Mary-Anne Murphy 19/5/26
Why Do We Make Excuses For People Who Treat Us Badly?
I've worked with someone who made me scared to ask a question.
Not because I didn't know what I was doing. Not because the question wasn't valid. But because I never quite knew what reaction I'd get. Would they snap? Dismiss it? Make me feel like I should have already known the answer? So I'd think about it. Weigh it up. Wonder if it was worth it. And more often than not, I'd stay quiet.
And here's the thing. I wasn't alone. Everyone around me was doing the same thing. Tiptoeing. Carefully choosing their words. Softening their approach. Bracing slightly before speaking.
We all knew. Nobody said it.
Instead we said things like, that's just how they are. You get used to it. Once you get to know them you'll like them. They mean well. They're just direct.
And I've been thinking about that ever since. Because those phrases sound like understanding. Like generosity. Like giving someone the benefit of the doubt.
But sometimes they're just a way of making peace with something that isn't ok.
Because when we normalise behaviour that makes people scared to ask a question, we don't just protect the person doing it. We silence everyone around them. We send a message, this is just how it is here. Adjust yourself accordingly. And people do. They get smaller. They stop contributing fully. They save their best thinking for somewhere it feels safer to share it.
And the cost of that is enormous. Not just to the people tiptoeing. To the whole team. To the work. To the culture.
So why do we do it? Why do we make excuses for people whose behaviour isn't ok?
Sometimes it's about power. When someone is more senior, more established, more certain than us, it feels easier to adapt than to name it. The risk feels too high. And the fear of their reaction, of being dismissed, humiliated, or making things worse, keeps us exactly where we are.
Sometimes it's about loyalty. We know the person. We know they're not bad. We separate their behaviour from their intention and give the intention the benefit of the doubt.
And sometimes it's simpler than that. We just don't have the language. We don't know how to name it without it becoming a bigger deal than we feel equipped to handle.
But here's what I've learned. When we don't name it, it doesn't go away. It just goes underground. And underground it does more damage, not less.
So what do you do when you're scared of the reaction? Here are some approaches that protect you while still moving things forward.
Name the pattern, not the person. In a team setting, raise it as a general question rather than about anyone specific. Something like, how do we make sure everyone feels comfortable raising ideas and questions here? It opens the conversation without anyone feeling targeted. Including you.
Use curiosity instead of critique. Rather than naming the behaviour directly, approach it as wanting to understand. Something like, I want to make sure I'm communicating well with you. Can I ask what works best when I need to raise something? It puts the framing on you rather than them, which lowers the defensiveness immediately.
Find one trusted person first. Before you do anything, say it out loud to someone you trust. Not to gossip. Just to reality check. Am I reading this right? That alone reduces the isolation and helps you figure out your next move.
Write it before you say it. If you need to raise something directly, write it down first. Not to send, just to get clear on what you actually want to say and what outcome you're looking for. It slows the emotional brain down and helps you find the words before you're in the room.
Choose your moment carefully. Timing matters enormously with reactive people. Catch them when they're settled, not rushed or stressed. A quieter moment one on one is almost always safer than raising something in a group.
None of these are guaranteed. But all of them are better than staying quiet and getting smaller.
Because the behaviour that goes unnamed gets permission to continue. And everyone in the room pays the price.
The Conversation
Is there someone in your world whose behaviour you've been making excuses for?
And instead of staying quiet, what's one small move you could make this week?
Go with confidence this week
Mary-Anne
The Mini-Me Trap - Mentoring isn’t about making a copy.
The Mini-Me Trap
Mentoring isn’t about making a copy.
It starts with good intentions.
You’re mentoring someone new.
You want to help—so you share what’s worked for you.
Your systems. Your shortcuts. Your way.
And before you know it…
They’re thinking and acting just like you.
That’s the Mini-Me Trap.
Helpful? Sometimes.
But growth doesn’t come from cloning.
It comes from creating space—for thinking, experimenting, and building confidence in their way.
We don’t need copies.
We need diverse, capable contributors who bring their own strengths to the table.
So how do we avoid the trap?
Mentoring = Offering a map
“Here’s what worked for me, and why.”
It builds clarity and trust—great for getting started.
Coaching = Helping them build their own map
“What matters most to you here?”
“How might you approach it?”
It centres their thinking, and supports lasting growth.
Try this simple shift:
Mentor first:
“Would it help if I shared how I approached something similar?”
“One thing I’ve learned is…”Then coach:
“What have you already considered?”
“What outcome are you aiming for?”
“What’s one next step you could try?”
These aren’t just questions.
They’re invitations—to think, to own, to grow.
Because the goal was never to create a Mini-Me.
It’s to grow someone into a strong, clear, confident version of themselves.
So next time you’re mentoring, pause and ask:
Am I handing over my map—or helping them draw theirs?
Let’s keep growing strong thinkers—not just good followers.
And let’s grow alongside them.
Go well this week,
MA :-)
Turning Resistance into Reflection - How to coach when people push back
Turning Resistance into Reflection
How to coach when people push back
Every leader’s been there.
You offer support, a new idea, a shift worth exploring…
…and get folded arms, “I’ve tried that,” or quiet nods with no follow-through.
It’s easy to get discouraged—or double down, hoping more explanation will help.
But what if resistance isn’t defiance?
What if it’s data?
Behind most pushback is something deeper:
→ A value that feels threatened
→ A past experience still lingering
→ A belief about how things should be
→ Or fear—of failure, exposure, or not being enough
When we meet resistance with curiosity, not control, we invite reflection.
And that’s where growth begins.
What helps in the moment:
Listen beneath the surface
“This won’t work” often means “I’m not sure I can.”
Try:
→ “Can you tell me more about that?”
→ “What’s your past experience been like?”
→ “What might make this feel doable?”Normalise discomfort
Change is messy. Feeling unsure doesn’t mean failing.
→ “It’s okay to wobble. Let’s find one small step together.”Look for the wisdom in the resistance
Pushback often protects something important—like identity, autonomy, or care.
Can we honour that, while gently inviting a shift?Shift from telling to teaming
Not “Here’s what you should do,” but:
→ “What could this look like together?”
→ “How might we adapt this for your space?”Celebrate what’s already working
Even small wins matter. Acknowledge them.
Sometimes the courage to try starts with being seen.
The heart of it:
Pushback doesn’t mean they won’t.
It just means they’re not ready yet.
And our job isn’t to force readiness—it’s to hold space for it.
To coach with empathy.
To trust the slow work of change.
And to believe that resistance, with time and care, can become reflection.
Let’s keep learning, together.
That’s where the real magic lives.
Go well this week,
MA :-)
How Do I Say “No”?
How Do I Say “No”?
It’s easy to believe that good leadership means saying yes.
Be helpful. Be across everything. Be available.
But all those yeses add up.
Calendars overflow.
The real work gets squeezed into the edges.
You end up busy—but not focused.
Here’s what I’ve learned:
Saying no isn’t being difficult.
It’s being deliberate.
Every yes costs something.
And sometimes, that cost is too high.
What’s helped?
A Don’t Do List.
Be just as clear about what you won’t take on as what you will.
It’s simple—but powerful.
We often wear busyness like a badge.
But busy ≠ effective.
A Don’t Do List helps protect what matters most.
Here’s how I’m learning to build mine:
🔸 Start with purpose
What’s essential in your role right now?
What actually creates value?
When you know that, distractions are easier to spot—and say no to.
🔸 Notice what drains you
What meetings, tasks, or requests don’t really need you?
Track those. That’s where your Don’t Do List begins.
🔸 Practise saying no—with kindness
Saying no doesn’t mean closing the door. It might sound like:
→ “Thanks for thinking of me—I’m at capacity.”
→ “I can’t take this on now, but keep me in the loop.”
→ “I need to focus on other priorities right now.”
The shift:
Saying no isn’t stepping back.
It’s showing up better—calm, focused, and present.
Because when we prune what’s not essential, we make space to flourish—and to support others with more energy and intention.
So this week, I’m asking myself:
What belongs on my Don’t Do List?
And what might grow if I made more room?
Maybe saying no is one of the most generous things we can do—
For others. And for ourselves.
Let’s keep practising together.
Go well this week,
MA :-)
Cut Back, Grow Forward
Cut Back, Grow Forward
In leadership, it’s easy to default to more.
More doing. More meetings. More yeses.
Staying busy, staying visible, staying ahead.
But what if real growth comes from letting go?
Simon Breakspear calls it the Pruning Principle—
We grow not by adding, but by consciously choosing less.
Letting go isn’t always easy.
It means saying no to things that once mattered.
It means facing the fear that without the busyness… we might not be enough.
But here’s what I’m learning:
When I cut back—on draining meetings, unhelpful habits, or heavy expectations—
I find more clarity
More energy
More space to show up for what truly matters
And maybe most importantly—I’m more present.
Not perfect. Not always.
But enough to remember:
This isn’t about doing less for the sake of it.
It’s about creating room for the right things to grow.
Lately, I’ve been asking:
🔹 What am I holding that no longer serves?
🔹 What’s quietly asking to be nurtured?
🔹 What might flourish if I made more space?
Leadership moves in seasons.
Maybe this one’s about pruning—gently, bravely, with care.
And maybe that’s exactly what’s needed right now.
What are you letting go of, to grow forward?
Let’s keep learning together.
Go well this week,
MA :-)
Slower, Softer, Stronger
Slower, Softer, Stronger
I knew the half knee replacement would be tough.
What I didn’t expect was how much it would teach me—not just about healing, but about slowing down, starting over, and softening into the unknown.
It was supposed to be a fairly straightforward operation, as much as these things can be. But…
In the middle of surgery, my heart stopped.
Stillness. No rhythm. No beat.
The team acted fast—and I was brought back.
Not just to life, but to the people I love.
To breath.
To the quiet, pulsing reminder of what matters most.
This stopped being about a knee.
It became about how I want to live.
Since then, I’ve been learning to walk again.
Physically, yes—but also in how I carry myself.
There’s been a wobble in my steps and in my confidence.
I’ve questioned my strength.
I’ve had to rebuild trust in my body, in time, in myself.
And in all of it, a few quiet truths have stayed with me:
Make haste slowly.
I love momentum—but healing doesn’t care for deadlines. Progress has been found in small, steady steps. Not rushing. Just trusting the pace.
Go at your own speed.
Comparison is tempting. But healing, like growth, is personal. I had to walk my own path—and let that be enough.
Let people in.
I’ve always valued independence, but this season reminded me: strength lives in vulnerability. Letting others help was humbling, and healing.
Gratitude shifts everything.
It’s easy to focus on what’s hard. But noticing what’s improving—what’s possible—has softened my thinking and lifted the weight.
A few gentle ponderings I’m still carrying:
– What if the wobble is part of becoming steady again?
– What if slowing down is how we return to ourselves?
This experience has both softened and strengthened me.
It’s made me clearer on what matters.
Kinder toward myself.
And more connected to the kind of leader—and human—I want to be.
I’m not all the way there.
But I’m still stepping forward.
And maybe, that’s enough for now.
What’s a challenge that’s taught you something about yourself?
Let’s keep sharing.
With care,
Mary-Anne