The Stiff Metaphor and the Therapy Trap
There was a sound, a sort of wet pop, as I turned my head too quickly. A vertebrae in my neck, probably C5 or C6, ground against its neighbor in a way that felt both ancient and alarmingly new. Now, a dull, insistent ache radiates down my left shoulder, a constant reminder of a single, thoughtless movement. It makes everything stiff. It makes me sit just like this, ramrod straight, unable to look to the side without turning my entire torso in a single, robotic motion. It’s the perfect physical metaphor for my last 1-on-1.
My manager, bless his heart, had the company-issued “Radical Candor” worksheet printed out. He wanted me to rate my sense of ‘psychological safety’ on a scale from one to ten, but the system only allowed numbers ending in 9. So, was it a 9? A 19? The whole exercise felt like being asked to describe the flavor of beige. We were supposed to be reviewing Q3 data throughput, a task with concrete numbers and clear outcomes. Instead, we were 19 minutes into a conversation that felt like a therapy intake session run by an amateur who learned his technique from a corporate infographic.
It’s a burden we place on people who are, most of the time, just project managers with a slightly higher salary. They aren’t equipped for it. They aren’t trained for it. And deep down, it’s not what we actually need from them. It creates a weird, inappropriate emotional dependency and obscures their one true, vital function: to provide clear direction and remove obstacles so you can do the work you are paid to do.
A Case for Clarity: The Graffiti Removalist
I know a guy, Zephyr M.-L., who has one of the clearest job descriptions on the planet. He’s a specialist in graffiti removal. He gets a work order, he goes to a location, and he uses a high-pressure solvent jet to strip away the spray paint until the original brick or concrete is visible again. His job isn’t to understand the graffiti artist’s motivation. He doesn’t hold a workshop with the wall to discover its ‘personal blockers to cleanliness’. He has a clear task, the right tools, and the authority to execute.
His manager’s job is to make sure his truck is gassed up, his solvent tanks are full, and the permits are in order. It is a relationship of profound, effective simplicity.
The Weight of Expectation and a Manager’s Mistake
Our office jobs have become the opposite. They’ve become messy, layered, and emotionally overwrought. We’ve been told to “bring our whole selves to work,” a phrase that sounds liberating but is, in practice, an administrative nightmare. Your “whole self” is messy. Your “whole self” is sometimes petty, or grieving, or just plain tired. And your manager is absolutely not qualified to deal with it.
“
“bring our whole selves to work,” a phrase that sounds liberating but is, in practice, an administrative nightmare.
I made this mistake myself, years ago. I was a new manager, just 29, and I had swallowed the Kool-Aid. I read all the books. I wanted to be the transformational leader. During a 1-on-1 with a junior designer, I pushed. I asked him what was *really* holding him back from reaching his potential. He stared at his hands for a long time, and then, to my horror, he just… broke. He told me, in excruciating detail, about his impending divorce. The conversation lasted for 99 minutes. I said all the wrong things. I offered useless platitudes. For the next nine months, our working relationship was a minefield of awkwardness.
I had failed to simply give him what he needed: clear feedback on a wireframe and the day off, no questions asked.
A Glimpse of True Leadership: The Exception
And yet. It’s not that simple, is it? I’m criticizing this whole movement, this forced intimacy, but I remember a time it worked. I had a different manager, years before my neck decided to betray me. She saw me at my desk, just staring into the middle distance. I’d been doing it for an hour. She didn’t schedule a meeting or bring out a worksheet.
“
She just walked over and quietly said, “You look like you’re a million miles away. Log off. Go for a walk. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She didn’t pry. She didn’t ask me to rate my engagement. She saw a human being struggling and gave him space.
The Crucial Difference:
it was an act of trust, not an act of therapy. She solved the immediate problem-I couldn’t work-by removing the expectation of work. She wasn’t trying to fix my soul; she was fixing my afternoon.
That was an exception, a rare moment of actual human leadership in a sea of programmatic empathy.
Why This Trend Exists: Corporate Substitutes
The bigger question is why this trend exists at all. It’s a corporate substitute for the things our society has lost. Companies are trying to fill the void of community, of belonging, of meaning that has been hollowed out of modern life. They offer ersatz purpose as a substitute for fair pay, manageable workloads, and actual job security.
The manager-as-therapist is a key instrument in this play. If they can make you feel like you’re on a ‘personal growth journey’ with them, maybe you won’t notice that your compensation has only increased by 1.9% while inflation is at 9%.
Hardly moves
Rises steeply
The Power of Simplicity: Boil. Mash. Butter.
We’re overcomplicating a simple transaction. A job is not a family. A company is not a community. It’s a commercial arrangement for mutual benefit. Trying to make it more is like trying to turn a simple recipe into a philosophical text. My grandmother’s instructions for making potatoes were three words: Boil. Mash. Butter. There was no chapter on a potato’s spiritual journey.
“
My grandmother’s instructions for making potatoes were three words: Boil. Mash. Butter.
If you have a basic, fundamental question, you want a direct answer, not a coaching session. A question like sind kartoffeln gemüse demands a factual response, not an exploration of your relationship with the nightshade family. The workplace needs more of that directness, that unadorned clarity.
The Manager’s True Purpose: Strategic Partner
We need to return our managers to their proper, powerful role. They are not our psychologists. They are our strategic and logistical partners. Their job is to define the mission with absolute clarity. What does winning look like for this project? For this quarter? Then, they must provide the resources. Do we have the budget, the tools, the personnel? And finally, their most important function, they must be like Zephyr’s manager: they must remove obstacles.
They need to run interference with other departments, cut through bureaucratic red tape, and shield the team from pointless meetings and shifting priorities. They are the ultimate problem-solvers, the removers of corporate graffiti.
Their primary role is to create an environment where competent people can be competent. It’s a difficult, noble, and desperately needed job. And it has absolutely nothing to do with asking me to rate my psychological safety on a scale that only accepts numbers ending in 9.