Archives: kindness

When people make a big effort to do something, it can leave them tired in the evening. When many disabled people make a big effort, the after effects can last a lot longer than that.

People with mental health issues or anxiety disorders can push themselves to do something, only to have the knock-on impact hover in their minds for days.

People with physical health problems can push themselves to do something, only to be flattened by the effort and barely able to function the next day.

People with depression can push themselves to do something, only to find that the effort of masking can leave them hollow the next day or even longer.

And disabilities don’t come in tidy little boxes. (I can tick all of those boxes at various times.)

Yesterday, I travelled into London to spend my first day in the office for almost three years. It was strange, exciting, scary, wonderful, joyful, fearful.

The physical effort of driving for two hours there and two hours back (no way I could cope with the train yet!) put more strain on my concentration than I’ve had in a long time.

The physical effort of being on a different, less supportive chair with a desk not setup how it is at home caused a bit of a flare in my chronic back and neck pain. (My fault for not spending more time adjusting.)

The mental effort of smiling, being cheerful, engaging with people in a more casual, off-the-cuff, interruptive kind of manner stretched by introverted tendencies a chunk.

None of these is a reason for me not to have gone. None is a reason to find an excuse not to go another time. None is something that would prevent me doing it again.

But today is a tough day.

If you have disabled people working in your organisation, just be mindful that the impact of the things you (collectively) do may well be far greater than the impact you (personally) experience.

Make space for disabled people to feel able to recover well, whatever that looks like for them. Make space for them to be able to adapt: I had no idea which bits of yesterday would be hardest, but I know them now and I know how I would need to deal with it again.

Allowing our people to work, rest and recover in the best possible way will, in the short term and the long run, help productivity, loyalty and (ultimately) the bottom line.

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This post first appeared on my Linkedin profile.

Harper Lee tells us “You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view, until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.” The question we have to ask is this:

How often do we actually walk in another’s skin and how much do we just project our thoughts and feelings onto them instead?

How often does someone look at a person in a wheelchair and think how awful it must be because they can’t imagine being deprived of their mobility?

How often does someone immediately dismiss the views of another person because they don’t match with their own?

How often does someone think they’re being compassionate when they’re actually being patronising?

I certainly know how often people used to call me “brave” because of the way I dealt with (deal with, but less obviously now) cystic fibrosis and its life-altering, life-shortening effects.

But I’ve never been brave.

It’s not brave to wake up an hour before everyone else because I need to fit in a physio session and nebuliser.

It’s not brave to take time off work when you’re too ill to get out of bed.

It’s not brave to spend months of a year in a hospital room.

It’s life.

But almost no one stopped to properly walk in my skin and understand that it’s not brave to simply live your life. No matter how you deal with the adversity thrown at you, it’s not brave. It’s life.

Next time you find yourself dismissing someone’s views, next time you find yourself feel sorrow or pity or sadness for a disabled person, next time you find yourself in a tough conversation at work, don’t project your views onto them.

Stop and really think about what it’s like in their skin. It’s likely to be very different than you first think.

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This post first appeared on my Linkedin profile.

Kindness always wins.

“Nice guys finished last” is bullshit unless you’re in a fight to the death (which isn’t common for me).

It’s not only a better way to relate to others, it makes you feel better, too.

Alastair Campbell talks about a culture of “maximum openness for maximum trust” during his time at No 10. Whatever you think of his politics, he’s right. And it relies on creating safe spaces to be open in.

As leaders, we have to ask ourselves whether we’re enabling our people to be open with us.

• Do they feel trusted enough to challenge our views and ideas?
• Are we willing to listen, or will we shut them down?
• Do they trust us enough that they can share things they’re struggling with?
• Can they share their concerns about their roles, their challenges outside of work, their hopes, fears, dreams for the future?

From our side, are we being open enough about what we’re doing? About our priorities, our reasoning, our plans. Open enough for our teams to trust us in return? To trust that we have their backs when they need us to?

Trust goes both ways and so does openness. It’s vital to make sure we all contribute to a culture that enables everyone to feel supported and safe enough to tell the truth about anything they feel the need to. It’s not just good practice, it’s good humanity.

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This post first appeared on my Linkedin profile.

“Trust has to be earned,” goes the old adage. But why? How different would the workplace be if we lived in the expectation that our people would do right by themselves, by their company, by us?

I can’t think of any moment in my career when not trusting people has worked out well for me. I can’t think at any moment when trusting people has gone badly.

Not blind trust. Another old adage still stands firm: “Trust in God, but lock your car.” I mean trust that people will do the right thing. Trust that they will do the work.

Trust is almost always repaid. And when it’s not, don’t let one person, one instance of broken trust, spoil it for everyone else. One untrustworthy person doesn’t make everyone untrustworthy.

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This post first appeared on my Linkedin profile.