Let me tell you about the time when I got it completely wrong.

I thought as a junior officer I knew the intricacies of leadership and command. I didn't know at the time how much I had left to learn and still do to this day.

Do not mistake my lack of experience for a lack of willingness to do good. I cared about my team, their families, their prospects and their lives. But in this instance, I subscribed too heavily to a ‘mission first’ mentality at the expense of the team. And I avoided a decision I knew I probably needed to make.

I Knew There Was a Problem

Before deploying to Afghanistan, I had someone in a mid-level leadership position who was responsible for other soldiers. I had concerns about their capability. The warning signs were there. But we were preparing to deploy, and I didn't want to break up the team. I didn't want to create problems for headquarters. And I genuinely believed I could develop the person enough to make it work.

So, I gave them another opportunity. Then another.

There was probably some ego involved too. I'd spent four years in an environment where leadership was constantly assessed. We were graded, compared and eventually ranked against our peers. I wanted to be a good leader. And somewhere in that thinking was the assumption that a good enough leader should be able to fix the problem.

I thought I could change the person rather than confront the decision. I was wrong.

The Decision Didn't Disappear

This is something I've learned repeatedly since. Avoiding a difficult decision doesn't mean we've avoided its consequences. We've usually just delayed them.

During a gunfight in Afghanistan, the person I'd been concerned about froze at exactly the point when I needed them not to. This wasn't a training exercise anymore. There were people relying on us. And I knew immediately that the warning signs I'd been rationalising before deployment had become something considerably more serious.

I had seen the problem. I had opportunities to address it. And I hadn't.

That's a difficult thing to admit because it's much easier to blame the person who froze. But they weren't the only person responsible. I had put them there.

My Avoidance Became Everyone Else's Problem

The consequences didn't end with that incident. For the remainder of the deployment, I couldn't completely trust that role to function without intervention. So, I compensated. I checked more. I became involved in things that shouldn't have required me. Yep, I micromanaged.

At the time, that felt necessary because my priority was making sure everyone came home safely. But every minute I spent operating at somebody else's level was a minute I wasn't operating at mine. The soldiers noticed.

• Why was the boss suddenly involved down here?
• Why was he checking that?
• Why couldn't we just get on with it?

They couldn't necessarily see the problem I was trying to manage behind the scenes. They could see the consequences of it. One decision I'd avoided before deployment had now changed the way I was leading an entire team.

Sometimes Micromanagement Starts Somewhere Else

We talk about micromanagement as though it's simply a personality flaw. Sometimes it is. But sometimes it's a symptom. We don't trust someone's capability, so we check their work. We don't believe they'll make the right decision, so we retain the authority. We don't address the performance issue, so we build another approval process around it.

Eventually the leader becomes the bottleneck.

Looking back, I didn't need better micromanagement techniques. I needed to address the reason I felt I had to micromanage in the first place. That meant having a conversation I didn't particularly want to have. And potentially making a decision I didn't particularly want to make.

Good Intentions Didn't Protect My Team

This was probably the hardest lesson. My intentions were good. I wanted to develop someone. I wanted to preserve the team. I didn't want to unnecessarily damage someone's career. I thought giving them more time was the compassionate leadership decision.

But leadership isn't judged exclusively by our intentions. Our decisions have consequences for other people.

By avoiding discomfort for one person, I had increased the risk carried by everyone else. That's a trade-off I didn't properly understand at the time.

Sometimes supporting one individual and protecting the team point in the same direction. Sometimes they don't. That's when leadership becomes considerably harder.

Have the Conversation Earlier

If I could go back and give that young officer some advice, it wouldn't be particularly sophisticated. Have the conversation.

• Say what we're seeing.
• Explain why it concerns us.
• Give the person an opportunity to respond.
• Set clear expectations.
• Provide support where improvement is possible.
• And then be prepared to make a decision.

Not every difficult conversation ends with somebody being removed. But avoiding the conversation removes almost every possibility of resolving the problem well.

We tell ourselves we're keeping the peace. Often, we're just borrowing trouble from later.

The Lesson I Kept

For a long time, I thought leadership meant being capable enough to solve the problems around me. I think differently now.

Sometimes leadership means recognising that we are becoming part of the problem by refusing to deal with it.

• Patience matters.
• Development matters.
• Empathy matters.
• So does accountability.

There isn't a neat formula for knowing exactly when we've given someone enough time or enough opportunities. That's part of the responsibility we accept when we lead people. But I learned something in Afghanistan that I've carried ever since:

A difficult conversation rarely becomes easier because we avoided it. Sometimes it simply becomes more expensive.