would lead to a sale.

Ironically, the more she tried to influence my decision, the less I wanted her to help me make it.

Leaders do this often. To help move things along, we answer before understanding, offer advice before asking questions, and solve before diagnosing the real issue. Then, because we are so focused on a specific result, we leave little room for people to explore, develop, or learn through their mistakes.

Yet leadership is about listening to understand and then being willing to change how we respond. It’s also about resisting the urge to steer every step and instead creating the conditions for people to think, discover, and grow.

Whether we are trying to make a sale, coach an employee, or build trust with a colleague, we need to recognize that people rarely thrive when they feel controlled. They thrive when they feel understood and trusted.

In desperate need of rehoming.

A scruffy, soulful-eyed dog stared up from the photo.

I couldn’t scroll past.

So I read the post.

The author described a host of hard life circumstances—intense family needs, recent financial hardship, and a health scare.

I sent a support emoji.

Then I noticed the comments. More than 20 people had already weighed in, and most responded with unsolicited advice, questioned her decision, or expressed concern about the dog’s well-being.

I don’t think any of them meant harm. Yet most commenters likely didn’t know the details of her circumstances or how long she’d wrestled with this decision.

Instead of first acknowledging her pain or providing space for her grief, most jumped straight to sharing their opinions.

It struck me that we do this at work, too. People make difficult decisions, deliver hard news, or navigate personal choices that affect work. And instead of leading with humility, we sometimes jump in with what we would have done, or why the current decision isn’t the “right” one.

We can choose to show up differently. We can seek to understand, offer support, and resist the urge to insert our own opinion where it wasn’t requested.

Because we rarely know the whole story.

The conversation ended before it even began.

I’d shared an idea with a colleague, who responded by immediately dismissing it—without asking a single clarifying question, without curiosity, and without acknowledging the thought and effort that went into the idea.

My colleague wasn’t the first person to respond to a new idea that way.

And if we’re being honest, we’ve all hastily responded to a text, an email, or a comment in a meeting without considering the impact of our words or our tone. And we’ve all been on the receiving end, feeling the sting of a reply that landed much harder than the person likely intended.

I don’t think most people try to cause harm.

Yet their intent and impact don’t always match.

So what does a more productive response look like, especially when our gut reaction is “No!”?

𝐏𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞. Before reacting, take a moment to consider what you might not yet know.

𝐀𝐬𝐤 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬. Be curious about what drove the idea. What problem are they trying to solve? What is their reasoning? What’s behind their proposed solution?

𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥. Even if the solution doesn’t solve the whole problem, some part of it might move the team closer to the right answer. Start there.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐭. Think through how your response might land, both in words and in tone. While you may not intend to shut someone down, a rushed response can end a valuable conversation before it even begins.

𝐋𝐞𝐭 𝐠𝐨. You don’t need to be the one who’s “right” or the source of the best idea. Often the strongest ideas are those built through collaboration that begins with someone else’s first draft.

And if your response lands harder than you intended, name it, and offer repair. Acknowledging impact shows that you care about the other person and their input.

So the next time someone brings you a suggestion and your instinct is to explain why it won’t work, pause first.

Remember what it feels like when your idea is dismissed before it’s understood and considered.

And give the other person the type of response you’d want to receive.

He wanted to get married.
She didn’t believe in marriage.
So they abruptly broke up.

As I watched the drama unfold on the screen, I sighed. Their argument wasn’t necessarily unsolvable—and it likely wasn’t even about marriage. It was about things they cared deeply about that neither of them had named in that conversation.

They just didn’t look under the hood.

Marriage was his way of trying to meet a need. Remaining unmarried was hers. They were arguing about the words in front of them without being curious about the needs underneath.

They never asked each other:
What experiences or beliefs shaped their views of marriage?
What did marrying represent to him? Tradition? Belonging?
What did remaining unmarried represent to her? Autonomy? Her sense of self?
Was there another way to meet their needs, one that didn’t hinge on marriage, or the absence of it?

Instead, they stayed at the surface: “I want marriage” vs “I don’t.”

We do this constantly at work.

“We need to standardize this process” vs “We need flexibility, as every situation is different.”

Both individuals may be trying to support the team: one through consistency and fairness and the other through responsiveness and trust in people’s judgment.

“We should all be in the office three days a week” vs “We should be fully remote.”

One team member may be prioritizing connection and collaboration while the other may be prioritizing flexibility and the ability to do focused work.

In each case, we’re debating what’s at the surface instead of asking what’s underneath it, which is usually a need trying to be met.

When we take the time to understand those needs, we create space for outcomes that honor more than one perspective.

We just have to remember to look under the hood.

It’s been a brutal season. This spring alone: the death of a family member, several deaths of friends and colleagues, two emergency hospitalizations of family members, and a trip to the ER for my own injury.

In the midst of the swirl, I’ve been trying to practice what I teach—both around self-care and improving well-being. One exercise has been particularly helpful: naming three “good things” each day.

Intentionally noticing the good can help us navigate what’s hard.

So this week, I’m sharing a few of mine:

Tastes I savor:
Coconut, raspberry, and mint chocolates from a local chocolate shop
Mint chocolate chip ice cream
Chocolate cake, chocolate whopper cookies, and chocolate cheesecake brownies (sense the trend?!)
Brie or goat cheese on artisan crisps
Fresh fruit, salad, and other greens

Moments that bring me joy:
Playing ukulele and singing, especially for a rapt audience (see picture)
Laughing, having meaningful conversations, and simply being with my people
Hiking through forests and up mountains
Working out every morning, no matter what
Game nights with friends and family (especially Mah Jong)
Heated car seats on especially cold days

Humans (and the dog!) who fill my cup:
My spouse, my steady and favorite debrief partner
My adult children, who are honestly amazing humans
My new grandbaby, a bundle of cuteness
Extended family and friends, who check in, even when I forget to reach out
Mozzie, who is still all puppy at almost 7 years old

Work that reminds me what matters:
Helping organizations create cultures in which people can do their best work and feel that they belong
Facilitating workshops, and witnessing participants’ light bulb moments
Helping leaders find new, better ways of showing up
Resolving conflict in teams, and watching the entire tenor shift

While naming the good doesn’t change the reality of hard moments, it helps us notice that the hard moments are not the whole story.

I’m curious what “good things” you would name today!

“I can’t believe you are doing that to me.”

That was the VP’s first response when a 25-year employee approached him with a difficult, carefully considered request.

She had been working long hours and was hoping to find more balance. She requested permission to step back from one of her many leadership roles, one she felt she wasn’t serving well given the other demands on her time. And she hoped to focus her energy on a few high-priority company projects.

The VP continued:
“Do you know how hard it is to find good leaders?”
“I’ve already had to replace 3 other leaders this year; it’s been intense for me!”
And then, “You’ve got me thinking; maybe I should think about rebalancing my own responsibilities.”

In an instant, the conversation had shifted from her needs and concerns to his. It’s a natural reflex. When a team member shares news that will increase your workload, it’s easy to feel surprise and frustration and to focus on how it affects you.

And yet, when we lead from that initial reaction, we make our employee’s vulnerable moment about us. In doing so, we risk losing their trust, their willingness to speak openly in the future, and ultimately their commitment to the organization.

In those moments, we have another choice.
We can pause before responding.
We can listen and reflect back what our team member just shared.
We can seek to understand what’s driving the request.
We can offer support that makes them feel valued, not guilty.
And we can commit to exploring next steps together.

When someone brings us difficult news, they’re taking a risk. They’re exploring whether it’s safe to be honest. Our job is to protect that trust in the moment.

After the conversation? Vent to a colleague. Process with a trusted advisor. Talk to your coach. After all, leaders need outlets, too, and making sure you have them is part of attending to your own well-being—which then helps you show up at your best for your team.

The leaders who retain their best people are the ones who can hold space for someone else’s story without making it about themselves—and who then find healthy ways to process their own reactions afterward.

I remember the day each of my children left home for college. The day they accepted their first full-time jobs. The day they moved into their own places.

Those milestones brought up a mix of emotions: pride, excitement, and yes, also fear and uncertainty.

Will they be okay? Will they find their people? Will they thrive at work? Will they be able to navigate life’s inevitable hard stuff?

Letting go was (and is!) not easy. Our children will not always make the decisions we would. They will stumble sometimes. They will face hard seasons that we can’t shield them from. And yet, our job is not to clear every obstacle from their path; we should trust that we have helped them develop the roots, resilience, judgement, and confidence to find their own footing.

While our team members are not our children, the best leadership shares something with the best parenting; both are ultimately in service of someone else’s growth—not our own comfort, pride, or need for control.

Great leaders are genuinely excited when others shine.

They create space for people to make their own decisions, to take ownership, and yes, sometimes to make mistakes.

They coach rather than rescue.

They champion professional growth, even if it eventually leads a team member to a promotion or opportunity beyond their current team.

Letting go in leadership requires us to pause, look inward, and consider our motives before we act.

It means resisting the urge to step in before someone has a chance to wrestle with a challenge.

It means recognizing that our way is not the only way.

It means accepting that growth is often messy, inefficient, and uncomfortable.

And most of all, it means measuring our success not by how indispensable we’ve become but by how capable, confident, and independent we’ve helped others become.

The leaders who do that well don’t just build strong teams. They develop people who go on to successfully lead teams of their own.

And that’s a legacy worth leaving.

Serving cake once a month doesn’t create a good work culture. Especially if employees are eating dirt every other day.

Organizations often approach "well-being" by offering perks: wellness apps, meditation subscriptions, massage days. While those aren’t bad things, they don't fix a broken environment. They just temporarily mask the taste of dirt.

The real drivers of well-being live in the day-to-day: how work actually gets done, how managers show up, whether people feel safe speaking honestly, and what a regular day feels like. That’s what I’m digging into this Thursday in a free, live webinar, and I’d love for you to join.

We'll talk about:
→ Misconceptions about burnout (hint: it's not an employee problem)
→ The manager behaviors that build or destroy trust
→ How to create real psychological safety (not the poster-on-the-wall kind)
→ What healthy cultures actually look and feel like from the inside

I'm genuinely excited to bring these ideas to the people who have the most power to change things. Leaders, this one's for you!

Thursday, June 4 | 2–3 PM ET
RSVP in the comments!

Last week, a loved one in another city was rushed to a hospital, one where we had no sense of the culture or care she would receive. And because she was transported by ambulance in the middle of the night, we didn’t have time to research or choose a specific hospital.

I was terrified.

Yet from the moment I arrived a few hours later, something immediately stood out. The staff seemed deeply engaged, genuinely happy, and clearly connected to a purpose beyond the work itself.

Even in the busy Emergency Department, her nurse was responsive, caring, and focused on our needs. Every practitioner took time to explain the diagnosis and options, answer questions, and encourage us to call if we needed any additional information.

When I got lost looking for the cafeteria, a friendly team member showed me the way. When I expressed confusion about transportation to and from the hospital, a nurse took time to explain a lesser-known bus route. One person even stopped to show me some options of places near the unit where I could have private conversations.

After surgery, Lawson, our nurse for the next few days, was extraordinary—warm, attentive, and consistently present. It’s hard to fully express how much his care meant during what was an otherwise difficult time.

As someone who works with organizations on culture and leadership, I found myself noticing how the team operated. It was clear that we didn’t just luck out with good people; we found a good culture, one that permeated every interaction.

I could see it in how team members spoke with each other, in the pride they took in their work, and in how they engaged with patients and families. The values posted on the wall weren’t just posters. The actions listed there were actually lived.

That’s what a strong work culture looks like. It’s what happens when people are connected to purpose, when leaders support their teams, and when values are more than words on a wall.

And here’s what I know from my work: that kind of culture doesn’t happen by accident. It’s built, intentionally and consistently, at every level of an organization.

I’m grateful beyond words to Lawson and the whole team. They reminded me, in the most personal way possible, why this work matters—and the profound impact it has on everyone it touches.