There are moments in life and leadership when the most important barrier in front of us is not the external obstacle, but the story we tell ourselves about why we cannot move forward.
We may decide not to put our name forward for a bigger role because we believe someone else already has the inside track. We may quietly dismiss the idea of further study because we tell ourselves that stage of life has passed. We may avoid a difficult conversation at home, at work, or in a team because the timing feels inconvenient, the emotional cost feels too high, or we convince ourselves that the issue will somehow resolve itself.
At face value, these reasons may sound sensible. Sometimes they are. There are seasons where delay is wise, where capacity is genuinely limited, and where waiting is a considered choice. But there are also times when what sounds like a reason is actually a form of avoidance. The language may be polished, but beneath it sits fear, discomfort, shame, uncertainty, or the desire to protect ourselves from a difficult truth.
This is where the work of emotional agility becomes so valuable. Drawing on the work of Dr Susan David, emotional agility invites us to relate differently to our thoughts and emotions. Rather than being ruled by them, we learn to notice them, name them, and choose our next step in a way that is more aligned with our values.
One of Dr David’s powerful reflective questions is: “Who is in charge — the thinker or the thought?”
This question is deeply relevant in coaching. Many leaders, teams, and individuals do not lack insight. They often know what needs to be done. They know the conversation that should happen, the boundary that should be set, the apology that should be offered, the opportunity that should be pursued, or the pattern that should be interrupted. The challenge is not always awareness. The challenge is agency.
In executive coaching, I often hear leaders describe avoidance in language that sounds strategic. A leader may say, “I am waiting for the right time to give that feedback,” when, on deeper reflection, the real issue is discomfort with conflict. Another may say, “I do not want to overstep,” when the deeper fear is being judged or rejected. A team may say, “We are too busy to pause and reflect,” when what is actually happening is that no one wants to name the relational tension that is quietly shaping the culture.
The question, then, is not simply whether our explanation is reasonable. The question is whether it is true enough, honest enough, and complete enough. Is it helping us live with integrity, or is it helping us avoid discomfort?
One useful signal is repetition. When a meeting is moved once, there may be a genuine clash. When a conversation is repeatedly delayed, something else may be happening. When an important personal matter is postponed week after week, it may no longer be about time. When a leadership issue is discussed privately but never addressed directly, the explanation may have become a shield.
Another signal is the emotional energy attached to the story. When we feel defensive, irritated, anxious, embarrassed, or unusually insistent in explaining ourselves, it may be worth slowing down. Our bodies and reactions often reveal what our words conceal. A tense stomach, a sharp response, a rehearsed justification, or a sudden need to blame someone else may be pointing to something we have not yet fully owned.
This is not an invitation to self-condemnation. It is an invitation to self-honesty. We all protect ourselves. We all avoid discomfort at times. We all construct explanations that allow us to feel temporarily relieved. The danger is not that we do this occasionally. The danger is that, over time, these explanations become habits, and those habits begin to shape the boundaries of our lives.
The first movement back to agency is to choose values over comfort. Comfort is not wrong, but it is not always the best compass. Many of the choices that matter most are uncomfortable. A courageous conversation may feel unsettling. Applying for the opportunity may expose us to disappointment. Asking for help may confront our pride. Naming a broken pattern may disrupt a fragile peace. Yet these may also be the very actions that express who we most want to become.
A values-led life does not remove anxiety. It gives anxiety its proper place. It allows us to say, “This feels difficult, and courage still matters.” It allows us to say, “I feel uncertain, and growth is still important.” It allows us to say, “I would rather avoid this, and yet honesty is asking something of me.”
This is equally true in leadership. A leader who values trust cannot keep avoiding clarity. A leader who values accountability cannot continue tolerating behaviour that damages the team. A leader who values development cannot only offer encouragement and never offer challenge. At some point, leadership requires us to move towards the conversation we would rather postpone.
The second movement back to agency is to widen the time horizon. Avoidance often gives immediate relief, but it can create long-term cost. Not speaking today may feel easier, but it may weaken trust over time. Not applying today may protect us from rejection, but it may also reinforce a story of inadequacy. Not addressing the financial, relational, or professional issue today may reduce anxiety in the moment, but it may increase pressure in the future.
In coaching, I sometimes invite clients to imagine the perspective of their future self. What would the wiser version of you wish you had done now? What decision would make you proud six months from now? What silence might become regret? What small act of courage might change the direction of the next season?
This question often creates clarity. We begin to see that the easier decision today is not always the kinder decision for tomorrow. Relief and peace are not always the same thing.
The third movement back to agency is to view our own situation from another angle. We are often far more discerning when we listen to other people’s explanations than when we listen to our own. We can hear the fear in a friend’s decision not to apply for a role. We can hear the avoidance in a colleague’s repeated delay. We can hear the self-protection in a loved one’s reluctance to have an honest conversation. Yet when the same patterns live in us, they often feel like facts.
A simple reflective practice is to ask: “What would I say to someone I care about if they brought me this exact situation?” This creates enough distance to hear our own story differently. It helps us move from self-justification to self-compassionate challenge. Often, the wisdom we would offer someone else is the wisdom we need to receive ourselves.
This work also applies to teams. Teams develop shared explanations that can become cultural patterns. “We are too busy.” “This is just how things work here.” “There is no point raising it.” “That person will never change.” “We tried that before.” These statements may contain some truth, but they can also become collective permission to remain stuck.
In team coaching, progress often begins when the group can name the story it has been living inside. A team may realise that busyness has become a way of avoiding reflection. Another may see that politeness has replaced honesty. Another may recognise that frustration has been spoken about in corridors but not addressed in the room where it matters. Once the story is named, it can be tested. Once it is tested, new choices become possible.
Agency is not about controlling every outcome. It is about taking responsibility for the next honest step. It is about recognising that while we may not choose every thought, feeling, or circumstance, we can choose how we relate to them. We can pause. We can question the story. We can return to our values. We can act with greater integrity.
The movement from excuse to agency is usually not dramatic. It often begins quietly. A conversation is finally initiated. An application is submitted. A boundary is named. A truth is admitted. A team stops pretending. A leader chooses clarity. A person decides that fear may be present, but it will not be in charge.
Perhaps the invitation is to listen more carefully to the next explanation we give ourselves. Not with harshness, but with curiosity. Is this reason true? Is it complete? Is it aligned with the person I want to be? Is it moving me towards the life, leadership, relationships, and contribution I say I value?
And then the deeper question: Who is in charge — the thinker or the thought?
Written by Nkulu
