Truth With Compassion

If one is to be successful in any leadership role, managing relationships, particularly the difficult ones, is central to the work. It's easy to work with people who follow-through, meet deadlines, and do their job with obvious zeal and passion. However, as we all know, leadership is about having the hard conversations. 

One of my central tenets I try to lead with is the notion of "truth with compassion." Even when we are having conversations that will land hard on someone, I maintain there can be some semblance of empathy and kindness. Regardless of the work behavior being addressed, there is still a person listening who has feelings, a family, and a life outside of work. We can tell the truth about behaviors and job performance in a way that still honors the person. 

Growing up, I saw my dad cry often, and that let me know from a very early age that men are emotional despite the conventional wisdom. I'm comfortable crying, and I have found that parenthood from its very inception (I wept with joy when both Our Boys were born) often causes me to be more in touch with my feelings. This past week, I cried reading aloud the birthday card My Wife wrote to me. 

And yet, my sense is that still in 2020, there is this notion that crying, showing emotions, being compassionate, showing empathy... all these are signs of weakness. From the bombastic and toxic political rhetoric at the national level to the gendered roles that we tend to categorize toddlers into, there is still this sense that real men don't cry. For me, this could not be further from the truth. 

To be clear, I'm not saying that if we witness racist behavior, we must cower in the corner. I'm also not saying that we have to do it in a genteel way if we stand up for what we believe. Finally, I'm not saying that there are no circumstances that will cause us to raise our voices in anger and opposition. Anger is an emotion, after all. But it seems to be one of the only ones that are OK for men to demonstrate publicly. 

This week, I've been thinking a lot about authenticity when it comes to the work that I do. As our school district leader, I must be a positive figure, championing our work during this unusual time in our country's history. By nature, I'm a hopeful and positive person. And at the same time, I have to honor that this is an incredibly challenging time for everyone. The mental gymnastics that I have to do as a dad to ensure that my own children are where they are supposed to be when they are supposed to be there is exhausting. And I am a white man of privilege, with a more than capable partner who shoulders substantially more than her part of the load. 

What does this mean for the single, working parent? What does it mean for the families that are caring for aging parents? What does it mean for those who struggle with addiction? What does this mean for those whose skin color brings a level of implicit and explicit bias to every moment of their day? 

The bottom line is this: no one wears a sign around their neck, listing the areas in their life that are hard. If they did, relationships would be a whole lot easier. But since they don't, we need to lead from a place that is considerate of the reality that we just don't know what folks are going through. We need to talk about the behaviors, not the person. We need to acknowledge that some feedback is hard to hear and that we believe enough in the person to share the feedback. 

I've been comfortable with emotions and crying since I was a young man. I strive for empathy and compassion when working through the challenging conversations I have as an educational leader, whether or not we are living through a global health pandemic. It's not a sign of weakness. 

It's a sign of strength. 

Photo Courtesy of @KatelynLeitner1