If I Have to Tell You What to Do, You're the Wrong Man for the Job

Around 2018, there was a change of CEO in the organisation I was working for.

At the time, I was responsible for all of the frontline connection with our customers and their employees.

I was rebuilding processes.

Technology.

Staffing.

And at the same time, preparing for a fairly significant external accreditation audit.

This wasn't just another audit.

Our contracts specifically referenced this accreditation as a point of differentiation from our competitors.

So there was a lot riding on it.

And I had a lot on my plate.

At the same time, I was navigating a new relationship with my now boss, Bjorn.

As anyone who has experienced a change of leader will appreciate, there's a period of figuring each other out.

How does this person operate?

What do they expect from me?

How do they make decisions?

When do they want to be involved?

When don't they?

And, importantly, do they actually trust me to do the job I've been employed to do?

I Was Overwhelmed

As the audit approached, the number of decisions I needed to make seemed to multiply.

And truth be told, I was overwhelmed by the depth of some of the problems in front of me.

One day, I saw Bjorn walking past.

I stopped him.

And then proceeded to unload what I can only describe as a word vomit of issues.

This was wrong.

That wasn't ready.

We needed to decide this.

I wasn't sure about that.

What should we do here?

And after listening to me, Bjorn responded with the quiet calm I'd come to know well — albeit delivered in a German accent that somehow made it sound even more definitive.

"If I have to tell you what to do, then you're the wrong man for the job."

Time stopped.

I was gobsmacked.

Excuse Me?

Many years earlier, I'd made a personal decision to try not to immediately take offence at things people said.

Emphasis on try.

The goal was to work through my reaction before responding from it.

I needed every bit of that discipline in this particular moment.

Because at face value...

That was offensive.

I'm standing here overwhelmed, asking my new boss for help, and his response is effectively:

Maybe you shouldn't have the job.

Fantastic.

Thanks, Bjorn.

Very helpful.

But before allowing my internal monologue to take over, I remembered something.

One of the first things Bjorn had said to me after becoming CEO.

"I've Seen Your Résumé"

Early in our relationship, he'd told me:

"I've seen your résumé. I trust that you can do the job."

Then he'd gone further.

He told me he would stand behind the decisions I made — right or wrong.

And if something went sideways, he'd be there to support me and reflect on it with me.

That context changed everything about what he was now saying.

And thankfully, he wasn't finished.

"If I have to tell you what to do, then you're the wrong man for the job."

Then he explained.

"You're the contact centre guy. You know more about this than I ever will."

And then came the sentence I've carried with me ever since:

"All I want to know is your thinking."

He wanted to understand how I'd arrived at the decision.

What had I considered?

What risks had I identified?

What assumptions was I making?

Was the decision within my delegated authority?

And if it wasn't, he wanted to know.

Not because he didn't trust me.

But because if the decision needed to travel further through the organisation, he wanted to understand it well enough to back me...

all the way to the Board.

He Didn't Give Me the Answer

In that moment, Bjorn taught me something about leadership.

And years later, I realised he'd also taught me something about coaching.

He could have given me an answer.

He was the CEO.

He certainly had the authority.

And, frankly, I probably would have welcomed it.

I was overwhelmed.

Handing the decision upwards would have relieved some of that pressure.

But Bjorn recognised something I couldn't see in that moment.

I didn't actually need his answer.

I needed confidence in mine.

So instead of taking the problem away from me, he gave it back.

Not dismissively.

Not with:

"That's your problem. Deal with it."

He gave it back wrapped in trust.

You've got this.

I trust your expertise.

Show me your thinking.

Stay within the boundaries we've agreed.

And if it goes wrong, I will still be standing here.

That's very different.

So What Makes a Good Coach?

When people think about choosing a coach, it's tempting to look primarily at what the coach knows.

Their qualifications.

Their experience.

Their career.

The industries they've worked in.

And those things matter.

I certainly believe the experience I've accumulated over my career contributes to the coach I am today.

But experience creates an interesting temptation.

When you've spent years accumulating answers, it becomes very easy to give them away.

A good coach needs the discipline not to.

Because sometimes giving you my answer robs you of the opportunity to discover yours.

Bjorn could have solved my immediate problem.

Instead, he strengthened my ability to solve the next one.

Trust Before Challenge

There's something else Bjorn got right.

Imagine if our first ever conversation had been:

"If I have to tell you what to do, you're the wrong man for the job."

Different story.

Without context, that sentence could have crushed confidence rather than built it.

But he'd already established the foundation.

I've seen what you've done.

I trust you.

I'll back your decisions.

And if something goes wrong, we'll work through it together.

The challenge worked because the trust came first.

I think that's essential in coaching.

A good coach shouldn't simply agree with everything you say.

If that's what you're looking for, there are considerably cheaper ways to find someone who will tell you you're wonderful.

But challenge without trust isn't coaching either.

Before I can meaningfully challenge your thinking, you need to know something about my intent.

That I'm for you.

That I'm curious rather than judgemental.

That I'm not sitting across from you waiting for you to get something wrong.

And that disagreement doesn't change my commitment to helping you grow.

Trust gives challenge somewhere safe to land.

Curiosity Over Control

Bjorn also wasn't interested in controlling my decision.

He wanted to understand it.

There's a significant difference between:

"Here's what I think you should do."

and:

"Talk me through your thinking."

The first makes the conversation about my answer.

The second makes it about yours.

That's something I consciously try to carry into coaching today.

What are you seeing?

What have you considered?

What haven't you considered?

What are you assuming?

What are you worried might happen?

What would you do if you knew I wasn't going to give you the answer?

Sometimes my experience will be useful.

There are moments when I'll share an observation, an experience or perhaps challenge something directly.

But the objective isn't to make you think like me.

It's to help you think more clearly like you.

Knowing When Not to Rescue

This might be one of the hardest parts of coaching.

Sometimes the person sitting across from you genuinely wants you to rescue them.

I know.

Because standing in that office all those years ago...

I wanted rescuing.

I had a lot going on.

The audit mattered.

The decisions mattered.

I was overwhelmed.

It would have been wonderfully convenient if Bjorn had simply taken one of those decisions off my plate.

He didn't.

And I'm glad he didn't.

Because his refusal to rescue me communicated something much more powerful:

I believe you're capable of carrying this.

That's stayed with me.

A good coach isn't there to create dependence.

If every time you encounter a difficult decision you think:

"I need to ask my coach what to do,"

then I'm not convinced the coaching is working.

I'd much rather you eventually hear the questions without me being there to ask them.

I'd rather you become more confident in your own thinking.

More aware of your assumptions.

More comfortable challenging yourself.

And ultimately, less dependent on me.

The Right Person for the Job

We got through the audit.

In fact, we achieved the accreditation.

But strangely, that's not what I remember most clearly from that period.

I remember standing in that office.

I can still picture the décor.

I can remember where Bjorn was standing.

I can probably even tell you some of the metrics from around that time.

None of those details are particularly important.

But the moment is.

"If I have to tell you what to do, then you're the wrong man for the job."

What initially sounded like a challenge to my capability was actually an affirmation of it.

Bjorn wasn't telling me:

You're not capable.

He was telling me:

Stop behaving as though you're not.

There's a difference.

And all these years later, when I think about what makes a good coach, I think about that conversation.

Someone who trusts you enough to challenge you.

Someone curious about your thinking rather than desperate to demonstrate theirs.

Someone who can resist rescuing you.

Someone willing to ask the uncomfortable question.

Someone who creates enough safety for you to explore the answer honestly.

And someone whose ultimate goal isn't for you to become dependent on them.

It's for you to become increasingly confident without them.

Sometimes a good coach will give you perspective.

Sometimes they'll give you a question.

Sometimes they'll give you silence.

And occasionally, when you arrive hoping they'll simply tell you what to do...

they'll remind you why you're the right person to figure it out.