Just Own It

I remain confounded at how hard it is for people to admit their mistakes, take responsibility for their failures, and own their actions.

Maybe I shouldn’t be so surprised. I know it’s difficult admitting fault, because the brand you should be most loyal to is your own. Our sensitivities are understandable; we want the leader to see us as competent. Our peers’ view of us matters. We’re fighting, defying gravity as we try to grow our careers up, not down.

But here’s a tip from a leader of ambitious people: please, rise to the occasion proactively. Don’t make me call out your mistakes and then have you forced into owning them. I end up talking too long, often saying the wrong thing, and looking like a heel, while you get off with neither delivering on your commitment, nor owning your failure.

Surprise me. Come to me without hesitation and tell me what went wrong. Eliminate all the euphemisms. “I dropped the ball.” “I was the weak link.” And to clarify, “My bad” isn’t taking responsibility. It’s trite and shows me you’re making light of your failure. Don’t ever say to me or your leader, “My bad.”

Instead, please say:

Scott, I committed to submitting the analysis by 9 a.m. on Monday, and I failed. I went out with some friends last night after watching the game, didn’t get home until 2 a.m., woke up late (in a bit of a fog), raced to get to the office (after getting a cup of coffee), and missed the deadline by three hours. I have it finished now. I completely own missing the deadline. I am clear on what I did wrong, it was nobody else’s fault, and it will never happen again.

This rarely happens to me. Instead, there is too often confusion on who owned it, when it was due, what was the actual deadline. So and so didn’t get me their portion. I was waiting for an update on next steps. Nobody told me…

Some years ago, I was responsible for a client-engagement strategy that entailed about 2,500 people registering for and attending one of 75 live events across the globe. Each year, the CEO extended to me rather broad latitude on its theme, content, and agenda. This particular year, I landed on a theme, hired a design team, co-created a seven-hour event, booked hotels, trained a cadre of presenters, launched a website, printed guidebooks, mailed invitations, and went live to great client feedback. Don’t I wish it ended here…

One day early in the launch, I received a certified letter from an attorney representing their client, insisting we cease and desist, as we were infringing on their trademark. The name of our event was a name their client had secured a trademark for (not exactly, but it was close enough that we, as an organization, were legally exposed).

Within minutes, I was on the phone with the attorney that sent the letter, asked some clarifying questions, managed to connect directly with their client, and worked through a win-win deal to honor their trademark and move forward with our series. I made a mistake, one I will never make again. Simply stated, I failed outright to perform my due diligence on the name search by not properly coordinating with our legal team (and minimally Googling it…). I recognize this resolution doesn’t fairly portray all legal engagements, but when I called the trademark owner directly and had a conversation with them, we came to a resolution in remarkable speed. (As an aside, be certain to closely follow your employer’s policies on legal issues. On this one, as an executive officer, I was in fact empowered to perform the outreach directly).

Here’s the learning. I walked into the CEO’s office (not an easy feat), told him briefly and factually what had transpired, and talked him through my proposed solution (and its economic impact…meaning the amount of company money I was going to spend to right my mistake and how I was going to reduce other investments to offset the financial impact). It was literally a 10-minute meeting with him. I didn’t say it was easy—it was just short.

After I owned my mistake and the solution, he shared a story of his own, from a previous career where he did something similar. I listened as he shared how much it had cost his own company.

His vulnerability didn’t lower the bar for me—just the opposite, in fact. I’d like to think that conversation built a reservoir of trust in us both, and to this day, almost eight years later, he has near complete confidence in my judgment (on issues like this).

I’ve used this story with the team I’ve led to demonstrate the power of owning it. No other victims. No blaming. No spin. No obfuscation.

Just, “Here’s what I did, and here’s how I’m fixing it.”

Honestly, I’m tired of excuses that blame other people, other competing projects, or your own lack of clarity. Get up out of your chair, walk down to your colleague, and tell them in a courageous and considerate manner that you made a commitment you intend to keep and you need their help in honoring it. Pick up the phone, send an email or text, use what Dr. Stephen R. Covey termed your R & I (Resourcefulness and Initiative) in The 7 Habits of Highly Effective Manager work session. No excuses—git ‘er done!

I know that every culture doesn’t deal well with the truth. Some leaders actually prefer to be lied to. Odd but true. Sometimes hearing the truth is uncomfortable, awkward, or requires an interpersonal conversation that they’re not well-practiced in. Be a transition figure to your leader then. The next time you fail to deliver on an agreed result, walk up to them and own it, lock, stock and barrel.

Use plain language, no excuses, and tell the entire truth. You might get fired. You might get promoted.

________________________

If you enjoyed this post, you may also be interested in FranklinCovey's weekly On Leadership series, where I interview authors and thought leaders to share their valuable leadership insights. Subscribe to FranklinCovey On Leadership and receive weekly videos, tools, articles, and podcasts to help you become a better leader.

Here are links to some of my previous articles:

How Bad News Is Actionable And Wrong News Is Unacceptable

Forget Eye Contact, It's All About The Lips

What I Learned From Stephen R. Covey