“The most common form of despair is not being yourself.” ~Søren Kierkegaard
A few years ago, I was having coffee and catching up with an old friend and trusted mentor, whom I’ll call Ray. He’s a few years older than me, silver-haired, down-to-earth, and a serious listener.
We were at a small coffee shop near our house. I told him about my first year as director, how I went from being a counselor whose identity was built around listening and connecting to suddenly managing budgets, writing reviews, and holding people accountable.
I said, “I don’t know what I’m doing. Every time I ask for help, I feel like I’m inconveniencing people.”
Ray nodded slowly. “That sounds like a lot of trouble,” he said. “It’s no wonder you’re having a hard time transitioning.”
I continued to add to the list and build my case. “And all the criticism I get doesn’t help,” I said. “People say I’m too kind, I’m not strong enough on policy, I don’t follow restrictions enough. But they also want freedom.”
“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” I told him.
He let me finish. Then he leaned forward a little. “Can I tell you something I noticed?”
“Of course,” I said.
“You see yourself as a victim,” he said. “It’s like life is happening to me and I’m waiting for it to stop.”
I sat there for a while, hoping he would give me some advice.
But I knew Ray better than that. He always gave you the truth as he saw it, and trusted you to find your own way.
I drove home with a headache. I told myself that it wasn’t fair, that Ray wasn’t hearing everything, and that I had my reasons for feeling that way. But the words he used somehow found their way into the car to me.
It was still there when I tried to sleep. It was 2am and I was still there, staring at the ceiling.
Victim.
I didn’t want it, but I couldn’t let it go.
I turned these words over in my mind, like turning a stone over in my hand to see it from all angles. I didn’t want to admit it, but I started to see the truth in it.
I continued to harbor dissatisfaction that I never expressed. I didn’t say anything, didn’t try to change the situation, and just quietly built up the feeling of being treated unfairly. It had a name, and that name was what Ray handed me, even though it was very unpleasant.
As I lay there in the dark, a picture appeared in my head. I saw a wooden sign, like the ones you see in old photos, hanging around their necks like labels.
And the words written on the sign were “Victim”.
What was difficult was knowing that I wasn’t being punished by anyone. Somewhere in my heart I had chosen to wear it. That image stayed with me, and something changed.
I started asking myself questions that I felt were more helpful than feeling sorry for myself. If “victim” was a word I didn’t want to have, what word did I want to have? What would it look like if you stood in the opposite position?
I ran through various words. The hero, the victor, the agent, the creator, the survivor, the overcomer. They all taught me something, but none of them were what I needed.
Then, words came up from deep within me. Of all the words, this one caught me off guard. The word that came to mind for me was “steward.”
I looked it up that night and found out that the word “steward” has been around for a long time. Fundamentally, it meant a keeper of the house, someone trusted to protect something that belongs to a story larger than their own.
I didn’t go looking for that word, but maybe that’s why it felt so important. I was asking myself why it had surfaced, what it was showing me, and what it wanted me to understand. It felt more like something I was given than something I had thought of.
I learned that a steward is someone who values what is given to them, stays there with intention, and recognizes that what is given to them is worth cherishing, even the difficult parts.
It wasn’t the opposite of being a victim, but in my case it was an antidote. Victims are defined by what is done to them. Stewards are defined by how they treat them.
Years later, leadership challenges still exist. Criticism still bothers me, especially when I feel like I’m doing my best. However, what is different now is the perspective.
A few weeks ago, one of my most powerful staff members asked for a formal meeting. She sat across from me at my desk and told me in a calm, direct manner that the flexibility I was giving to others was making my job harder.
“If people don’t follow through and there are no consequences, the people doing the work end up shouldering more than their share,” she says. “I feel that’s unfair.”
I was already forming my reaction in my mind. I wanted to tell her that I was trying to relieve the pressure people were feeling, seeing how nervous everyone was and trying to give them some breathing room.
This was accurate, but it also meant the victim was saying, “What about me?” Stewards cannot protect themselves from harsh feedback. Caretakers protect what they are given, and what was given to me in that moment was the truth.
The victim in me wanted to be understood. The butler in me knew I was serving something bigger than my own comfort. This department was something I would look after and not hide behind.
“That’s right,” I said. “And I appreciate that you came to me directly.” I told her that I had been working on setting clearer limits, that her feedback would help make it better, and that people who do outstanding work deserve leaders who uphold their standards.
The transition from victim to controller is an ongoing process. I haven’t made it perfect and I don’t intend to make it perfect. I am still reeling, feeling the presence return around my neck, and have to find my way back.
I used to experience leadership difficulties as something that happened to me, as if pressure and criticism were proof that I didn’t belong. What changed was realizing that this season of my life was asking me something, not punishing me. Ready or not, I was called to service.
Since that night, I have thought a lot about my responsibilities as an administrator. About what it means to stop simply surviving your life and start caring about it. These are two completely different relationships with the same experience.
That night at the coffee shop, Ray knew me well and told me an uncomfortable truth. He wasn’t kind about it. But kindness is not always what we need.
Sometimes we need someone standing close enough to see it to point out the neck signs.
I don’t carry that sign anymore, or at least I try not to. The day I feel it return to my neck, I remember the words that replaced it.
Steward.
A person who values what is given to him. Someone who asks what is expected of them in life, listens, and answers the call.
That’s the person I want to be.
About Daniel H. Shapiro
Dr. Daniel H. Shapiro is a keynote speaker, workshop presenter, and mentor. He is passionate about human connection and the stories we carry with us. For more information about his book, The 5 Practices of the Caring Mentor, or his mentoring and speaking services, please visit www.yourinherentgoodness.com.
