It was a Friday afternoon when two colleagues asked if we could talk.
Not over email. Not in passing. A meeting. Scheduled. Both of them.
I knew immediately it wasn’t good news.
They’re people I respect—calm, thoughtful, kind. The kind of colleagues you actually listen to when they speak. So when they sat down and told me I had a reputation problem, I didn’t argue. I just listened.
Here’s what they said:
People think my time is more important than theirs. That I interject when they’re talking. That I cut them off. That I call them without warning and expect immediate answers—even when they’re in the middle of something else.
The worst part? They were right.
The Thing I Didn’t Know I Was Doing
One specific example hit hard.
I have this habit in meetings: someone mentions we should talk to so-and-so about an issue, and instead of adding it to a follow-up list, I call them. Right there. During the meeting.
In my mind, this is efficiency. We get the answer now. We don’t need another email thread or another meeting to discuss the thing we could solve in two minutes.
But here’s what I didn’t see: when you’re a leader and you call someone out of the blue, there’s an implied urgency. Maybe even an implied obligation. They pick up because they think it’s essential. Or because they think you think it’s important. Or because they’re worried about what it means if they don’t.
I wasn’t thinking about whether they were in the middle of a procedure. Or in their own meeting. Or finally sitting down to focus on something that mattered to them.
I was thinking about momentum. About progress. About not letting things sit.
I thought I was being efficient.
They thought I was being rude.
The 25-Year Realization
I went home that Friday and couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Not just the feedback itself, but the pattern behind it.
I’ve been in veterinary medicine for 25 years. I’ve led teams. I’ve managed hospitals. I’ve taught students. I’ve built businesses.
And I’m almost certain this isn’t the first time people have thought this about me.
I started replaying conversations. Meetings. Interactions with staff, with colleagues, with friends, with my own family.
And I saw it.
The thing I do where I’m not really listening—I’m just waiting for the other person to stop talking so I can give my response. The thing where I think I’m being decisive, but I’m actually just being impatient. The thing is, I think I’m keeping things moving, but I’m actually making people feel dismissed.
I’ve read about this. I’ve studied active listening. I know the research on acknowledgment and pausing before you speak. I’ve taught leadership principles that include this exact blind spot.
I even wrote about it once—about the kind of gross leadership that destroys teams without anyone noticing the damage. I didn’t realize I was describing behaviors I myself was guilty of.
And I’ve been doing it anyway.
Intent vs. Impact
Here’s the truth I had to sit with:
It doesn’t matter that I have a kind heart. It doesn’t matter that I don’t mean to make people feel unimportant. It doesn’t matter that my intention is efficiency, not disrespect.
What matters is how people experience me.
And if the experience is that I don’t value their time, or their voice, or their contributions—then that’s the reality I’ve created. Not the one I intended.
I think about the people I’ve probably pushed away over the years. Teammates who stopped bringing ideas to me. Colleagues who kept their distance. Maybe even friends who decided I wasn’t worth the effort.
I don’t have a list. I don’t have specific names. But I know it’s happened.
And I know it’s cost me more than I’ll ever be able to measure.
What I’m Doing Now
I’m not going to tell you I’ve fixed this. I haven’t.
But I’m working on it.
I’m pausing before I speak. Multiple seconds. Long enough that it feels awkward. Long enough that I can actually hear what someone just said instead of rehearsing my response.
I’m texting people before I call. “Not urgent. When you have time, can you give me a call?” It’s a small thing. But it gives them control over when they engage. It respects their time in a way my spontaneous calls didn’t.
I’m catching myself mid-interruption. Sometimes I still do it. But now I notice. And I apologize. And I let them finish.
I’m asking people for help. “Now that you know what I’m working on, call me out if you see me doing it.” Because I can’t fix what I don’t see.
The People Who Tell You the Truth
Here’s what I keep coming back to:
Those two colleagues didn’t have to tell me.
They could have let it go. They could have talked it over and decided it wasn’t their problem. They could have avoided the discomfort of sitting me down and delivering feedback they knew would sting.
But they cared enough to do it anyway.
That’s what trusted advisors do. They don’t just cheer you on. They don’t just validate your wins. They tell you the truth when the truth is hard to hear. They risk the relationship because they value you enough to believe you can do better.
If you don’t have people like that in your life—people who will look you in the eye and tell you when you’re screwing up—you need to find them. And when you do, you need to listen.
Because the alternative is spending 25 years building a reputation you didn’t intend and losing people you’ll never get back.
Still Working on It
I’m disappointed in myself. I wish I’d figured this out sooner. I wish I could go back and have different conversations with the people I’ve dismissed, interrupted, or made feel small without meaning to.
But I can’t.
What I can do is show up differently now. I can be honest about where I’ve fallen short. I can keep working on the gap between who I want to be and how people actually experience me.
And I can tell you this:
If you think you’re being efficient, but the people around you are pulling away—pay attention.
If you think you’re being decisive, but your team has stopped bringing you ideas—pay attention.
If you think you’re just “getting things done,” but the cost is the people trying to do them with you, pay attention.
Because the people doing the work with you matter more than the work itself.
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