InterHuman Solutions

“She’s in charge on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. He’s in charge on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. And you both rest on Sunday.”

That was the unsolicited advice my spouse and I received exactly 31 years ago as we embarked on our honeymoon alongside a tour group of people in their 70’s and 80’s.

At the time, we laughed about it. We still remember the moment, and we still laugh.

Now, of course, we know better. Marriage is not as simple as dividing up decision-making authority by days or areas. It’s about understanding what matters to each person, such as their needs around autonomy, support, and respect. It’s about listening to each other’s perspectives, values, and preferences. And it’s about holding that information in mind when making decisions—even if one person ultimately makes the call.

Successful teams navigate decisions in a similar way. Sometimes a particular team member holds a decision-making role. Yet that person is unlikely to have all the answers on their own. They should consider: Who will be affected? Who has relevant knowledge? What information would be helpful? And what might we be missing?

Then comes the real work. Decision-makers should gather information from people on the ground and listen deeply to understand their needs and concerns. Recognizing that every voice is valuable, they should thoughtfully consider all input—especially when there are disagreements about next steps. And finally, they should take the time to clearly communicate the reasoning that led to the final decision.

Effective leaders don’t just decide “because it’s Tuesday,” and they have the authority to do so. Instead, as part of their process, they commit to meaningful participation of team members and those affected by decisions—every day of the week.

I deliberately chose what I thought was the perfect baby gift.

I love gifting books, and I was especially excited to find “Ten Little Fingers and Ten Little Toes.” The book portrays babies from different cultures who all share one thing: they each have ten fingers and ten toes.

Except that’s not always true.

Shortly after the baby was born, and my gift had already been mailed, I found out that she entered the world with six toes on each foot.

I felt incredibly embarrassed. I had specifically searched for books that felt inclusive. And in doing so, I hadn’t considered one of my own assumptions—that all babies have ten fingers and ten toes.

I considered my options: I could send a replacement book. I could send a note of apology. Or, I could simply move on and assume it didn’t bother the parents.

Then I thought about the most common concern voiced in my workshops around building inclusive workplaces:

“I’m so afraid that I’ll say the wrong thing that I avoid engaging at all.”

I reminded myself of my typical response: “As humans, we may inadvertently say or do something that doesn’t land well. What matters at that point is we do next.”

I didn’t know how the parents would react, or what might help make things right.

What I did know is that I needed to have the conversation, learn what they needed from me, and continue to examine my own assumptions.

This event reminded me that we may miss the mark at times when we least expect. Avoiding the conversation isn’t the answer. Instead, we build inclusion when we stay engaged, welcome feedback, and actively listen to each other’s stories.

I just received my first report card in over 30 years.

It was an evaluation of a conference workshop I facilitated with 300 attendees.

I noted the scores at the top. 99.6% of attendees said they would recommend me as a presenter. 0.4% (likely one person) answered “no” to that question.

I immediately wondered about the 0.4%. What did I do to earn that response? Was I not engaging enough? Should I have provided more information or examples?

And then I flashed back to high school. When I earned 98% on a test, I always focused on what happened to the other 2%.

I skimmed the 140 comments below.

“Wonderful, knowledgeable presenter. Best session by far I have had.”
“Melissa did a great job... Only wish we had more time with her.”
“The kindness, compassion, and respect expressed in the session were unmistakable.”

The comments continued for nine pages. I teared up a bit.

Towards the bottom, I found a few that provided less favorable feedback. One person said they already knew everything I taught, and another said I should have talked slower and covered less material given the time allotted.

I considered those two comments and thought about what I might have done differently. Then I scrolled back to the top and stared at the 0.4%.

I paused, realizing what I was doing. I took a deep breath.

Our brains are trained to recognize threats—to notice and respond to the one tiger in an otherwise friendly forest. That wiring helps us stay safe—and may also cause us to fixate on negative information.

At times, we may question our abilities, even when we have data that supports our competence. Those feelings are common, especially as we take on new challenges or when our work is being evaluated.

We may also strive for perfection in our work, even if we know it’s unattainable. We may concentrate on what we missed or what we could have done better.

Even though I facilitate workshops on navigating emotions, imposter phenomenon, and perfectionism, there I was.

I took another deep breath and read the comments more carefully. I intentionally noted that 140 people took time to write overwhelmingly positive notes.

I copied my favorite comments into a sticky note on my computer, and I periodically scan them.

I remind myself that 299 “yes” votes weigh much more than one “no”. While I want to learn from that one, I also need to value the rest.

If you are that one attendee out of 300, I’d love to buy you a cup of coffee and hear your perspective. I’d like to understand what I could have done better. After all, I’m still wondering what happened to that 0.4%.

We were supposed to be on the same team. Yet she didn’t send me important materials or invite me to a critical brainstorming session.

I wondered: What was going on?

When I requested information and didn’t receive it, and when she disagreed with me in a meeting, my narratives grew. I told myself: She wants to control the whole process and resents having a consultant. She isn’t interested in culture work. She doesn’t like me personally.

I had a few choices. I could ignore it. I could talk to the CEO, who had hired me. Or I could address the issue directly.

I thought about which of these steps would likely produce the best outcome. I set up a one-on-one.

At the beginning of our meeting, I noticed her clenched jaw and furrowed eyebrows. I wondered what she might be thinking. So instead of starting with my concerns, I simply asked her how she was doing. When she said, “Fine,” I gently asked again: “How are you really doing?” She sighed and started to talk. I grew quiet, nodded, and listened. I reflected back her concerns. She continued to share.

I noticed her body language slowly shifting. Her jaw began to relax. Her shoulders did, too. Her arms dropped to her sides.

After that initial dialogue, I better understood the pressures on her—and I started letting go of my previous assumptions about her motives. They were simply stories I had created, not facts to be acted upon.

She seemed to recognize that I wanted to support her, work collaboratively, and help the organization be successful. We discussed what we each needed for that to happen.

What followed was a successful culture change project—and a genuine partnership.

I later reflected on the interaction and how frequently this scenario plays out. We notice certain behaviors, and we create stories to explain them. We may even make decisions based on our assumptions. Yet when we show up with curiosity and care, we’re more likely to learn what’s actually going on.

And there’s a bonus: whether or not our stories contain some truth, showing up with curiosity and care builds trust, strengthens connections, and helps us navigate challenges as part of the same team.

In the middle of a team meeting, an executive leader raised his voice and said, “Why were you put in charge of that project? We clearly needed someone with real experience managing the process!”

The room stilled. People looked down, avoiding eye contact. After an excruciating pause, someone changed the subject. The meeting continued as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Later, the chair asked how she should handle the situation. Should she bring in HR? Should she fire the leader? Team members asked: What will the consequences be?

Everyone focused on the possible punishment. Yet that approach won’t resolve what happened. It doesn’t address the needs of those affected, repair relationships, build trust, or attend to the conditions that might have led to harmful behavior.

Restorative Practices offers a much more effective framework, one that we explored in a three-day training I recently facilitated.

We imagined a different type of workplace—one in which accountability doesn’t immediately imply punishment. In that workplace, we don’t ignore problematic behavior, nor do we avoid responsibility. Instead, we expand our questions so that we understand more deeply what happened, who was harmed, and what was the impact. We involve those affected in determining what is needed for repair. And we take responsibility for making things right.

Much of the training focused on building relationships and trust, developing the skills to speak up for each other, and establishing shared expectations. Those steps provide a foundation so that when something happens, as it did in that team meeting, we can more effectively attend to it.

What if, instead of responding with silence or defaulting to punishment, we met difficult moments by naming what happened, exploring the impact, and deciding what was needed for repair?

Imagine the difference that could make in employee engagement, team functioning, and organizational effectiveness.

**
Thanks to the Milwaukee Health Department for committing to create a restorative workplace. What an amazing team!

Just one strap poked into the aisle. Yet the airline attendant glared at me, raised her voice, and told me to push my bag ENTIRELY under the seat in front of me.

I guiltily pushed the strap under my bag. After a brief pause, I shook off my embarrassment and turned my frustration outward.

Why was she so rude to me? Her reaction felt extreme, especially for something so small.

And then I wondered if her behavior might have nothing to do with me.

I wasn’t sure. And I didn’t want to assume.

So when she passed my seat again, I smiled and apologized for the strap. She hesitated and then smiled back. A few minutes later, as she shut my overhead bin, I thanked her. She made eye contact and said, “You’re welcome.”

During the flight, we interacted a few times with a pleasant exchange or a knowing look. And as I disembarked, I waved and wished her a great rest of her day. She grinned and responded in kind.

I might never know what was going on for her in that moment—just like we might not know what is happening for our colleagues, direct reports, or people we encounter in the world. And we can still avoid jumping to conclusions about someone’s character based on a brief interaction.

It just takes a pause, a willingness to question our assumptions, and a commitment to responding with humility and grace.

Nobody Wants to Hold the Hot Potato

Remember the last time you made a mistake?

How did you feel in the moment? Perhaps you were embarrassed that others might notice. Or disappointed in yourself. Or fearful of the potential consequences.

What did you do when you found out? Perhaps you ignored it, hoping it would disappear. Or you quickly fixed it, trying to make sure that no one would notice. Or, you blamed someone else to avoid having to take responsibility. Whatever our response, our impulse is often to get that “hot potato” as far away as possible.

Now imagine that you work in an organization or on a team that encourages you to try new things and sometimes fall, helps you name and own your errors without shame, and supports you as you grow from those experiences. In that scenario, your reaction would likely be quite different, as would your colleagues’ responses.

That workplace can be much more than a fantasy. We can (and should!) create teams and organizations in which we can do all those things.

It starts with simple modeling:

Acknowledge your own mistakes, and take responsibility for repair.

On a personal level, when we are open and honest about our own errors and also commit to fixing them, we start to normalize that behavior. A client recently shared that after he sent an abrupt email to his whole team, he followed up with an apology and a pivot. While the team at first expressed surprise, they also noticed the behavior—and when he continued to name his own mistakes as they happened, others began to do so as well.

Reward people when they share their mistakes or ask for help.

When we thank colleagues for bringing forward their questions, uncertainties, and willingness to talk through failures, we send a message that this is the behavior we want. A coaching client has been consistently thanking team members who offer her feedback about missteps. As a result, more employees are sharing their perspectives, and she is using that information to strengthen how she interacts with the team.

Focus on learning across the organization.

When we notice a mistake, instead of defaulting to blame or frustration, we can commit to supporting each other in our growth, working together to find a solution, and even looking at how we might improve our systems to help reduce errors. A client mentioned that after a team member made a few mistakes, the team worked together to think through the root cause. They realized that their process was unclear; once they fixed that, the mistakes ceased.

Ultimately, no one wants to get stuck with a hot potato. And, if we commit to changing how we show up, react to others, and lead our teams, we can begin to shift our culture to one of encouragement, support, and positive accountability. Perhaps then our hot potatoes will turn into something we can hold comfortably and share openly.

This is about that hard conversation you’ve been avoiding.

I know; it’s hard. It’s uncomfortable. And it’s definitely not fun.

I’ve talked with three people just this week who are each avoiding a hard conversation.

They know that pretending it isn’t there won’t make it disappear. Every time they look away, it grows. Soon, it will fill the room, affect the whole team, and obstruct the work.

So even though it’s hard, uncomfortable, and about as fun as a sharp pebble in your shoe, address it. A small pebble is annoying and sometimes painful. When ignored, it eventually becomes a boulder and takes up all the space, likely crushing a lot more than your toe.

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.