The Moment I Realized I Was Seen as a Problem
Look, I always prided myself on moving fast. If a problem popped up, I wanted to hit it, fix it, and move on. I thought that was being effective. But a couple of years ago, this tendency—the one I saw as pure drive—got me absolutely hammered. That’s when the whole “Knight of Swords” perception became real for me. Not the brave, decisive side, but the reckless, charging-in-with-a-saber side.
I was gunning for a director spot. I had the numbers, I had the experience, and I’d just salvaged this huge, messy project that three other teams had abandoned. I walked into the final review thinking it was a formality. I walked out with a performance evaluation that tagged me as “uncoachable,” “politically volatile,” and “lacking collaborative judgment.”
Uncoachable? I thought I was just being clear. When I said “That workflow is garbage and needs to be rebuilt by Monday,” I meant it efficiently. My boss, bless her heart, told me flat out: “Your intent is 100% focused on results, but your delivery is 100% focused on making people feel stupid. You move so fast, people see a threat, not a leader.”
That promotion, man, it vanished. It wasn’t about competence; it was about the wake I left behind me. This setback cost me serious money and, worse, made me question everything I thought I knew about working with people. I knew I couldn’t fundamentally slow down my brain—it’s just how I operate—so I had to learn to slow down my delivery. I had to change the packaging.
The Ugly Self-Audit: Recording the Damage
My first step wasn’t reading some self-help book. It was tracking the actual damage. I started a private log and spent three weeks documenting every interaction where I sensed friction. I didn’t just write down what I said; I wrote down the other person’s reaction. I watched the tension in shoulders, the immediate defensiveness, the quick shutting down of dialogue. It was brutal.
What I found was that I often launched into solutions before the other person had finished stating the problem. I wasn’t listening to understand; I was listening to interrupt with the fix. I realized that my urgency looked like impatience, and my directness looked like contempt.
I needed a mechanical way to insert friction into my own communication process—a delay switch. I decided I wouldn’t try to be nice; I’d try to be slow. Slowing down my response created space for the other person to feel heard and, critically, it gave me time to polish the sharp edges off my inevitable, speedy conclusion.
Operational Tactics: My Three-Step Delay System
I practiced three specific, tactical maneuvers to neutralize the Knight of Swords effect. I wrote them on a sticky note and put it right on my monitor. I looked like an idiot staring at the note before every Zoom call, but it worked.
- The Buffer Phrase Rule: Before I delivered any critique or proposed a fast change, I had to open with a “buffer phrase.” Something that acknowledged effort or scope, even if I disagreed with the execution. Instead of, “That code is terrible,” I forced myself to say: “I appreciate the amount of time you put into this, and I see where you’re trying to get, but we need to pivot on this approach because…” It buys you three seconds, and those three seconds soften the blow immensely.
- The ‘Ask Three Times’ Rule: When someone presented a plan, my immediate instinct was to jump to the final solution. To counter this, I forced myself to ask three clarifying questions before offering my input. Questions like, “Can you walk me through the constraints you were working under?” or “What parts of this are you least confident about?” This shows I’m engaging with their process, not just dismissing their outcome. People want respect for their effort, even if the result is wrong.
- The Mandatory Pre-Write: If I needed to deliver a massive, quick change (my specialty), I had to write the implementation plan out first. Not just the steps, but the “Why.” I used to just bark orders. Now, I send a short document outlining the necessity and the risks I’ve already considered. This demonstrates that my speed isn’t based on recklessness, but on deep thought done quickly. It translates perceived aggression into visible diligence.
The Payoff: It Isn’t About Being Nice, It’s About Being Believable
Did I become a touchy-feely manager? Hell no. I still move at warp speed, and I still demand high standards. But the whole landscape changed. Suddenly, people started receiving my fast decisions not as attacks, but as clarity. They stopped seeing the wild card and started seeing the guy who gets things done, but who also respects the process enough to explain his thinking.
This whole practice wasn’t about changing my intent; it was about managing perception so my intent could actually land. It’s hard to follow the leader who keeps accidentally stabbing people in the back during a charge. Once I learned to holster the sword for a few extra seconds, people actually started falling in line behind me.
I got that director job eight months later. Funny enough, my boss referenced the “significant improvement in political awareness and collaborative approach” in my final review. All I did was pause for three seconds and write a few extra bullet points, but it made all the difference in the world.
