They Called Me Persistent

I once worked with a senior leader who called me "Persistent." I don't think it was meant as a compliment.

At the time, I was leading the implementation of a new recruitment software system. It was a significant project involving a lot of people, decisions, processes and moving parts. As the project leader, I was responsible for seeing it through, including working through the stresses and challenges that came along the way.

I asked questions, followed up and raised concerns when something wasn't working or I was hearing from the team. Sometimes I probably pushed a little more than expected, and that's when I'd hear, "You sure are persistent."

I can smile about it now, although I didn't always feel that way. At the time, I felt embarrassed and dismissed. I experienced the comment as criticism rather than inquiry. I became more cautious about when to speak, what to question and how often to follow up.

The software was eventually implemented, and I was proud to have been part of the process. I cared about getting the project done well and about working through the issues collaboratively. But looking back, it's not the implementation I think about most. It's how easily we can form an impression of someone without fully understanding what's behind their behaviour.

Perhaps there was something in my persistence that needed to be heard, something that wasn't coming through in the way I was expressing myself. Instead, the focus became my persistence itself.

Where persistence comes from

Growing up, I was told that I wasn't particularly smart and that I wasn't very expressive. While I've come to understand that differently, there's some truth to that second part.

I've had a lifelong struggle with the act of self-expression. Sometimes I know exactly what I want to say, but getting the words out is hard. My thoughts can move faster than my ability to communicate them, and sometimes what comes out doesn’t have the emotion I was aiming for. That can leave people wondering what I mean, what I know or what I'm trying to communicate.

As a result, I believed I wasn't enough. I worked hard, kept learning, took on responsibilities and pursued opportunities, pushing myself to accomplish things. I think persistence became one of the ways I communicated what I couldn't always express in words. It was a way of showing what I knew, what I could contribute and what I was capable of doing.

And that came with a cost.

There have been times when I've stayed in circumstances much longer than I wanted to, because I didn't believe I would find something better. I kept trying, working harder and hoping that if I did enough, contributed enough or proved enough, something might change.

Looking back, I can see how persistence was serving two very different purposes. Sometimes it was about following through on something important to me. Other times, it was about holding on because I didn't believe I had better options. From the outside, those two experiences might have looked exactly the same, but they felt very different.

What persistence means to me today

My education, my career, the relationships I've built and the work I've done have contributed to a stronger understanding of myself. So has the personal learning that has come with getting older and seeing myself through another lens.

I still struggle with self-expression, and I'm continuing to understand how that has shaped my experiences and relationships. I'm more aware now that what I know, what I intend to communicate and what someone else hears aren't always the same thing. I'm also learning to be more curious about those differences.

My persistence hasn't gone away, but my relationship with it has changed.

These days, it shows up in building my coaching business, through quieter periods and busier ones. It means trying new things, asking better questions and being willing to change what isn't working. It also means recognizing when something I've been holding on to may no longer be right for me, while balancing work, family, my own needs and making time for the things I enjoy.

Perhaps the biggest change is that I no longer see persistence as simply keeping going, regardless of what happens. Sometimes it's knowing when to try another approach, when to ask for support or when it's time to let something go.

The questions we don't ask

In my work as an executive coach, I meet professionals and leaders who are trying to understand themselves, their relationships and the ways they respond to what's happening around them. Sometimes they arrive with descriptions of themselves that have followed them for years.

Some of those descriptions came from other people, while others are conclusions they've reached about themselves. And sometimes they've never really stopped to question them.

I'm interested in what happens when we become curious about those descriptions rather than accepting them as the whole story. What are we actually seeing? What might we be missing? What experiences have shaped the way someone responds? And what might we learn if we ask another question before deciding what something means?

I've become increasingly aware of how easily assumptions creep into our relationships, particularly when someone's way of communicating or expressing themselves doesn't match what we expect. We may think we understand what someone means, what they're capable of or why they're behaving a certain way, and still be missing something important.

I still think about that senior leader on occasion. I do wonder what we might have understood about one another if we'd been more curious. I also wonder how differently I might have understood myself. The most useful question may also have been the simplest.

Why?

If there's a description of yourself you've carried for years, from someone else or from your own conclusions, and you're ready to get curious about it, I'd welcome a conversation. Book a complimentary session with me here.