Ego Free Leadership

by Brandon Black

  With nothing to lose, I approached Brandon and asked him for a substantial pay increase and the ability to commute from Los Angeles. My husband’s job was based in LA and required a lot of travel. We didn’t see each other very much, and moving to LA would allow us to be more connected. I expected Brandon to say “no” or negotiate heavily with me. But, without hesitating, he agreed to my requests. I still believed I deserved a higher position, but the changes gave me enough incentive to stay. I would prove to him that I could succeed as an executive.

  SHAYNE

  Let’s say it straight up: Amy felt that she was passed over and underpaid because she was a woman.

  Was this true?

  Was it intentional?

  If it were unintentional, would or should it make a difference to how she felt?

  Or were there factors she wasn’t taking into account that explained why certain decisions were made?

  How could Amy have tested her assumptions without other people perceiving that she was accusing them of discrimination?

  Individual and institutional sexism and racism exist in both blatant and subtle forms. Most of us, despite being well meaning, carry implicit biases that affect our experiences and decisions. Unfortunately, we typically have no idea we have them. It took Brandon and his team multiple conversations and a “why not?” experiment to realize that their Indian collectors could be as effective as their American counterparts. They had no ill intent, and as soon as they realized that their beliefs were inaccurate, they cast them aside. Although we all have assumptions to interrogate, the bar of self-awareness is higher for leaders and executives. Undetected prejudices, especially in people in powerful positions, have far-reaching emotional and material consequences.

  Often, however, these situations are more complex than we realize. Amy had encountered a series of challenging professional experiences, each one plausibly, but not necessarily, linked to her gender. As we’ll discover, Brandon and other male leaders at Encore were slow to see her struggles or recognize their own possible biases. At the same time, Amy’s perceptions also may have been biased, and her behaviors may have contributed to the situation. Although tempting, we resist the impulse to analyze whether or not Amy was the victim of sexism. Such a conclusion would be speculative at best, with victims and perpetrators. Instead, we’ll focus on how understanding our egosystem can empower us to take effective action.

  Let’s start with Amy. Over the course of her career, different experiences had led her to conclude that conversations about being passed over were dangerous. “I didn’t want to know the truth if they thought I wasn’t qualified,” Amy recalled. Research shows that it is tricky for women to raise questions about the role that gender may be playing in their workplace experiences. If they broach the subject, they risk being seen as “overly sensitive” or “shrill”; if they show upset, they can be viewed as “an emotional mess”; if they press the issue, they are deemed “too demanding.”

  Amy, like each of us, was limited by her egosystem. She censored her feelings and didn’t express her frustration because she didn’t want to appear weak or needy. These completely understandable fears are dreaded images. She also had desired images of appearing to be a team player and a supportive, constructive, and agreeable coworker. Anyone—man or woman—at the mercy of protecting this set of images will likely avoid expressing disagreement or frustration. As in Fritz’s relationship with Brandon, Amy didn’t feel sufficiently safe to voice her concerns out loud. Instead, she stayed quiet and channeled her resentment into “proving them wrong.”

  Predictably, her unexpressed frustration built up until one event was too painful to swallow. When a prospective male colleague was offered a higher position and salary, her avoidance flipped to aggression. This avoid, avoid, avoid, attack mechanism is characteristic of conflict avoiders. We hold in our feelings like a pressure cooker until our top blows and all the steam comes out at once. Simply put, being at the mercy of our egosystem hampers any dialogue or evolution.

  Compounding this challenge for many women and minorities is an additional, unsettling doubt: “Is this happening because I’m a woman?” “Would I be treated differently if I were white?”

  The difficulties of asking such a question are not limited to Amy’s ego threats. Anyone on the receiving end of such a communication often experiences a severe sense of threat. I, for example, grew up as a straight, educated, white Anglo-Saxon Protestant, and it never occurred to me that my beliefs or actions might be biased against another person. My childhood was difficult, and I was acutely aware of the familial and economic obstacles I had to overcome. What I didn’t notice were hurdles I avoided or privileges I received as a young white man belonging to an extended family that was well educated and largely middle class. If I didn’t encounter a hurdle, it didn’t exist for me, so it didn’t come naturally to see how it might exist for someone else. It’s taken me years to realize—and I’m still learning—that women and minorities often face hurdles I do not.

  Although I aspire to create a world with level playing fields in organizations, being questioned about any of my biased judgments would prompt reactions of shame and defensiveness. If Amy came into my office, as she did Dave’s, demanding an explanation for an unjust title and compensation offer, it would trigger my dreaded images. I’d be afraid of appearing unfair, wrong, and thoughtless. If, in addition, there were even a hint of race- or gender-based accusation, my dreaded images would explode: Neanderthal, sexist, victimizer, oppressor, selfish, and overall terrible person.

  Unless I was able to notice these images (through a fireball of pinches), my brain would be incapable of pausing and asking, “Hmm, could I have overlooked something? Did I discount Amy inadvertently by not giving her credit the same way I might a man? What can I and we learn together right now?”

  Instead, appearing sexist would mortify me, and I would react to save myself: justify my decisions, minimize her experience, and if I could, blame her for overreacting. Not because I consciously wanted to perpetuate an old boys’ network. But, in that moment of pinch, my intention to support equality in the workplace would vanish, submerged by my egosystem’s visceral need to avoid being seen as an oppressive white male.

  I do not offer these reflections to condone my or any white man’s defensiveness—just as noting how Amy was at the mercy of her dreaded images does not make anything her fault. My aim, instead, is to highlight how our egosystem causes misunderstanding, alienation, and stalled progress. When we are at the mercy of our ego threats, these complex issues become treacherous and terrifying to explore. So we hold our thoughts in, or blurt them out. We judge, defend our view as right, and essentially remove any possibility of learning—about ourselves, the other, or the situation. Together, we prolong the problem.

  When George Lund was put in his executive chairman role, Brandon experienced injustice, humiliation, and anger at what he felt was an unwarranted decision. Imagine if he were a woman or a person of color. It would have been difficult for him not to wonder, “Is this because I’m a (fill in the blank)?” Even without this additional layer, Brandon struggled for months to move beyond his resentment and explore the possibility that he was missing either context or important skills and experience (both of which turned out to be the case).

  For Amy, her inability to raise these issues, and her not-unjustified fear that others would not be receptive, prevented her from getting a clearer picture of reality, ironing out any misunderstandings, and/or repairing any wrongdoings. Maybe others’ preconceived notions of her needed to be shattered. Maybe Amy had skill gaps that needed to be closed before she was ready to take on the role. Likely both. At this point, Amy and her colleagues didn’t collectively have the awareness or tools to step into this uncomfortable exploration.

  That was beginning to change.

  Our Behavioral Patterns Shape the Course of Our Life

  AMY

  In 2009, Brandon invited me to lunch—always a sure sign he had a specifi
c topic to discuss. He had fired my boss. “I am promoting you to the vice president role,” he said. “Effective today, you report directly to me.” He laid out the timing of the changes.

  At last! I thought. I’m the one you should have taken all along. In my excitement, I didn’t even realize that my VP title was still one notch below the senior vice president title my two predecessors had held. At least I was finally the leader of the team.

  “However,” he continued, “I need you to work on your leadership style within the company. You come across as a perfect little put-together package that no one can relate to. You’re like a robot. You’re not approachable.”

  It was a shocking assessment. I thought my relationships internally were good. They were completely professional and transactional, but, of course, that was deliberate. I was assertive, driven; I got stuff done. Sure, I sometimes offended others with my direct communication style—but not approachable or relatable? I was just mimicking the behaviors of the men whose level of influence and authority I craved.

  LaL’s one-year program was recommended as development for Encore’s executives, and so I signed up, not really sure what to expect. In preparation for my first seminar, they gathered 360-degree feedback, and I wondered whether Brandon’s assessment of me would prove to be just his opinion. Instead, the comments were undeniable. Overwhelmingly, there were themes of being unwelcoming, even intimidating. I set high standards and was judgmental and critical if my team didn’t meet them. There were perceptions that I didn’t tolerate failure for myself or for anyone working for me. I was described as uncaring, direct, selfish, and aggressive. What hurt the most, however, was that some of my colleagues openly questioned my motives. Apparently, it was widely perceived that I would do whatever it took to get a deal done, whether profitable or not. When I encountered resistance, I ran over anyone who got in the way.

  The feedback hurt. The comments from my team and my peers made me revisit the objectives I chose years earlier to prove my competence at all costs. It was the first time I had heard so directly how my desire to be the best and prove my doubters wrong impacted the people around me.

  While I was stunned by the unintended consequences, I also was confused about why my approach was creating such a backlash. The same behaviors I had observed and learned from successful men were being seen in me as aggressive, offensive, too results focused, and intimidating. They were undermining, not enhancing, my effectiveness as a leader.

  I attended my first leadership seminar and began reflecting on why I had intentionally avoided showing any stereotypical female traits, like care, concern, or emotion. I feared that any “softness” would cause me to be seen as not strong enough—to the extent that in six years at Encore, I had only ever worn pantsuits. I needed to appear powerful enough to earn the respect of men. And the line between my professional and my personal life was impenetrable. I didn’t want being a woman to hold me back in this job, at this company, in this industry.

  My LaL coach, Carole Levy, nudged me to be more vulnerable and honest with myself. I began to realize that my aversion to appearing weak ran deeper than my job. I grew up in a modest household of young parents with five children. My dad was domineering and made all the financial decisions, which led to years of conflict between my parents. One memory that stood out was a day when my mom bought me a new pair of shoes, only to undergo a harsh reprimand from my father when we got home. I decided early on that I would never “need” anyone’s permission. I would be strong, independent, and make my own decisions. I hated feeling weak in any domain of my life. Being a woman in a male-dominated environment only amplified these feelings.

  In the midst of this exploration, I remembered another event from my childhood that I hadn’t thought of in a long time. I had two younger sisters, and when I was twelve, we all wanted to be competitive gymnasts. Despite knowing we had little money, I begged our parents to enroll us in a local program. After a week of tryouts, I overheard the coach tell my mom he would only accept my two younger sisters because I was “too tall and skinny” and would never become a gymnast. My mom was confused. She had watched the tryouts and thought I was as good as the others. The instructor agreed, but said I “didn’t fit the gymnast mold.” Sitting there decades later, I vividly recalled feeling fiery anger that someone was telling me I couldn’t do something because of an aspect of myself I couldn’t control. I burned with a desire to prove him wrong. Furious as well, my mother enrolled all three of us at a gym ninety minutes away, and I went on to compete in gymnastics throughout high school. I knew I got the determination gene from somebody!

  The parallels between my childhood and my experience at Encore were startling. The reaction I had when my supervisor spoke to me years ago wasn’t accidental. I had felt the pain of being told I wasn’t the right fit before. At that moment, it no longer mattered what I wanted—I had to prove my doubters wrong. My fierce determination and anger were powerful motivators—but also exhausting. I was overly sensitive to judgments of people in power. If I thought that they didn’t believe in my potential, I became competitive, hid my shortcomings, and would stop short of nothing to achieve the necessary results.

  When I really took stock, however, the costs of being so guarded were significant. There was a profound gap between who I really was and what I thought I had to be at Encore. I deeply cared about my team. I was passionate about mentoring them and wanted to create a safe learning environment. Instead, I came across as uncaring, judgmental, and not interested in developing people. My need to appear perfect made my team reluctant to bring up issues or mistakes. I was so driven to achieve and succeed that people didn’t think they could work for me and have a balanced family life.

  These realizations were all the more troubling because I had a secret I didn’t dare tell anyone at work. Unbeknownst to my colleagues, my husband and I had been trying to have a baby for many years, including many unsuccessful fertility treatments. I didn’t share this very painful, private struggle with anyone because I was sure that if they knew I wanted to be a mother, they wouldn’t consider me for the leadership roles I so badly wanted.

  I had looked around and done the math: Less than a handful of women had ever held an executive seat at Encore, all with either no or grown children. One woman signed on as SVP of Operations and became pregnant shortly thereafter. She was gone within a year. I never learned why, but I connected dots and drew my own conclusions. Why risk my career growth by sharing my desire to be a mother if becoming one wasn’t in the cards for me anyway?

  But of course, as fate would have it, within months of receiving this career-defining promotion, I had become pregnant. I had put off telling Brandon, sure that he would have second thoughts if he knew.

  Through the feedback and the seminar, I decided I could no longer carry on this facade. My fixation on success came too much at others’ expense. I wasn’t being the person I wanted to be at work, and I was fed up with these costs to my professional and personal life. What kind of mother would I be if I couldn’t let my guard down?

  SHAYNE

  What we’ve achieved and where we are in our life today may be the result of clear choices. More often than we realize, however, major life decisions occur by default because of the behavioral reactions of our patterns. As soon as Amy heard, “The CEO was concerned a woman couldn’t be effective in this role,” there was only one option: “Prove him wrong.” Amy’s professional trajectory was set by that reaction, not a thoughtful evaluation of her options.

  This situation is not specific to Amy. When we look back, we may wonder about the university we attended, the industry we entered, the jobs we took, even which friends we’ve kept or whom we married. Did we really choose these things because they were what most inspired us? Or did other motivations constrain our sense of possibility and decision-making? Proving others wrong, doing things by default, pleasing our parents or other authority figures, playing it safe, being accepted, doing anything to never be poor again—all ar
e reactions that influence important decisions. Sometimes such decisions turn out for the best; other times they lead us away from what we most want. Proving others wrong may be a powerful motivator, but it puts us at the mercy, and no amount of success will remove the chip from our shoulder. This phenomenon helps explain life crises in which we look around and wonder, “How did I end up here, so unhappy? What am I doing all this for?”

  While initially it may be upsetting to recognize unconscious decisions we’ve made in the past, uncovering these patterns allows us to act differently in the future. Today, if someone were to tell Amy she couldn’t do something, hopefully, she’d notice her pinch. By sorting it, she’d realize she is projecting her experience as a twelve-year-old being written off by her gymnastics teacher. She’d recognize the impulse to prove him wrong and know where that leads. She would have the possibility of truly choosing what she actually wants instead of being driven by rebelling against her doubters.

  Another important pattern shaping Amy’s life and leadership style was her aversion to feeling or appearing weak. Her pattern of fierce self-reliance fed the competence and resourcefulness that made her a high-performing employee. It helped create her success—and it held her back. “No one cared that I was forceful when I was an individual contributor,” Amy recalled. “But it became a problem when I led other people. I had hit my ‘internal glass ceiling.’”

  Let’s explore this term. The ego driver to not appear weak or dependent is a gender-blind dreaded image: Both men and women can come across as invulnerable and aggressive. Extensive research indicates, however, that our society is far less forgiving of such traits in women than in men. In addition to receiving a stronger backlash for her aggressive and transactional behavior, Amy was operating in an industry with default preferences for men in certain executive roles. She had to jump through ill-defined additional hoops to obtain the same role as a man, but with a scarcity of women executives to mentor or guide her to her next level. These significant impediments—too often minimized by people who don’t face them—contributed to an external glass ceiling.