“The most common form of despair is no matter who you are.” ~ Søren Kierkegaard
A few years ago I was having coffee with an old friend whom I would call Ray, a trusted mentor. He was a few years older than me, with silver hair, and came down to earth as a kind of listener with all his heart.
We were at a small cafe near my house. I told him about my first year as director, how I left as a consultant whose identity was built around listening and connecting to immediate budget management, writing, evaluating and making people responsible.
“I did not know what I was doing and I felt annoyed every time I asked for help,” I said.
Ren nodded slowly. “It sounds hard,” he said. “It makes sense that you are struggling with change.”
I went on to add to my case building list. “And the criticism I received did not help,” I said. “People say I’m too good I’m not strong enough on policies that I do not adhere to enough limits. But they also want freedom.”
“I’m not sure how long I can do it,” I told him.
He let me finish. Then he turned slightly forward. “Can I tell you what I’m noticing?”
“Certainly,” I said.
“You are looking at yourself as a victim,” he said. “Like life is happening to you and you are waiting for it to stop.”
I sat there for a while, hoping he would follow some instructions.
But I know Ray better than that. He always gives you the truth as he sees it and then trusts you to find your way through.
I drove home with a headache. I told myself it was not fair that Ray had not heard at all that I had a reason for feeling like I did. But the words he used to get in the car with me.
It still exists when I try to sleep. It was still two o’clock in the morning when I was looking at the ceiling.
Victims.
I do not want to, but I can not put it down.
I turned the word in my mind the way you turn a stone in your hand, looking at it from all directions. As if I did not want to acknowledge it, I began to see what was really in it.
I will hold on to the regrets I have never expressed. I quietly gathered my feelings of guilt without saying a word or trying to change anything. That has a name, and the name as it’s is the one that Ray just gave me.
I have a picture in my mind as I lay there in the dark. I found myself wearing a wooden badge around my neck, the kind you might see in an old photo hanging there like a tag.
And the word on the badge is “victim.”
The hard part is I know I’m not being punished by anyone. Some of me chose to wear it. That picture was with me and it changed something.
I began to ask myself questions that felt more helpful than self-pity. If “victim” is a word I do not want to mention, what would I like it to be? What does standing in the opposite place look like?
I ran through the words. Heroes, winners, agents, creators, survivors, winners. They all have something to teach me, but none of them is what I need.
Then a word began to rise from deep. Of all the words it could, this one caught me out of caution. The word that comes to me is “servant.”
I watched it that night, and the word “servant” has been around for a long time. At its root, it means that a housekeeper trusts someone to take care of something that is bigger than their story.
I did not go to the word, and maybe it felt very important. I asked myself why it appeared, what it pointed to, what it wanted me to understand. It felt less like what I was thinking and more like what I was given.
I have learned that a servant is someone who deliberately takes care of what is given to them and recognizes that what they give, including the difficult parts, is worth paying attention to.
It does not contradict the real victim, but it is an anesthetic in my case. Victims are determined by what is done to them. Servants are determined by what they choose to do with it.
Now, years later, the challenges of leadership remain here. I still struggle with criticism, especially when I feel like I have already given my all. But what is different now is perception.
A few weeks ago one of my strongest employees asked for a formal meeting. She sat down at my desk, composed and directed, and told me that the flexibility I gave others made her job more difficult.
“When people do not comply and there are no consequences, those who work will get more than their share,” she said. “It feels unfair.”
Inside, I have already created my response. I want to tell her that I’m trying to relieve the pressure of people who are feeling that I have seen the extent to which everyone has stretched and I am trying to give them a place to breathe.
This is true, but it is also the victim who is saying, “What about me?” Servants do not defend themselves from criticism. A servant tends to what he is given and what I was given at the time is true.
The victims in me want to be understood. The servants in me know that I am serving something that is greater than my comfort. The department is mine to take care not to hide behind.
“You are right,” I said. “And I thank you for coming to me in person,” I told her, “I will work on keeping the limits clear, that her feedback will help me do it better, and that people who do their job well deserve a leader who upholds that standard.”
The movement from victim to servant is a continuous process. I did not make it perfect and I did not expect it. I still stumbled, still felt the marks around my neck and had to find a way back.
I used to experience leadership difficulties as things that happened to me, such as pressure and criticism as proof that I did not belong. What has changed is the recognition that this season in my life is asking me something, not punishing me. I was called to serve, whether I felt ready or not.
I have been thinking about a lot of management since that night. About the meaning of stopping my survival and starting to lean towards it. Those are two very different relationships with the same experience.
That night at Ray Cafe, he knew me very well, told me the uncomfortable truth. He was not gentle with it. But gentleness is not always what we need.
Sometimes we need a sign around our neck that points to us by someone standing close enough to see it.
I do not hold that sign anymore, or at least I am trying not to. The day I felt it around my neck, I remembered the words that replaced it.
The waiter.
Someone who tends to what they are given. Someone who asks what life expects from them listens and answers the call.
That is the person I want to be.
About Daniel H. Shapiro
Dr. Daniel H. Shapiro is the keynote speaker, workshop presenter and facilitator. He is obsessed with human relationships and the things we take with us. For more information on his book The 5 Practices of the Caring Mentor or his mentoring and speaking services, check out: www.yourinherentgoodness.com.
