Jarrah Elliott-Moyle* remembers the time he was becoming a micromanager and relates the circumstances that were leading him down that dark path.
No one sets out to be a micromanager, so imagine my horror when I realised I was becoming one.
I’ve worked with some textbook micros in my time — some harmless busybodies, some cruel dictators.
I can’t hold it against any of them.
I’ve realised that micromanagement is just a phase some people go through as they grow toward leadership.
Looking back on my own experience struggling with micromanagement, there were five clear signs I was down a dark path.
If I had recognised back then what I see in hindsight, I could have changed.
I was nervous about my own position:
Every mistake the team made felt like a personal attack.
I thought moving to this new job was my big break; my chance to prove I was a cut above my colleagues.
I was convinced important people were watching how I performed in this new role and that would make or break my career.
When I arrived, I found myself completely out of my depth.
I didn’t understand the work or the priorities. I didn’t even understand half of the language my team used. I was terrified.
I was so scared about my own position that every time the team did something that I didn’t judge as perfect, it felt like they were putting my career at risk.
In my mind, these people were playing games with my reputation.
If I didn’t check that every piece of work was being done exactly how I wanted, powerful people further up the hierarchy would think I’d failed.
I felt my trust was broken:
Unfortunately, one of the members of the team made some bad choices when I wasn’t watching.
I mean really unethical, borderline illegal things.
This person had made bad choices, but they had also just made a mistake.
They didn’t fully understand what they were doing at the time and they had been unfairly pressured by someone more senior.
I didn’t bother to understand the circumstances.
All I could see was the trust I had placed in this person had been broken.
I stripped this person of any decision-making ability, I wanted to know where they were and who they were talking to at all times.
They weren’t going to get away with abusing my trust ever again.
I didn’t have the capability to build my team’s capability:
The team were good at a lot of things, but I could see gaps in capability.
There were huge holes in their strategic thinking, ability to communicate and capacity to prioritise work.
These were fundamental to doing the job well and, at that time, completely outside of my ability to teach.
The team kept tripping up, but the only help I could offer was abstract statements such as: “You need to think strategically” or “you need to prioritise”.
No one understood what on earth I was talking about so no one learned a thing.
In frustration I just held on to all of the complicated, important, interesting work.
I couldn’t rely on the team’s ability to do things right, so I did it myself.
I was stressed and exhausted:
At one point I was putting in 17-hour days, every day.
Not surprising seeing that I didn’t trust my team to do anything themselves.
My relationship was suffering, I wasn’t eating properly and all the while the team’s output was getting worse.
I couldn’t see it was my own controlling behaviour that was causing the work to suffer.
I had poor leadership:
Normally we can rely on our leaders to recognise when we’re struggling and offer guidance.
So what do you do when you’re struggling with micromanagement and your leader is a textbook micro?
My area head was a micromanager, a rule by fear kind of person — that was the root of my trouble.
After a month or so facing cold fury every time the team missed a deadline, or missed a spelling error, I had had enough of shielding everyone else from the heat I was taking.
I started to display the behaviour that was being modelled for me. I became the person I feared.
I was a micromanager.
Years later I’m much more comfortable with myself.
I know I have strengths and weaknesses like everyone else.
I’m open with my team about what I’m not so good at and how they can support me when we’re working together.
I spend more time getting to know my team and what it needs.
If I can see someone needs to build their capability, I take steps to teach them, providing practical experience and giving useful advice on how to improve.
I accept mistakes happen and provide support (not punishment) to fix the problem.
I’m disciplined about work-life balance.
Sure I have to work late every now and then, but I make up for it later in the week.
I’m better at recognising when I’m feeling stressed and I stop and breathe before taking it out on anyone else.
I’m even brave enough to ask for help when I need it.
Importantly, I’m much better at calling out bad behaviour when I see it.
When I’m faced with a bad leader, I’m upfront about what needs to change.
I work with them if they show they’re willing to modify their behaviour; if there’s something I can do to help, I do it.
If a bad leader won’t change, I leave the team.
There’s no way I’ll let them change me.
* Jarrah Elliott-Moyle worked to protect Indigenous heritage during the Australian mining boom and believes change can only be achieved by understanding all sides of an issue, negotiation and cooperation. He can be contacted at linkedin.com.
This article first appeared on LinkedIn.
