First time Leaders

August 8 2025

You’re Fired! Great for The Apprentice—But Never Easy

No one forgets their first termination.

Not the employee.
Not you.
And definitely not your nervous system.

It’s the leadership moment no one trains you for, even though it’s one of the few things you will eventually have to do. And when that first time comes, you’re likely to overthink it, rehearse it in the mirror, run worst-case scenarios in your head, and still walk out feeling like you just kicked a puppy in public.

Everyone has a termination horror story or at least, it feels that way. In reality, we tend to dramatize what we thought might happen more than we admit the quiet truth:
“I just felt bad.”

I’ve come to believe this—
I’ve never actually fired anyone.
They fired themselves.

What I mean is, by the time it comes to letting someone go for performance, it shouldn’t be a surprise. They should already know they aren’t meeting expectations. They should understand exactly what needed to improve, and what the consequences would be if it didn’t.

But none of that changes the simple, sobering truth:
At some point, you will terminate someone’s employment.
And you will change their life.

Meet Mike: High Energy, Low Awareness

Early in my career, the phrase “manage out” got tossed around a lot. It was the unspoken motto in an organization built on performance: you hit your targets, or you hit the road.

As a young manager, I didn’t think I could afford to carry low performers. And truthfully, some people just didn’t want to do the work.

Mike though; Mike was an interesting one.

High energy. Talkative. Proud of the work he did. Not exactly the kind of description that screams “he’s gotta go.”

But Mike just didn’t get it.

Our goals were clear. The company expectations were crystal. We had all the reports and metrics you could ever ask for. And somehow, with all of that, Mike still didn’t see it he wasn’t meeting expectations.

As his new manager, I saw the numbers. I knew we had a problem. But I also wanted to give him a shot. I thought if I could just show him what I and my leaders were seeing, I could help him rise to the challenge.

At our first team meeting, Mike came in confident, engaged, full of energy. He was upbeat. Vocal. Optimistic.

And I remember thinking, This is going to be easy.

I could not have been more wrong.

The Excuses Came Fast and I Almost Believed Them

One of my first one-on-one interactions with Mike was when he was covering a territory for another employee. We met up to prep for a customer call, what should’ve been a focused, professional pre-call conversation.

But Mike came in like his hair was on fire.

The upbeat guy from our team meeting? Gone. The person who stood in front of me that day had nothing positive to say.

Well; let me clarify.

In hindsight, what Mike was doing was unloading. Word-vomiting every reason he wasn’t meeting his targets. Every systemic excuse, every team complaint, every external factor you could imagine. And I didn’t realize it right away but Mike knew he wasn’t getting the job done. So when he finally got his one-on-one with his new manager, he used it to steamroll me. Not just to excuse his own performance, but to cast doubt on the entire team.

And I bought it.

Keep in mind, he was saying all this while covering for someone else’s territory. Not even his own accounts.

So you can imagine my reaction.
No, you probably can’t.

The man writing this today would’ve handled that moment very differently. But back then? I let it shake me. I let his version of reality dilute my instincts. It softened my drive to hold him accountable and made me question whether I was seeing the situation clearly.

Luckily, that phase didn’t last long.

The Breaking Point: Same Customers, Same Excuses

Once the dust from our first meeting had settled and I had time to do one-on-ones with the rest of the team, I started spending more time in Mike’s territory.

Each visit was more of the same.

He’d rant about how he couldn’t get the job done because he was always being pulled elsewhere covering, helping, being called in by others. The “why I can’t” list was endless. But now, I knew to ask better questions. And this time, I had scheduled multiple days with him.

Day One looked a lot like the last time I rode with Mike. In fact, it looked identical.
Same customers. Same route. Same talking points. Hmmm.

We had a few good interactions, found a couple of spots where we might be able to grow product volume, and by midday, Mike had finally run out of steam. That’s when the script repeated like your least favorite album starting over.

He started in again, this time adding that a teammate from another market, Tim, kept calling him for help. It was taking up all of his time.

Finally. An opening.

I thought I had the moment. I could show Mike how that off-district work was tanking his results. I could help him draw the line.

Nope. Not with Mike.

When I walked him through it, he lost it.

“Then why is Tim calling me?”
“Why do I have to go down there all the time?”

My answer? “You don’t.”

But Mike wasn’t having it.
“I can’t tell him no. I like Tim. He’s my friend. We have fun when I go down.”

I tried again. “Mike, that work isn’t your responsibility. It’s pulling you away from what you’re actually accountable for.”
He refused to hear it.

That night, after a brutal backseat meltdown from Mike, we wrapped up and I told him, “Let’s meet at the diner on 6th at 7:30 tomorrow. Bring your plan for the day.”
Mike just… went quiet.

That alarmed me. Mike hadn’t shut up all day. Silence wasn’t like him.

But he nodded. “Okay.” And left.

Day Two: The Wheels Come Off

If Day One was confusing, Day Two was exhausting.

More excuses. More yelling. More talk about how he was being asked to do work that didn’t align with his role. I kept listening, but I also started pushing harder.

I showed him his schedule. His gaps. His misalignment. I connected his decisions to his results, using his own customer visits as evidence where people were saying things like:

“Oh wow, it’s been a while.”
“Nice to meet you, Mike.”

Nice to meet you?

That pushed Mike into overdrive. He doubled down. Said we didn’t understand the job. Said the company didn’t support the work. And when I finally showed him how to actually close a sale with a customer we’d already seen the day before he snapped.

“Why did you do that? You shouldn’t have asked him to buy those things. Now I owe him!”

I couldn’t believe it.
“What do you mean, owe him?”

Then came the final unraveling.

Mike started ranting about people worrying about him. About missing calls. About his girlfriend being upset because they hadn’t talked. He was spiraling. Fast.

By the time we got back to the diner where I’d left my car, I knew one thing with absolute clarity:

I wasn’t doing Day Three.

I’d audit the customers myself.
Call Tim directly.
Get the truth.
Honestly if I hadn’t seen it, hadn’t heard it all firsthand, I wouldn’t have believed it.

Uncovering the Truth: When Excuses Become Strategy

Following my instincts and digging deeper, it didn’t take long to understand why Mike was so upset. Why he “owed” people. Why he kept dropping everything to help Tim.

At some point, Mike had figured it out:
Helping in another market was the perfect excuse.

And he ran with it.

Yes, he did help occasionally. But it wasn’t because he was being asked. It was because he wanted to. The territory? New York City. He and his girlfriend would go down to the city and meet up with Tim. Go out. Have fun.

Tim, for what it’s worth, didn’t know what Mike was doing. He thought Mike was just tagging along. He didn’t realize Mike was using his name and his territory as a cover story to avoid doing his actual job.

And then came the customer visits.

Most of them? Couldn’t even pick Mike out of a lineup.
They were frustrated, with me, with the company, and with the empty promises they’d been handed. They hadn’t received the service they were promised.

The few that did know Mike fell into two camps:

“He’s great!”
Or: “He’s always asking for stuff.”

Turns out, Mike and his girlfriend would visit customers together, and try to barter. They’d offer company products or services in exchange for things they wanted personally.

I couldn’t believe it.
And as bad as it sounds, it got worse.

The Storage Unit: A Leadership Nightmare

After Mike was terminated, I had to go clear out the storage unit he kept under the company’s name.

It was a scene straight out of National Treasure.

Piles of products. Unused assets. Promotional gear. Cases of chemicals. Thousands of dollars’ worth of company property stuff that never should’ve been in his possession jammed into a 10×30 unit.

He had somehow circumvented controls and built up an inventory that he used for personal projects, side deals, or to curry favor with customers. He’d turned a company job into a personal barter system.

By the end of the third day in his territory, it was already clear:
This wasn’t salvageable.
Mike didn’t need coaching.
Mike needed to be terminated.

And that’s exactly what happened.

The Conversation You Dread Most

I had been yelled at.
I had witnessed erratic behavior.
I had seen Mike lose it because we did the job and sold something to a customer.

So what was going to happen when I went to terminate him?

This is where so many leadership horror stories are born. The legendary “freak-outs.” A few of my favorites?

The salesman who drove through the front door.
The service tech who chased his manager to the car and punched the hood so hard it had to be replaced.
The terminated leader who took the company car on a joy ride… before getting arrested.

You’ve probably heard some version of those.
But here’s the reality no one prepares you for:

Most terminations aren’t explosive.
They’re quiet.
And they’re heartbreaking.

Because when someone realizes it’s really happening, the reaction isn’t always rage it’s vulnerability.

They tell you they need their job for a prescription.
They don’t know how to tell their spouse.
They break down and beg to stay.

And you, if you’re human, you feel all of it.

Not just for them. For the cost of the decision. For the weight of your role.
If you’re still reading this post, I’m guessing you care about the people you manage. So here’s your warning: even when it’s quiet, it can hit hard.

The Termination: What Actually Happened

Mike, the angry, wild, irreverent employee—what was he going to do?

Would he scream at me?
Take the company car and vanish?
Make a scene in the parking lot of a burger joint?

I didn’t know. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried.

We did everything by the book.
I worked with HR. Documented Mike’s performance.
Communicated expectations. Gave him space to improve.
The process took over a month.

Then the day came.

First thing on a Friday, I drove to meet him. Documents in hand. Heart in my throat.

And to my complete surprise;
Mike barely reacted.

I told him it was time to part ways.
Handed him the paperwork. Asked if he had any questions.

He simply said, “No.”
Cleaned out his car.
Shook my hand.
Got in a taxi and left.

That was it.

I sat there feeling… everything.
Relief. Surprise. Even a little disappointment.

It felt too quiet. Too unresolved.
But it was done.

The Aftershock

Later that day, the calls started.

Mike got home and started reaching out, questions I couldn’t easily answer. Stuff about benefits. Final pay. Health coverage. I wanted to help, but I stayed where I needed to:

“You’ll need to reach out to your HR rep. They’ll walk you through it.”

Then came the question that gutted me.

“What do I do now?”

I didn’t have an answer.

I just knew this:
Mike couldn’t work here anymore.
And that’s where my role ended.

It wasn’t until later that the gravity of it really hit me.
He knew it was coming.
He knew he hadn’t done the job.
But losing it still crushed him.

And that’s the lesson I carry with me to this day.

They end it: I don’t

Every time I’ve had to end someone’s employment since, I ask the same questions:

Is this the right decision?
Have they been clearly told what success looks like?
Have they had a fair shot to get there?
What more can I do?

Because when the answer is nothing, that’s when it’s time.

I still believe this:
I’ve never fired anyone.
They’ve fired themselves.

September 30 2024

My first BIG win

TBeam First time Leaders 0

glass façade of tall skyscraper business buildings

One of the first wins I earned as a new leader was something I didn’t fully appreciate until years later. It wasn’t the type of victory most people think of when considering what it means to succeed as a manager or business leader. Often, we’re trained to focus on tangible results like hitting sales targets or achieving key performance indicators (KPIs). These milestones are important, of course, but this particular win wasn’t something you could measure on a spreadsheet.

It came in the form of a person, let’s call him Ronald Wentworth, although that’s not his real name. His story is important because it illustrates that leadership isn’t just about numbers or goals; it’s about people.

Often, when you step into a new management role or receive a promotion, it’s because there has been some form of organizational change. This is a polite way of saying that someone before you probably wasn’t meeting expectations, or the performance of the group wasn’t up to par. In other words, you’re often walking into a situation with a history of underperformance, and that’s the challenge you’ve been hired to fix.

To be clear, this isn’t always the case. Sometimes, you’re stepping into a high-performing team, which presents its own unique set of challenges like keeping momentum or pushing performance even higher. But in the case of Ronald, it was different. I had been asked to take over an underperforming team, one that was responsible for selling products across a large geographic area. Our territory covered four states, which added a layer of complexity to the role.

As a young leader, I found myself in a position where those who promoted me naturally felt the need to share their wisdom and insights, which, of course, made sense. When you’re stepping into a new role, especially one that carries significant responsibility, people want to guide you. And while their intentions are good, there’s an important balance to strike between receiving guidance and managing those expectations—a topic I’ll dive into further in a later post, as understanding how to manage your boss is crucial for any leader.

But in this particular instance, what I received from my manager was essentially a rundown of the personnel who would be reporting to me, along with a laundry list of their challenges. And I want to be very clear here these weren’t just minor performance issues. The way these challenges were presented made it seem as though I was inheriting a team with fundamental and deep-rooted problems.

In the weeks leading up to my relocation and the transition into my new role, I was flooded with information about the failures that plagued the group. I was copied on emails from vendors, back-office team members, and essentially anyone who had a complaint or issue related to the team I was about to take over. It felt overwhelming, as though I had been selected to step into what, to put it politely, was a mess. Every interaction seemed to highlight the dysfunction within the team, and I hadn’t even officially started yet.

What made it even more chaotic was the narrative that accompanied all this information. I was repeatedly told that almost every major issue could be traced back to one person: Ronald. According to my manager and various others, Ronald was the root of most of the team’s problems. It was made abundantly clear to me that Ronald wasn’t considered a good employee he was seen as a liability, someone who was dragging the team down. In fact, I was strongly encouraged to release him from the organization as soon as I took over.

This wasn’t just advice; it felt like a directive. Ronald had become the scapegoat for everything that was wrong with the team, and before I had even met him, I was being steered toward the idea that his departure was necessary for any hope of improvement. It’s interesting to look back now and reflect on how easy it would have been to simply follow that path after all, when you’re new and trying to make your mark, it’s tempting to take the advice of those above you at face value. But what I would come to learn, through my own interactions and observations, was that the reality of the situation—and of Ronald’s potential—was far more nuanced than the story I had been told.

This experience highlighted an important lesson: leadership isn’t just about cleaning up after others or following the directives handed down from above. It’s about digging deeper, understanding the people and the dynamics at play, and recognizing that every challenge comes with a human element. In Ronald’s case, the ‘problem’ wasn’t nearly as clear-cut as I had been led to believe, and it would become one of my greatest opportunities as a leader to challenge those initial perceptions and discover the value in people that others may have overlooked.

When I transitioned into the role, I had some preconceived notions about how to handle Ronald, especially given what my manager had told me. The phrase “manage him out” echoed in my head, as I had been led to believe that Ronald was the root of many problems and was steering others in the wrong direction. As a result, I initially thought my main task would be to remove him from the team.

In my first days and weeks, it was incredibly difficult to sit with the discomfort of the existing team dynamic the one I had been warned about. The inclination to make immediate changes was strong, but instead, I chose to pause and observe. What I didn’t realize at the time was that this period of discomfort was crucial for my growth as a leader.

Discomfort, in many ways, is a double-edged sword. On one hand, it can make you want to turn back, give up, or stop what you’re doing just like pulling your hand away from a hot pan. In certain situations, like avoiding physical harm, that instinct is necessary. But in the realm of leadership, business, or personal performance, discomfort is often an opportunity for growth. By delaying any immediate action regarding Ronald or the team, I gave myself the space to learn and develop as a leader. The most valuable lesson I learned during this time was the importance of context.

What I discovered was that the situation I had walked into wasn’t the disaster I had been led to believe. Ronald wasn’t the enemy of the company, nor was he actively causing harm. In fact, the real issue was that the “team” wasn’t functioning as a cohesive unit at all. Over the course of those first few weeks, I realized the importance of observing with my own eyes and forming my own perspective rather than relying solely on the narratives I had been handed.

The irony of the situation was that my manager, who had urged me to “manage out” Ronald, hadn’t spent any meaningful time with him. His views were based on secondhand accounts of customer interactions, without any real investigation into the matter. Ronald’s previous manager fell into the same trap, once telling me, “I don’t have time to go up there; it’s too far.”

This lack of direct leadership was eye-opening. The people in positions of authority, those expected to lead, had essentially failed to do so. Instead of engaging with the situation or the people involved, they had opted to pass judgment from a distance. To his credit, my supervisor did recognize my potential and put me in the role for a reason. While his guidance regarding Ronald was off the mark, he allowed me the space to make my own decisions when I pushed back. He did caution me not to take too long, but ultimately, he gave me the freedom to make the changes I saw fit.

It’s clear by now that Ronald wasn’t “managed out” as I had initially been advised. Not only did he retain his position, but he went on to be celebrated as one of the top contributors on the team. Eventually, he even led that very team, continuing to drive success within the market. But this story isn’t just about rethinking decisions or taking a closer look at the situation; it’s about something much deeper. It’s about the importance of taking the time to truly understand the individual.

You see, it wasn’t until I got into the car and worked alongside Ronald that I began to see the full picture. I started to understand the history, not just from Ronald’s perspective, but also for the entire team. In our conversations, Ronald was able to openly and honestly share where he felt previous leadership had failed. He clarified many of the incidents that I had been warned about before I even took over the team. In those moments, I was grateful that I chose to listen instead of rushing to judgment or offering solutions right away. That decision to listen earned me Ronald’s respect, and ultimately, his trust.

Ronald had been labeled as “negative,” but the truth was, he was confident enough to speak up about his experiences with the company, vendors, and clients. Although his approach wasn’t always perfectly on target, by listening to him, I realized I could help guide him and show him where to focus and how to channel his energy more productively. This became my strategy not just for Ronald but for the entire team. It became evident that no one had really spent time with them on the frontlines, so they had formed their own opinions, set their own goals, and made decisions that suited their individual needs.

Ronald wasn’t necessarily speaking on behalf of the entire team. Each member had been missing the mark in their own way, but Ronald was simply the most vocal about it. Leaning into that discomfort taking the time to truly understand both Ronald and the rest of the team, made all the difference in my success as a leader. In fact, Ronald became one of my most important life lessons.

The title of this insight is “My First BIG Win,” and Ronald was that win. When people ask me what my biggest achievement in my career has been, I don’t think about the awards, bonuses, or record-setting years. I always come back to Ronald. Not because he was the only person I’ve helped develop, or because he was the most successful, but because Ronald unlocked something within me that fundamentally changed the way I lead.

Kaleel Jamison wrote about this concept in The Nibble Theory and the Kernel of Power. The idea is that we all have something we draw power from (I’m paraphrasing here, as it’s been years since I read the book). For me, Ronald became that power source. The lessons of embracing discomfort, trusting myself in the face of outside opinions, and truly understanding context; all stemmed from my experience with Ronald. The man who was supposed to be “managed out” became a top contributor and has now led that same team for many years.

This power center is something I tap into often. It’s become an integral part of my leadership style. Whenever I find myself unsure of what to do, I think of Ronald not just how I impacted his life, but more importantly, how he profoundly impacted mine. It was a true honor to work alongside him and to have had him guide me in what it really means to be a leader.

August 8 2024

Promotion Hangover: Early Leadership Is Mostly Panic

TBeam First time Leaders 0

Prepromotion excitement

You hit your numbers. You outworked half the team. You learned the work inside and out—faster, cleaner, better than most. Eventually, they noticed. You were asked to train others, take the tough accounts, mentor the new guy no one liked. And then it happens: you get the tap.

A leadership interview. In my case, District Sales Service Manager.

It starts with a field ride, eight hours with your Regional Manager pretending it’s casual, but knowing full well it’s a full-shift audition. They’re watching how you solve, how you think, how you treat techs and customers. What makes you “special”? (Spoiler: You’re not. You just care a little more and move a little faster.)

You make it through. Then comes the real test: Gene.

The man who stopped you a few years back or rather, you stopped yourself.

Then came the real interview with Gene. The guy who once blocked this path. Or maybe I blocked it myself. The scheduled hour turned into three, and it’s still the hardest interview I’ve ever had. Gene was a big deal. National Field Service Manager. Big in title, bigger in presence. Think Jack Reacher with a quarterly report

And here’s the part I still think about: Gene didn’t grill me. He disarmed me. Made me relax. Open up. He knew what I know now comfort brings truth, and truth reveals the real hire.

Somehow, I passed. I got the offer. I signed the letter.

Signing that offer letter felt electric. Like flipping the breaker on everything I’d worked toward.

But that feeling? It didn’t last.

Because Day One came.
And reality walked in behind it.

Day One (The Hangover After the High)

You walk in thinking the hard part’s over. You got the title. The district is yours. The respect or so you think. The offer letter is signed, your name’s on the org chart, and suddenly people are looking to you for answers to problems you didn’t even know existed.

That first day hits different.

It’s not imposter syndrome. It’s not nerves. It’s the moment you realize leadership isn’t a promotion; it’s a pivot. The blinders come off fast. It’s like stepping out of your basement into direct sunlight with no sunglasses. As an individual contributor, you had the answers. You took pride in saying “no problem.” Turns out, you hadn’t seen the full problem. Not even close.

You’ve got a lot to learn. And zero time to learn it.

There’s no training for how to step into a room where everyone sees you as “the boss” but still remembers when you were one of them. Where the people you used to drink with at district events now look at you sideways, wondering what you remember and what you’ll use against them.

The pushback is instant. You’re too young. Too new. Too familiar. They remember your stumbles and haven’t seen your growth. And in their eyes, you didn’t just get promoted. You switched sides. You control the schedule now. The raises. The coaching plans. Their futures. And no one’s comfortable with that.

The first meeting is the hardest. You have to lead, and no one, not even you, knows what to expect.

This is the part they don’t tell you about.
Because this is the part that makes or breaks you.

Surviving Week One (Barely)

You get through the first meeting. It’s clunky and awkward. You mostly copy what the last guy did. But no one walks out. No one flips a desk. The team doesn’t come after you with pitchforks. So you call that a win.

If you were paying attention, though, you learned all the inter-personal feels we discussed in the last paragraph.

Realistically though not everyone’s upset. A few are happy for you, maybe they think friendship means protection. Maybe they’re just glad it wasn’t someone they disliked more. And hey, that counts for something. But the shift is already happening.

Your inbox triples. Customers call. Distributors need answers. Vendors want decisions. Everyone’s suddenly urgent. And it’s only week one.

The expectations are high. You’re “the guy.” You had the answers before so obviously, you must have more now. Right?

Wrong. But you fake it anyway.

You make decisions. You take action. You put out fires. You call your team out when they start slinging BS. And it all feels… surreal. Like you’re one mistake away from losing control.

But then something weird happens: you don’t fall.

Because you care. About the team. About the customers. About doing the job well and building a real career.

The decisions that feel like failures? Most of them are fine. A few are actually pretty damn good.

And those interview questions the weird ones that didn’t make sense at the time? They start to click. Turns out, it wasn’t about your answers. It was about how you think.

Eventually, someone tells you. For me, it was my Regional: “We knew you wouldn’t have all the answers. We knew it would be hard. But we saw how you problem solve. And that’s what we bet on.”

What they didn’t say, what most people don’t say, is that most new leaders succeed because they’re just cocky or stubborn enough to push through the pain.

Things start to roll.

You’re not an imposter anymore.
But you’re not really leading either.

You’re just a high-performing individual contributor with a bigger inbox and a longer to-do list, sprinting to save everyone else. And when the sleepless nights start, when you bolt awake wondering if you forgot to send that one email, you realize something has to change.

When It Almost Broke Me

This is the point where a lot of new managers burn out. I’ve seen it happen more times than I can count. They hit the wall—overwhelmed, unsupported, stuck. Some leave the company. Others go back to being individual contributors. Most don’t talk about it.

But I will.

Because this moment broke me too.

It was a Friday afternoon. I was driving home, finally catching a breath, heading out of a dead cell zone when my phone lit up like the Fourth of July. Every sound that thing could make it made. Texts, emails, voicemails. All screaming for my attention.

I pulled over. Let the phone finish its tirade. Then I absolutely lost it.

I’m not talking about a frustrated sigh or a stress tear. I mean full-blown breakdown. I yelled. I cried. I got out of the car on the side of the highway and had a temper tantrum like a man being chased by bees. It wasn’t professional. It wasn’t composed. It was human.

And then I did what stubborn people do.

I got back in the car. I wiped my face. I found the first fire, and I started putting it out.

That day, something in me shattered and something else started to rebuild. My arrogance disintegrated. Whatever pride I had in “figuring it all out” evaporated on the shoulder of that road. I knew, with absolute clarity, that I couldn’t keep going the way I had been. Something had to change.

So I worked. Eighteen straight days. Nonstop. I handled every emergency. Stabilized every issue. Contained the chaos.

And then, finally, I got to work.
The real work.

After the fires were out, I knew the next phase wasn’t just about surviving it was about leading. But where the hell do you start when you’re the one who’s supposed to know? Here’s what I did.

This Happens to Every Manager (The Difference Is What You Do Next)

Here’s the truth: this happens to every manager eventually.

That moment where the pressure, the chaos, the weight of it all nearly breaks you. Sometimes it does. I’ve watched good people hit this wall and either burn out completely or retreat back to being individual contributors. And to be honest, I don’t blame them.

No one warned me.
No one stopped to help.
You’re the leader now—figure it out. Sink or swim.

Far too often, that’s still the reality.
Which is exactly why I’m writing this.

I can’t tell you there’s one right way to lead through it. But I can tell you what worked for me. Not because it’s perfect, but because it gave me traction when everything felt like quicksand.

Step 1: Read a Book. Or Ten.

If you’re here, reading this now, you’re already doing the hardest part: looking for help.

Start with books. Real ones. Ones with stories, not theory. My favorite for new leaders? EntreLeadership by Dave Ramsey. That book gave me language for what I was going through, and practical steps when I had none.

Step 2: Let People Fail (This Is the Hardest Part)

Stop saving your team from themselves.

Yes, they will screw up.
Yes, customers will call.
Yes, it will get worse before it gets better.

But the minute you let go of the idea that everything falls on you, the weight shifts. You start seeing your team clearly who owns problems, who hides from them, who learns from mistakes, and who repeats them.

It also teaches you what your team is actually good at. Your job isn’t to turn weaknesses into strengths. It’s to align strengths with business needs and manage the risk of what they’re not good at.

Take Dan.

Dan wasn’t a people person. He worked in a customer-facing role, but he was too blunt, too technical, and often talked over clients’ heads. For a while, I smoothed it over. I handled the customer calls. I kept him afloat.

Then I stopped.

And that’s when I saw it: Dan was a machine. Organized, follow-through like no one else, owned timelines, executed like it was a mission. So I shifted him. Gave him accounts that required that level of precision ones where execution was the biggest value-add.

He didn’t just survive. He thrived. And so did those accounts.

But I never would’ve seen it if I hadn’t let him fail first.

Step 3: Set Clear Expectations (Not KPIs; Expectations)

This sounds simple. It’s not.

Everyone on your team is in a different place. So your expectations have to be different, too. I’m not talking about KPIs. I’m talking about development, ownership, judgment about knowing what you expect them to grow into, not just hit on a spreadsheet.

Early on, I told my team plainly: “I will let you fail.”

Some were terrified. Others were relieved. The right ones stepped up. The wrong ones filtered themselves out.

But the key is this: if you’re going to let people fail, you have to set the guardrails. They need to know when you’ll step in. You need to know what failure is acceptable and what isn’t.

That clarity builds confidence. Autonomy. Growth.

And it frees you; completely.

It frees you to stop reacting to every fire and start thinking bigger. Start seeing patterns. Start designing strategy. You become a real leader instead of just the overachieving firefighter with a clipboard.

And your stress? It drops. Not overnight. But noticeably.

Final Thought: Leadership Doesn’t Start With Control. It Starts With Clarity.

If you’ve made it this far, maybe you’re sitting in the same chair I once was overwhelmed, second-guessing, holding it all together with caffeine and a half-charged laptop. Maybe you’ve already had your highway breakdown moment. Maybe it’s still coming.

Either way, know this:
You’re not failing. You’re learning.

Leadership isn’t about knowing everything. It’s about being willing to face everything especially the parts you can’t fix right away. And the truth is, no one’s going to hand you the playbook. You have to write your own.

But you don’t have to write it alone.

So read. Reflect. Let your people fail. Set clear expectations. And keep showing up. Because at the end of the day, leadership isn’t about being the hero.

It’s about building people who don’t need one.