Sometimes bad things happen that cause you deep and even long-term embarrassment. 

Four years ago, I was responsible for a collision between two sailboats, both of which were borrowed for use in a race. I was holding the tiller of our boat at the moment of impact and there was no hiding from the damage I had caused. To make matters worse, minutes later, I stumbled and fell on the tiller, breaking it in half. [See “The Focus: What We Can’t See.”]

Earlier this month, I found myself returning to the scene of my crime to sail in the same boats and same event, a friendly annual get-together of members of three sailing clubs. What could I do with the feelings of shame that came up for me, all this time later? 

I’d been reading Brené Brown’s book Vulnerability, so as those familiar with Brown know, the concept of being stopped by one’s sense of shame was fresh. Yet I still considered whether, for the entire day, I could somehow avoid the subject of the 2019 collision and thereby avoid facing fresh evidence of my lack of focus or other weakness? 

Brown’s lessons are pretty straightforward on that point. Even the attempt to hide from what had happened would get in my way, all day long. And while talking about what had happened might feel uncomfortable at first, it would clear the way for a new layer of truth, new possibilities, and new actions.

I learned years ago that one of our primary motivations as humans is to look good. Yet ironically, others are much more responsive when we’re willing to look less than good.

Last month in this letter, I pointed out an error in my coaching and the sort of questions I should’ve been asking instead [see “The Practice of Discovery.”] In a gratifying response, one reader wrote that she’d spent time reflecting on the questions I’d listed and used them to work through a big issue she was facing.

Another client recently admitted he lost his grip on his carefully controlled demeanor with his business partners and “the words came spilling out.” He told them everything he was upset about—and described to me how embarrassing that was for him at the time and even afterwards. Yet his partners listened, reconsidered their own behavior, and responded constructively.

When you let go and say what demands to be said, it can be uncomfortable. It may provoke a defensive reaction. But making a strong statement often results in constructive dialogue, and whether that happens or not, speaking your truth about something is a chance for you to let go of what you’ve been holding. It may sting, like ripping off the proverbial Band-Aid, but now you can move ahead, and others often can, too.

About that collision I had? Going public about it at the time helped me move on and regain confidence. It taught me to bolster my vision through strengthening our team’s situational awareness, particularly when boats are milling around before the starting signals. I still remind my jib trimmer before each race: “You’re my eyes behind the jib.” 

At the regatta last month, I spoke openly about the collision, expressed my regret to our hosts once again, and redoubled my vigilance in avoiding other boats. Admitting my fallibility put me in a mode to keep our maneuvers simple and focus on the basics of speed and teamwork. There was no guarantee our performance would benefit, but our whole team sailed well, and despite the fact that we made some errors, we came through when it counted and won the regatta. More importantly, we had a super fun and friendly day together—with no boat-shop repairs for Monday morning.