The Story Behind the Behavior

What two books about trauma taught me about leading people.

As leaders, we observe behavior every day. We see someone who is defensive when given feedback, reluctant to speak up, a chronic perfectionist (guilty), resistant to change, overly independent, conflict avoidant, or constantly seeking approval. Our instinct is often to coach to the behavior we can see. But what changes when we become curious about why that behavior exists before deciding how to change it?

That question stayed with me as I read The Body Keeps the Score by Bessel van der Kolk and The Myth of Normal by Gabor Maté with Daniel Maté. While both books explore trauma, together they gave me a different lens for thinking about leadership: one that begins with the individual and expands to the systems and environments around them.

The Body Keeps the Score helped me think differently about how deeply our experiences can shape us, including responses that may not be obvious to anyone around us. When we look at an employee, we see what is happening at the surface. We rarely know the experiences that may be influencing how they respond to stress, conflict, feedback, or uncertainty.

The Myth of Normal widened that lens. It pushed me to think not only about how past experiences shape the individual, but also about how our current environments, relationships, cultures, and systems continue to shape us. We can easily assume that the people around us experience work the way we do. They don’t. Every person brings a different history, perspective, set of expectations, and way of interpreting the environment around them. Which leads me to a premise I keep coming back to: What we experience as difficult behavior may have a history we cannot see.

That doesn’t mean leaders should try to diagnose that history. We aren’t therapists, and understanding someone’s personal experiences isn’t a prerequisite for holding them accountable. But it does mean we can approach coaching with greater curiosity and an openness to perspectives beyond our own.

Understanding why someone may behave a certain way does not mean accepting every behavior. Empathy and accountability are not opposing leadership philosophies; they are rather close partners. Understanding does not mean excusing poor performance, disrespect, missed commitments, destructive conflict, or an unwillingness to change. Leaders still have a responsibility to set clear expectations and hold people accountable for meeting them.

What can change is how we begin the conversation. Instead of immediately asking ourselves how we can get someone to change, we can become curious first. What am I not seeing? What perspective might I be missing? Is there another way to approach this conversation that helps this person hear the feedback and move forward? Curiosity doesn’t lower the standard; it just makes us better at helping people reach it.

But curiosity shouldn’t stop with the individual. The Myth of Normal also challenged me to consider what’s happening in the environment around the person. If the same behaviors begin appearing across a team, perhaps the question isn’t just what’s happening with this person, we also need to ask ourselves if we are coaching people to cope with conditions we should actually be changing. If people are consistently exhausted, afraid to speak up, resistant to change, competing destructively, or disengaging from the work, leaders have a responsibility to look beyond individual performance.

What systems, expectations, incentives, communication patterns, or leadership behaviors might be influencing how people show up? Sometimes coaching the individual is appropriate but sometimes the organization needs coaching, too.

In The Myth of Normal, Maté introduces Thich Nhat Hanh’s concept of interbeing, rooted in the understanding that nothing exists entirely separately from everything else. That stuck with me above all else. Culture affects behavior. Behavior affects relationships. Relationships affect trust. Trust affects communication. Communication affects execution. Execution affects performance. And each of those influences the others. Nothing in an organization exists entirely in isolation.

That is what makes leadership so complex. We can’t always solve a behavioral problem by addressing behavior alone, just as we can’t create a healthy culture through value statements or improve execution simply by introducing another process. People, relationships, culture, systems, communication, and performance are interconnected. We can’t create sustainable clarity by fixing isolated pieces of an interconnected system.

Neither of these books is a leadership book in the traditional sense. Yet together, they changed the way I think about leading people. They reminded me that the person sitting across from me in a coaching conversation brings far more to that moment than the behavior I can observe. They also reminded me that I am not simply observing the environment in which that behavior occurs; as a leader, I am helping create it. This brings both opportunity and responsibility.

I can remain clear about expectations while becoming more curious about the person trying to meet them. I can hold someone accountable while considering whether the environment around them is helping or hindering their success. And I can resist reducing a complex human being to a behavior I happen to see in a particular moment. So before I ask someone to change how they’re showing up, I want to ask myself a different question first: Have I taken enough time to understand what might be shaping how they’re showing up?

Book Review: The Courage to Be Disliked

Every once in a while, a book challenges you to rethink the way you show up in the world. The Courage to Be Disliked by Ichiro Kishimi and Fumitake Koga did exactly that for me.

On the surface, it’s a philosophical dialogue between a teacher and a student. Beneath that, it’s a mirror that reflects how deeply we tie our sense of worth to what others think of us. As someone who cares very deeply about “being liked”, this book cracked me open to my very core.


“The courage to be happy also includes the courage to be disliked.” That line stopped me in my tracks. It’s not about being indifferent to others. It’s about recognizing that our worth doesn’t depend on meeting everyone’s expectations. As a leader, that’s both freeing and difficult to live out. Many of us build our careers on earning trust, respect, and results. But when external validation becomes the source of our identity, we end up chasing approval instead of purpose.


This book challenges a mindset that often hides beneath ambition: that success equals acceptance. The truth is, growth and discomfort are inseparable. “When one is disliked by another person, it means that one is free from that person’s task.” That concept reframed how I think about conflict, boundaries, and even feedback.


In leadership, you cannot create meaningful change while trying to please everyone. Real progress demands authenticity, and authenticity will always make someone uncomfortable. The more I sat with that, the more I understood that courage isn’t loud or defiant. Sometimes, it’s quiet and steady, rooted in clarity about who you are and what truly matters.


Another powerful message in The Courage to Be Disliked is that freedom and responsibility are two sides of the same coin. “Freedom is being disliked by other people.” It’s a reminder that when we stop living by others’ expectations, we also lose the excuse of blaming them for our outcomes. True freedom comes when we accept ownership for our choices, actions, and happiness.


That idea resonates deeply in leadership. The higher we climb, the fewer people there are to blame when things go wrong. Accepting full responsibility can feel heavy, but it’s also empowering. It means you have the agency to change what isn’t working and to lead from conviction rather than fear.


If you’re someone who feels the weight of expectations, The Courage to Be Disliked offers an invitation to release that burden. It’s not an easy read emotionally, because it forces reflection. The good news is, this is the kind of discomfort that leads to clarity.
One line I keep returning to is, “You are not living to satisfy other people’s expectations, and other people are not living to satisfy your expectations.” That simple truth has reshaped how I think about success, relationships, and leadership itself.


Courage, I’ve realized, isn’t just about bold decisions or taking big risks. Sometimes it’s about choosing peace over performance. It’s about leading with conviction even when it’s not universally liked, and learning to be okay with that.


What about you? What’s a book that’s challenged your perspective lately?

Vulnerability is a Leadership Discipline

What does it really take to lead well when the outcome is uncertain, the work is highly visible, and failure affects more than just you?

Those are some of the questions I return to whenever I step into something new. Every new opportunity brings energy and possibility, but it also brings exposure and vulnerability. There is no way to fully lead from the sidelines. At some point, you have to enter the arena before you know exactly how things will unfold.

That is why I return to Daring Greatly by Brené Brown at the beginning of every new professional chapter. My first professional mentor gave me a copy when I graduated from our formal mentorship program, and it has stayed with me ever since. I have read it many times, but I revisit it most intentionally when I need a reset. When I stepped into my first executive role, it was one of the first books I picked up again.

What continues to challenge me most about Brown’s work is the idea that vulnerability is not something leaders should outgrow. It is something they have to practice. That still feels counterintuitive at times. Leadership is often associated with certainty, polish, and quick answers. But Daring Greatly argues for something more demanding: the courage to show up fully, take meaningful risks, and stay engaged through the uncertainty, feedback, and discomfort that accompany worthwhile work.

That idea matters because leadership is not only about having a strong point of view. It is also about creating the conditions where others can contribute honestly. In practice, that means naming uncertainty instead of pretending to have every answer. It means asking better questions, inviting dissent, and making room for learning. Teams do not build trust because leaders appear infallible. They build trust when leaders are clear about their values, transparent about tradeoffs, and willing to engage in difficult conversations rather than avoid them.

One of the most practical lessons I have carried forward is this: treat vulnerability as a leadership discipline, not a personality trait.

Like any discipline, it requires intentional practice. Build routines that make candor both safe and useful. Ask what others are seeing that you may be missing. Reward thoughtful risk-taking, not just flawless execution. Address tension while it is still productive, before it grows into dysfunction.

Vulnerability also requires discernment. Not every criticism deserves equal weight. The voices that matter most are not always the loudest; they are the ones willing to step into the arena, engage honestly, and help move the work forward.

For those reasons, Daring Greatly continues to sit close by, both literally and figuratively. I also keep a framed copy of Theodore Roosevelt’s Man in the Arena speech in my office as a reminder of where to focus my attention. It reminds me to value the people who are willing to wrestle with difficult problems, contribute to meaningful work, and keep showing up when the path forward is unclear, while letting go of the judgments of those who choose to remain on the sidelines.

Every time I return to this book, I find myself asking the same question:

Where am I being invited to lead more courageously, not because I have certainty, but because the work matters enough to step into the arena anyway?