When Feedback Shakes Who We Are
When Feedback Shakes Who We Are
We’ve all been there. You’re sitting in a feedback conversation and before you even realise it, your stomach drops, your chest tightens, and your mind races. You’re not just hearing words. You’re feeling something deeper: a shake in your sense of self.
Stone and Heen call this an “Identity quake.” In their book Thanks for the Feedback they write:
“An identity quake can knock us off balance… our sense of self is knocked off-kilter.” (Stone & Heen, 2014)
That phrase captures the experience so well. Feedback doesn’t just land on the surface — it reverberates through our foundations. Especially when it strikes at the three pillars of how we see ourselves:
Our competence (Am I capable?),
Our moral character (Am I a good person?), and
Our worthiness of love and belonging (Am I valued?).
When those pillars shake, even the smallest comment can feel like an earthquake.
Why This Matters for Leaders
As leaders, we ask others to receive feedback with openness and grace. But if we don’t model it ourselves; if we shut down, get defensive, or personalise, our teams will notice. Our ability to separate the self from the behaviour is one of the most important leadership muscles we can build.
Anchoring Through the Quake
Stone and Heen remind us that the antidote to an identity quake is to broaden our identity. Instead of defining ourselves narrowly (“I must be good at this at all times”), we can hold multiple anchors:
I am a learner.
I am resilient.
I am more than this role or moment.
By building these identity anchors, we create room to absorb feedback without it flattening us.
Reflection for You
Next time you feel the quake:
Pause. Notice what’s shaking.
Name it. Is it competence? Character? Belonging?
Anchor. Remind yourself: “I am more than this moment. This is information, not a verdict.”
Feedback is rarely easy. But if we can hold our identity lightly — seeing ourselves as learners rather than finished products — the quake doesn’t have to break us. It can instead become a tremor that opens new ground for growth.
Go with courage,
Mary-Anne
When Team Tension Becomes Your Leadership Terrain
When Team Tension Becomes Your Leadership Terrain
Team tension doesn’t always arrive loudly.
Sometimes, it simmers.
A clipped tone.
A side glance.
The kind of silence that says more than words ever could.
You feel it.
And whether you name it or not, your team feels it too.
Ron Heifetz, in his work on adaptive leadership, reminds us that the toughest leadership work isn’t about technical fixes, it’s about staying present in the heat of discomfort.
“Real leadership is about helping people face challenges for which there are no easy answers, and staying with them while they find their way through.”
And that kind of leadership begins not with answers, but with curiosity.
When disconnection shows up, don’t delay.
You don’t need to call a full team reset.
You need to ask better questions.
Try gently naming what you’re sensing:
“How are things feeling in the team right now? Anything sitting under the surface?”
“What might we not be saying that needs to be said?”
Or bring focus to the unspoken patterns:
“Have there been moments recently that haven’t sat quite right?”
Where might we be contributing, even unintentionally, to how things are feeling?”
Sometimes, tension is a quiet invitation to reset the climate, not by controlling it, but by caring for it. That’s kaitiakitanga in action.
And while you don’t need to referee every ripple, you do have a responsibility to set the tone.
To help the team move from assumption to awareness.
From stuckness to shared ownership.
So ask:
“What would help us reconnect and work with more ease and trust?”
“How can we support each other in both the mahi and the messiness?”
And don’t forget to look inward:
“What’s one shift I could make this week that might change the energy in this space?”
You’re not expected to have all the answers.
But you are invited to lead the questions that matter.
Hold the space.
Don’t rush to fix.
Make room for truth, and for people to find their own footing again.
Thought Prompt:
What one conversation, if you initiated it this week, could shift the energy and restore connection in your team?
Back yourself.
Mary‑Anne
Leading with Neuro-Inclusion — When “Understanding” Isn’t Enough
Leading with Neuro-Inclusion — When “Understanding” Isn’t Enough
Imagine being in a room built for everyone but you.
The lights buzz and flicker.
The instructions are rushed, vague, or only verbal.
The pace moves fast, and there’s no time to pause, translate, or ask.
You’re doing the work. You’re holding it together.
But on the outside? You look fine.
So no one notices the effort it’s taking just to stay afloat.
For many neurodivergent team members, this isn’t the exception.
It’s the everyday.
Judy Singer, the sociologist who coined the term neurodiversity, reminds us that conditions like ADHD, autism, dyslexia, and sensory processing differences aren’t pathologies to fix; they’re natural variations in how human brains function.
They bring challenges, yes, but also deep and often untapped strengths:
pattern recognition, creative problem-solving, compassion, hyper-focus, deep empathy.
But here’s the catch:
Those strengths can only thrive in spaces that are built with difference in mind.
And most workplaces weren’t.
That’s why we need to talk about neuro-inclusion, not just accepting or accommodating neurodivergence,
but actively designing spaces, systems, and cultures that welcome it.
Neuro-inclusion asks:
How are we building workplaces where all brains can thrive?
What would it look like if difference was expected, not exceptional?
How can we shift from permission to participation?
This is where Universal Design for Learning (UDL) gives us a way forward.
UDL invites us to build flexibility in from the beginning, offering multiple ways for people to access, engage, and express.
It removes barriers before they become exclusion. It treats variety as a given, not a problem to solve.
Inclusion isn’t about adjusting the margins.
It’s about redesigning the middle.
It’s about creating environments where people don’t have to ask to belong.
And while leaders play a critical role, this isn’t just top-down.
Neuro-inclusion is also a call for self-responsibility. For those of us who are neurodivergent, part of this journey is learning to name what supports us best, when we can. That might look like:
Asking for information in writing
Sharing that we process more slowly in noisy spaces
Requesting time to prepare ahead of meetings
It’s not always easy.
It takes energy and vulnerability.
But asking is part of reshaping the system.
And every time we do, we make it easier for someone else.
You don’t need a formal diagnosis to deserve dignity.
You don’t need to be an expert in neuroscience to lead with compassion.
You just need to be curious.
To ask.
To listen.
To lead with aroha.
Because clarity, flexibility, and kindness aren’t just “nice to have.”
They are the building blocks of truly inclusive culture.
Something to Reflect On:
What one thing could you shift in your space, your systems, or your expectations, to move from accommodation to neuro-inclusion?
With care,
Mary‑Anne
When You Just Want People to Do Their Job — Holding Standards Without Losing Heart
When You Just Want People to Do Their Job — Holding Standards Without Losing Heart
We’ve all had those weeks.
The kind where the loose ends left by others
somehow land quietly… inconveniently… in your lap.
You’re left holding the line.
And your patience…White knuckles and all.
It’s tempting to let the small stuff slide.
To tell yourself, “It’s not a big deal.”
But as James Clear reminds us:
Culture is shaped by the behaviours we repeat, and those behaviours are shaped by what leaders reward, correct, and model.
Every unspoken drift sends a message.
So does silence.
And clarity? That’s still one of the kindest things you can offer.
If expectations have gone fuzzy,
don’t just hope people will pick up the cues.
Spell it out… again, if needed.
Not with frustration.
With firmness and care.
Culture rarely falls apart in one big moment.
It frays.
Quietly.
Repeatedly.
In the tiny compromises we let pass.
And while you’re steadying what’s slipping,
don’t forget to notice who’s standing with you.
The quiet steadiers.
The consistent ones.
The people who show up with heart and humility.
Pour your energy there.
That’s where manawanui lives.
That’s where momentum begins again.
Something to Consider:
What standard could you re-clarify this week to protect the culture you care about?
With heart,
Mary‑Anne
Pushing Boundaries, Not Burning Bridges
Pushing Boundaries, Not Burning Bridges
It’s one thing to disrupt.
It’s another to do it well.
The boldest leaders I know don’t throw grenades.
They ask better questions.
They challenge systems
without setting fire to the room.
Disruption without purpose is noise.
Disruption with intent? That’s leadership.
Rosabeth Moss Kanter, in her work on change leadership, offers a reminder:
“The best reformers aren’t always the loudest — they’re the most relational.”
She calls it the inside-out model.
Disruption that starts from within.
Rooted in emotional intelligence.
Anchored in empathy.
Powered by consistency, not chaos.
So before you push, pause.
Before you shake the foundations, ask:
Am I elevating others… or proving myself?
Am I anchored in kaupapa… or reacting from ego?
Have I earned the trust I’m about to spend?
Because trust is the currency of change.
Spend it wisely.
Spend it sparingly.
Spend it in service.
Change that lasts doesn’t crash through walls.
It walks alongside.
It invites.
It listens.
It lifts.
Ngā reo māhaki: the quiet voices often carry the most weight.
Leadership that transforms?
It doesn’t shout.
It shows up.
It stays steady.
It holds the kaupapa with care.
A Question to Sit With:
Where could you lead a quiet disruption this week, one that shifts without scorching?
Go with care,
Mary‑Anne