A Tale of Two Feedbacks

Tale One

A professional group I am part of, let's call it Group A, meets monthly. Some months back a member of the group, let’s call them Alex, who had not attended initial meetings where the foundational “group operating rules” were established, attended for the first time. Within a few minutes of Alex joining, they asked to speak to something that was on their mind about how the group operates and then, in the words of others, “launched” into a “lecture” that left many feeling “schooled”. For the rest of the meeting most of the other members of the group were unusually quiet and didn’t engage as much as usual.

A few days after the meeting, the group’s leadership team met together to debrief. What had just happened? What should we do? We all wanted to check our personal experience: if we were reacting negatively, was it just us personally, or were others too? We learned that yes, most of us had indeed had a negative reaction.

So now it was the responsibility of me and my co-chair to follow-up with Alex.?

But first we needed to clear our own reactions. We were angry, we were feeling blindsided, undermined, and that we had failed to manage the meeting appropriately, We were definitely feeling judgemental towards Alex. We knew that we definitely could NOT give Alex feedback from this place. We would just be blaming and shaming them, offloading our feelings onto them. As two trauma-trained coaches, and from our own deeply painful experiences, we know how devastating critical feedback can be - even when it’s delivered as kindly and gently as possible. The last thing we wanted to do was deliver sensitive, critical feedback when we were in the grip of our own judge.?

Over the next few days, my co-chair and I spent time together to work through our own reactions. By the time we met with Alex we both felt deeply grounded in our “sage” (our best, positive selves). We truly cared deeply for Alex as a human being. We knew we could be kind AND clear. We had cleared our own emotions and reactions: we could be truly present to Alex, rather than make it about us.

It was a beautiful discussion. Tears were shed. Laughter happened. There were powerful insights and breakthroughs. There was healing around painful and traumatic experiences where feedback had been delivered so harmfully it felt as character assassination. This, the three of us reflected with awe and gratitude, is how powerful critical feedback can be when done right.?

And we didn’t leave it there.?

Over the next few weeks, we continued to touch base and check-in with Alex. Feedback takes a while to be processed. Even if feedback has been delivered with care and compassion, and received well, feelings of shame and the “vulnerability hangover” can set in. We anticipated that and the three of us worked through them together. By the time of the next monthly meeting Alex had sent a very genuine and authentic communication to the group as a whole, and had had in return received very warm, appreciative responses back. The air was cleared and relationships and trust were deepened all round.?

Tale Two

There is a monthly meeting of the representatives of various professional groups to share, learn and coordinate amongst each other. Let’s call it Group B, and it’s chair Jordan. The second time I attended Group B (which has been meeting for well all over a year before I started attending) something came up that raised significant concerns for me. I spoke up and out - definitely strongly, definitely forcefully, but also, as others who attended the meeting affirmed, clearly from a place of deep passion for the ethical principle I was standing on. They have a different perspective on the issue I was raising, but they got the point I was trying to make, didn’t take offense at it, and pointed out that yes, my choice of timing and manner of delivery could have been better.?

I only figured all of this out later, of course. After what happened next.?

A few hours after the meeting, Jordan sent a text message to a three person chat thread that included me, him and another person who is not a member of Group B.?

“Sue,” he said, “I hope you find whatever it is you are looking for. And I hope you don’t find yourself in the position I ended up in this morning. You speak of power dynamics and workplace bullying. I wonder if you are aware of the position you put others in via a group dynamic. I know I’m doing my best and can’t please everyone. I just don’t like feeling attacked — especially when I work so hard to serve so many. I wish you both all the best.”?

Then he removed himself from the text thread.?

The third member sent me a “Huh?” He was utterly confused as to what had just happened. Clearly something had happened, but he was in the dark.?

With the lapse of time I can read Jordan's message calmly. At the time I received it, however, I just felt a hideous, gut-wrenching awful wash of shame that left me shaking from head to toe, barely able to breathe and in the grip of an impending panic attack. All I wanted to do was crawl into a small dark hole and stay there.?

But I didn’t - or at least not quite yet. Within minutes of receiving the text, I was on the phone with Jordan. The only thing on my mind was to immediately and unreservedly apologize to him that he felt I had attacked him during the meeting. (Whether or not I actually needed to apologize for anything is a separate post.)?He added that not only had he felt attacked, but that I had publicly taken advantage of the trust we had developed prior to this. In Brené Brown’s Marble Jar of Trust analogy, I had effectively taken our jar full of marbles and dumped it all out. It was now utterly empty. Not a single marble of trust remained in it for him, I had caused such deep offense. I was in deep, deep distress about this. I continued to apologize. I asked what I could do to try to repair the broken trust between us. He said it was too soon, and it would just take time.?

And it was this, more than anything else, that sent me into a weeks-long tailspin. Despite our previous relationship, through his tone of voice in this and two follow up conversations, I received the message loud and clear: he now wanted nothing to do with me. It was this rejection that was the real knife in my heart. It didn’t matter how profoundly sorry I was that I had caused hurt, he was not in a place to want to work it through with me. And there was nothing I could do about that. He got to make that choice. Intellectually I knew this. After checking in with others, I also knew that I had truly done everything I could to apologize and try to repair our relationship. The rest was now up to him. But internally I just felt like an utter failure, doomed and cursed to be this person who is forever going to be judged, shamed and blamed, rejected and flung aside, if she does one hurtful, or one wrong thing.?

I psyched up my courage to convey the one last thing I needed to convey - how much delivering his message by text the way he had, and when he was so clearly in a place of being deeply hijacked himself - had in turn deeply hurt me.?

And then I crept into my hole of shame. It took me a month before I could even explain to the third person on the chat thread what had happened, I was in that much shame and emotional pain myself. Yes, that’s an outsized reaction on my side. But such is the shame and trauma I carry from workplace bullying: both Jordan's feedback and his subsequent distancing reactivated old and deep wounds of identity and self-worth. That’s just the way trauma works.?

It’s been three months since Jordan dropped his bomb on the chat thread and walked away. We continue to have the professional interactions we need to, but it feels like all the warmth has gone out of them. Maybe that’s just me. Maybe I’m missing some cue from him that he’s now ready to own his part of this story. But until I have clear and explicit communication from him that that is indeed the case, I notice I still have my protective walls up towards him.?

A call came in from him the other day. I let it go to voicemail. I knew it was about something else - but I found myself simply not wanting to “risk” a one to one conversation with him. His voicemail was perfectly fine. But I still choose to respond by voice text myself, rather than simply call him back.?

My reaction is, of course, telling. I know I’m still carrying hurt. I’m continuing to work my way through that. The shame is gone. I know what is mine to own and what isn’t. I understand and accept that he is on his own journey with this too.?

But the wariness remains. Because if I can’t be human, mess up, make mistakes, and have my apology accepted when I make those mistakes, then yes, it’s hard to summon the desire to try to find ways to rebuild that relationship.?

And the sorrow remains. That what we had before - a deep relationship of trust and respect - is now lost. And it's uncertain when or how it may be recovered.?

Closing Thoughts

I don’t think I need to say more about these two tales. You will form your own conclusions.?

As I was writing these stories I was very aware of the (very human!) desire to present myself in the best light possible in both scenarios. I’ve tried not to do that - but I’m sure it’s still there a bit. I’m painfully aware of the deep irony that I essentially did in the second tale exactly what Alex did in the first tale. I want to make clear that I absolutely erred in saying what I said, how and when I said it, in the second tale.?

But the resulting feedback given, and their outcomes, couldn’t be more different. I feel nothing but genuine warmth and admiration towards Alex. It is with true sorrow that I cannot say that about Jordan. I hope I will have the grace, compassion and kindness, if or when the moment with Jordan presents itself, to see if we can put some marbles back in the jar together.