I’m nearly three years into being an engineering manager and I’m still regularly surprised by how much of this job is about unlearning.

I came into this role having spent the better part of two decades as a developer and technical lead. Giving feedback on code, architecture, technical tradeoffs, that was just part of the job: clean, technical, and easy - low stakes emotionally.

But zut alors! Feedback for people?! Telling the most technically astute person in the room they are being rude to a client and demeaning their team?! The way they show up in a meeting and suck the energy out of the room?! The habits that are quietly limiting their growth?! The conversation about not performing at the level the role requires?! That’s a different animal entirely. And truth be told, I was avoiding it as much as I could.

As Kim Scott describes it, I suffer from “ruinous empathy.” [:: which is a more diplomatic way of saying I care so much about not hurting someone’s feelings that I end up doing them a quiet disservice ::] It’s really painful because I see it showing up in so many ways.

The voice in my head was saying things like…

“Things were looking a tiny bit better after two weeks so maybe we’re on a good path and I don’t need to have that conversation anymore.”

“I can’t offer a direction to take if I’m not willing to do the thing myself.”

“What if things were misunderstood and they got really mad?!”

I’d tell myself I was being kind by letting things get better on their own in the long run. In the short term, it felt like kindness. But underneath that, I think I was mostly just uncomfortable and the person on the other side had no idea they were missing something they needed to hear. What makes it worse is that I actually was doing a disservice to them as their leader. How can they grow if they don’t know the things that need improving?

Then one day a profound nugget of wisdom dropped in my lap [:: actually a couple of times ::] from a John Maxwell podcast I was listening to on my commute home:

“You are not responsible FOR the people you lead. You are responsible TO the people you lead.”

Something really clicked for me with the change of just one word.

Being responsible FOR someone sounds like a parent. It implies protection, management of outcomes, a kind of benevolent control. If I’m responsible for someone, then withholding uncomfortable feedback is an act of care. I’m shielding them. While I care for my team, there’s a level of personal attachment that can cloud my judgment and provide a level of empathy that is ruinous. [:: see what I did there? ::]

By contrast, being responsible TO someone is something different. It implies a commitment. An obligation to give them what they actually need, not just what feels comfortable to hand over. If I’m responsible to someone, then withholding honest feedback isn’t kindness at all. It’s a failure to show up for them.

That’s when I realized: my ruinous empathy wasn’t protecting anyone. It was protecting me.

I applied this recently in a review I had to write. There were some issues with communication style, overengineering solutions, and a tendency to work in isolation instead of collaborating more.

It would have been easier for me to avoid these issues, find small wins, and let the problems fester. But that wouldn’t have been responsible TO this person. I took the extra time to be thoughtful in my feedback, point out how the issues or actions, not the person, impacted the team, and offer specific suggestions for improvement. I read it over probably too many times, received some feedback from my manager, and then discussed it during our review.

I expected awkwardness. Maybe some defensiveness. What I got instead was a pause, and then: “I can see where you’re coming from and I always want to improve. I’m glad you brought it up.”

I sat with that for a moment after the meeting. All that time I’d spent not saying something, and the person had been half-aware of it and waiting for someone to acknowledge it and provide suggestions to improve. We had one of the best conversations we’d had in months. It didn’t fix everything, that’s a longer journey, but we took a step, and a door opened for future conversations.

I’m telling you right now that I’m far from cured of my ruinous empathy. I still feel the pull to soften, to hedge, to avoid, to wait for a better moment. But I’ve started leaning into that pull a little more: not being afraid of it, and treating that pull as a signal rather than a guide. When I feel the urge to protect someone from a hard truth, I try to ask myself: Am I being kind, or am I just being comfortable?

I hope to have more conversations of a similar nature in the future to do better at being responsible TO my team’s growth and success.

The Maxwell line gave me something I didn’t know I needed: permission. Not permission to be harsh, but permission to trust that the people I work with are adults who can handle honest feedback, and that they deserve it. Being responsible to someone means believing they can grow. That’s a form of respect.

Et Vous? Do you struggle with the line between empathy and honest feedback? Has there been any other insights that help you be responsible to your team and not for your team? Drop me a line and let me know. I need all the insights I can get!