He was describing a meeting with his direct report for the third session in a row. Same person. Same dynamic. Same frustration.

"She just won't take initiative," he said. "I give her room, I step back, I explicitly tell her to own it. And then she comes back asking for approval on every decision."

What does he do when she asks for approval?

"I give it to her. What else am I supposed to do?"

He couldn't see the game. Not because he's unaware. He's one of the most self-aware leaders I've worked with. He'd done the inner work. He could name his control tendency, his need for structure, his discomfort with ambiguity. He had the map.

The map doesn't change the dance.

His control shows up and takes over the room. Not loudly, not aggressively, but through precision. Through having the answer. Through that quality of certainty that fills the space before anyone else can think. And she responds the way most people respond to that much certainty: the easiest move is to defer. To ask for approval. To let the person who clearly knows take the lead.

He creates the dependence he complains about. She creates the control she resents. Neither of them can see it because they're both inside it.

What he could name in himself didn't stay in himself. It walked into every meeting with her, every feedback conversation, every decision she brought back for approval.

His control activates her dependence. Her deference feeds his need to be the one who knows, which feeds her deference, which feeds his frustration, which tightens his control.

The game runs itself.

A different client, different organisation. She was describing her boss: "She pushes back on every point. She always has the feeling that I'm setting her up to fail. And she attacks my leadership qualities, my values."

I asked what she does when the attack comes.

"I get very precise. Very factual. Very controlled."

And the boss reads the precision as coldness. Which confirms the feeling of being set up. Which produces more attack. Which produces more precision. A perfect feedback loop that neither of them designed and neither of them can exit from the inside.

"So I create the thing I'm frustrated by," he said, back in our session. Not a question. A recognition.

"And she creates the thing she's frustrated by. You're both inside a game that neither of you designed."

The silence after that was different from the usual silence. Not processing. Seeing. A whole system visible for the first time. Not just his part in it, but the space between.

Related

More from the coaching room