Your worth is not on the table every time someone asks you a question.

Dear Courageous Leader,

Some leadership lessons take years to understand, even when the moment that taught them lasts only a few minutes.

One of mine came through a phone call I answered too quickly.

It was the spring students came back to school full time after the pandemic. Every day brought something new, and every decision felt urgent. I was attending a three-day event and had told everyone I would be offline. Ten minutes before the session began, my phone rang. It was my boss, upset about a situation at one of our schools that touched her personally. She wasn't asking me to fix anything. She needed someone safe to say it to.

Within seconds I was in motion. I asked a string of questions and walked her through the protocols our principals follow. I heard her disappointment as a verdict on me and on the work I was responsible for, so I defended it. In the rush, I missed what she was telling me, and I missed what it might reveal about our system.

That call taught me something I have carried ever since. In a season of upheaval, people rarely need the fastest answer first. They need a leader who will listen long enough to understand the question.

The Lens

The rush to answer comes from somewhere. For me, it was my gut. I am wired for "right" action. Before I understood that about myself, an issue would reach me and I would immediately start naming what needed to be done. At the core of my inner architecture is a longing to know that I am good, so the chance to make a situation fairer and more just is what sparks me to act. My team often didn't need my answer as a starting point. They needed me to acknowledge the situation and ask good questions, then give them time to turn over rocks and come back with a full assessment.

Earlier in my career, that instinct served me well. As a teacher and central office supervisor, being the person with the answer was much of the job, and it built my credibility. By the time I sat at the cabinet table, my contribution had to change. The work became judging what required my involvement and what required me to create space for others to act. The habit that earned my seat had quietly become a constraint in it. I see this shift in many of the senior leaders I work with. Being the person with the answer is not always the same as providing the leadership the situation requires.

On that phone call, my speed did more than miss what my boss needed. I defended the system in the very moment it was showing me something. The work with my team, and with my own frustration, could have happened after we hung up, and it would have started from a better place.

For other leaders, the rush comes from a different motivation. A client of mine was on a tense call. When the other side pressed her with questions she couldn't yet answer, she felt the familiar pull to prove she belonged in the conversation. She closed her eyes and decided not to rush, then caught herself worrying that she was taking too long and let that go too. In that moment, she wasn't only managing a difficult conversation. She was managing the pressure to prove her worth. She later described the moment as unbinding. What I told her is what I wish someone had told me earlier: the problem is the problem, and it has nothing to do with your worth.

Susan David's work invites us to recognize the space between what happens and how we respond. In Emotional Agility, she calls the skill of widening that space Stepping Out. One of the simplest tools she offers is a shift in language, from "I am anxious" to "I'm noticing that I'm feeling anxious." The feeling stays, but you stop being it, and the space opens.

None of this is an argument for indecision. Some moments require speed, and people need direction. A leader who always says "let me get back to you" can start to look like she's hiding. The difference lies in what the pause is for. A pause that comes from discernment has a next step attached, such as "I'll come back to you by Thursday." A pause that comes from avoidance just hopes the question goes away.

I still feel the pull in my gut, and I no longer ignore it. I treat it as a signal to slow down. As I build my business, an opportunity will light me up and I'll want to say yes on the spot. What pulls at my gut is rarely the opportunity itself. It is the possibility of knowing more and growing my business faster. So I pause and tell myself I need to weigh what I'm learning against my goals and my timeline. The purchase waits, and I call my coach. At home, I still get it wrong. When I feel the urge to interrupt or push, the best thing I've found is a deep breath and doing nothing at all.

Clear Eyes. Full Hearts Practices

Find the space. This week, sit with these questions:

• Where do I rush to answer in order to prove I belong, or to fix something that isn't mine?
• When someone brings me their frustration, what might it be pointing to?
• What would "I'll come back to you by Thursday" cost me this week, and what would it make possible?
• When a strong feeling rises, can I name it the way David suggests: "I'm noticing that I'm feeling..."?

Leadership translation: Choose one recurring meeting this week. When you feel the pull to answer fast, take one breath and ask a question before you offer a solution. Afterward, notice what the question revealed that your answer would have missed.

Invitation

If this edition named a pattern you recognize, I'd like to hear about it. Hit reply and tell me the question you're being pressed to answer right now. I read every response.

Clear eyes. Full hearts.

Paula

P.S. I recently joined Josh Hoffman on the BizWiz podcast for a conversation about the patterns that keep accomplished leaders stuck. We talked about emotional agility, the deeper work of changing familiar behaviors, and something it took me years to learn while running a large school system: distinguishing a true emergency from someone else's urgency. If this edition has you noticing your own patterns, I think you'll appreciate the conversation.

​Listen to the episode on Apple Podcasts​

P.P.S. If this Dispatch resonated, I'd be grateful if you'd forward it to a colleague who might benefit. They can subscribe here.