The Same Person. Three Conversations. One Lesson About Inclusion.

The same brain. The same communication style. The same strengths. The same day.

Completely different outcomes.

Today left me thinking more deeply about inclusion than many diversity talks, leadership books, or communication frameworks ever have.

Not because something dramatic happened.

Not because anyone was cruel.

Not because anyone intended harm.

Quite the opposite.

Every person I interacted with was intelligent.  Well-intentioned.  Professional.  Trying to do good work.

And yet, by the end of the day, I found myself sitting with an uncomfortable realization:

Many inclusion failures happen precisely because nobody realizes they are happening.

Three Conversations

My day contained three very different conversations.

The first was a strategy discussion about a complex transformation challenge.

The second was an interview for a book about gender bias and AI.

The third was a communication training.

All three conversations involved the same person.

Me.

As I mentioned above, all three conversations involved the same brain, communication style, strengths, weaknesses, need for context, tendency to connect ideas, habit of exploring complexity before rushing toward conclusions.

Nothing about me changed.

The environment did.

And that changed everything.

The First Conversation: Curiosity Created Better Questions

The morning began with a strategy discussion.

The group was trying to make sense of a complicated challenge.  There were unclear goals, unclear assumptions, unclear expectations, and multiple possible interpretations of what success might even mean.

As often happens, my brain immediately began pulling on threads.

What problem are we actually solving?

What does value mean here?

What assumptions are we making?

Are we trying to fix symptoms or root causes?

Is this really about technology, or is technology simply the visible part of a much larger organizational challenge?

The conversation moved through leadership, transformation, business value, organizational behavior, customer needs, and AI.

Nobody told me I was overthinking.

Nobody asked me to simplify.

Nobody suggested I was making things too complicated.

The questions were welcomed.

The connections were explored.

The conversation became richer because multiple perspectives were allowed to coexist.

When the meeting ended, I felt energized.

Not because everyone agreed with me.

Because my way of thinking had been useful.

The Second Conversation: Curiosity Created Insight

A little later, I sat down for an interview.

The topic was gender bias and AI.

What began as a discussion about technology quickly evolved into something much deeper.

We talked about engineering culture.

We talked about imposter syndrome.

We talked about leadership.

We talked about trust.

We talked about what happens when people stop trusting their own judgment and start trusting systems more than themselves.

One idea led to another.

One pattern connected to another.

One insight opened the door to three more.

The interviewer did something incredibly simple.

She stayed curious.

When I connected AI bias to imposter syndrome, she explored it.

When I connected engineering culture to inclusion, she explored it.

When I connected leadership to self-trust, she explored it.

At several moments she paused to write something down.

At several moments she reflected that the conversation had expanded her own thinking.

At one point she even thanked me for helping unblock parts of her work.

The same communication style.

The same tendency toward depth.

The same tendency toward systems thinking.

The same tendency to connect seemingly unrelated ideas.

Again, those traits created value.

Again, I left energized.

The Third Conversation: Difference Became Something To Fix

Then came the training…

This is where things became interesting.

Not because the training was terrible.

Not because the trainer was bad.

Not because the concepts were wrong.

In fact, many of the concepts are concepts I teach myself.

Active listening.

Presence.

Connection.

Communication.

Trust.

All valuable topics.

Yet something felt different.

The more the afternoon progressed, the more I noticed a pattern.

In the previous conversations, curiosity had been the starting point.

In this conversation, interpretation became the starting point.

And those are not the same thing.

It Took Me Years To Learn To Ask For What I Need

This part matters.

It took me years to learn how to advocate for myself.

Years.

As a child, I adapted.

As a young engineer, I adapted.

As a woman in technology, I adapted.

As a leader, I adapted.

As someone with trauma history, I adapted.

As someone with neurodivergence, I adapted.

For most of my life, I assumed the answer was always:

“Figure out how to fit.”

Only much later did I learn something different.

Sometimes the answer is explaining what you need.

That sounds simple.

It isn’t.

Especially when you’ve spent decades learning that your needs might inconvenience other people.

Today I did something younger versions of me would never have done.

I explained how my brain works.

I explained that context matters.

I explained that scope changes my answer.

I explained that I process instructions literally.

I explained that artificial time pressure often interferes with my ability to communicate naturally.

I explained that understanding the purpose of an exercise helps me participate effectively.

I explained all of it.

Clearly.

Directly.

Respectfully.

And then something interesting happened.

Nothing changed.

Self-Advocacy Is Only Half Of Inclusion

The exercise remained the same.

The expectations remained the same.

The interpretation remained the same.

Only I was expected to adapt.

And that revealed something I have been thinking about ever since.

Self-advocacy is only half of inclusion.

The other half is whether the environment is willing to respond.

Because inclusion is not simply allowing someone to explain what they need.

Inclusion is allowing that information to influence what happens next.

Otherwise we are simply listening politely while preserving the original system.

And that happens every day in organizations.

Employees are encouraged to speak up.

Then nothing changes.

People are invited to share perspectives.

Then nothing changes.

Different thinkers are welcomed into the room.

Then they are quietly taught how to think like everyone else.

That is not inclusion.

That is assimilation with better marketing.

Listening Is Not The Same As Curiosity

This may be the biggest lesson of the day.

Listening is not the same as curiosity.

You can listen while already believing you know what the other person means.

You can listen while already having an explanation.

You can listen while already planning the correction.

Curiosity is different.

Curiosity assumes you might be wrong.

Curiosity assumes there may be information you do not yet understand.

Curiosity explores before interpreting.

The interviewer demonstrated curiosity.

The strategy discussion demonstrated curiosity.

The training demonstrated interpretation.

That difference changed everything.

The Relational Mind At Work

One of the things I have learned about myself is that I have what I call a relational mind.

I understand the world through relationships.

Relationships between ideas.

Relationships between systems.

Relationships between people.

Relationships between causes and effects.

Relationships between seemingly unrelated observations.

My brain rarely moves in straight lines.

It moves in networks.

A topic about AI becomes a conversation about leadership.

A conversation about leadership becomes a conversation about self-trust.

A conversation about self-trust becomes a conversation about inclusion.

Some people experience that as depth.

Some people experience that as tangents.

Neither interpretation is objectively true.

The difference often depends on whether the listener is curious enough to follow the thread.

The Cost We Never Measure

Organizations spend millions trying to improve innovation.

Millions on AI.

Millions on transformation.

Millions on leadership development.

Millions on process improvement.

Yet I rarely see organizations measure something that may matter far more.

How many ideas died because someone felt misunderstood?

How many future leaders decided to stay quiet?

How many people stopped self-advocating because previous attempts were ignored?

How many different ways of thinking were slowly trained out of the workforce?

How much wisdom never reaches the surface because difference was mistaken for deficiency?

I am fortunate.

I am old enough.

Healed enough.

Differentiated enough.

Self-actualized enough.

That a difficult afternoon does not determine my worth.

But there was a time in my life when it would have.

And that is the part I cannot stop thinking about.

Because somewhere there is a younger engineer.

A quieter engineer.

A neurodivergent colleague.

An immigrant speaking a second language.

A woman sitting in a room where she is the only woman.

A man who feels he does not fit the dominant culture.

Someone carrying imposter syndrome.

Someone who has only just begun learning how to ask for what they need.

And if we keep mistaking listening for curiosity, they may never discover what they could have become.

Sand Between My Toes

At the end of the day, someone described something simple.

Warm sand between my toes.

Sunlight.

Sea breeze.

The sound of waves.

And I felt my entire nervous system exhale.

Because not every problem needs another framework.

Not every insight needs another analysis.

Not every difficult experience needs another optimization.

Sometimes we simply need a reminder that we are human.

That we are allowed to rest.

That we are allowed to exist.

That we do not have to earn our worth through adaptation.

Sometimes healing looks less like self-improvement and more like standing barefoot on a beach.

Why I Care So Deeply About This

This is one of the reasons I wrote The Leadership Leap: Now Without Crash Landings.

And one of the reasons I teach leadership the way I do.

Not because communication is about scripts.

Not because leadership is about controlling behavior.

And certainly not because everyone should communicate the same way.

Real communication is learning how to understand the human standing in front of you.

It is learning to separate behavior from assumptions.

It is learning to stay curious long enough to discover what sits beneath the first interpretation.

It is learning how to create enough safety that people can advocate for themselves without needing to defend their existence.

The greatest communication skill I have ever learned was not active listening.

It was curiosity.

Curiosity transformed a strategy discussion into a stronger outcome.

Curiosity transformed an interview into a conversation that expanded both our thinking.

Curiosity could have transformed parts of the training too.

And perhaps curiosity is the missing ingredient in many inclusion efforts.

Because inclusion is not inviting different people into the room.

Inclusion is allowing their presence to change the room.

So I leave you with a few questions.

Think about the last time someone frustrated you in a meeting.

The last time someone seemed difficult.

The last time someone processed differently than you.

The last time someone asked for something you did not immediately understand.

Did you interpret them?

Or did you become curious?

And perhaps the hardest question of all:

How much wisdom might we be missing every day because we are trying to make dragons behave like lizards instead of learning why they fly?

🐉💚🔥

Quotes That Created Inclusion

These statements invited exploration, curiosity, and partnership.

“That’s a good one.”

After introducing an idea about real male versus female authorship in training data.

Why it mattered:

The response wasn’t agreement.

It was curiosity.

The idea was allowed to exist long enough to be explored.

“Book writing is also a process.”

After I went off on a tangent about data sources.

Why it mattered:

Instead of redirecting me back to the interview structure, she recognized that exploration itself had value.

“Food for thought again.”

After discussing AI, trust, and imposter syndrome.

Why it mattered:

The goal was not to determine whether I was right.

The goal was to think together.

“Thanks for unblocking me.”

After discussing whether she should pursue a PhD and concerns about the topic evolving too quickly.

Why it mattered:

The conversation became collaborative.

Ideas were exchanged rather than evaluated.

“Very interesting conversation.”

Simple.

But powerful.

Why it mattered:

Curiosity was rewarded rather than corrected.

“I hope we reach that 30% for you.”

After discussing belonging and critical mass in organizations.

Why it mattered:

She demonstrated understanding.

She stepped into my perspective rather than explaining it back to me.

“I think that’s a nice one to close with.”

After discussing reconnecting engineers with customers.

Why it mattered:

The insight was acknowledged and given value.

“It was a pleasure to talk to you again.”

Why it mattered:

Human connection matters.

People leave conversations remembering how they felt.

“Amazing.”

“Awesome.”

“Good statistics.”

“I understand.”

All tiny phrases.

Yet each one signaled:

💚 Keep going.

💚 Your thoughts are welcome.

💚 I am following you.

💚 I am not trying to fix you.

Quotes That Created Inclusion In The Strategy Session

These were subtle but important.

“Shall we maybe do a quick introduction round?”

Why it mattered:

Someone noticed not everybody knew each other.

Space was intentionally created.

“I’m just trying to figure out who’s in the room.”

Why it mattered:

Understanding people became important before solving problems.

“What do you think?”

Repeated throughout the discussion.

Why it mattered:

Multiple perspectives were invited.

“I love that.”

When psychology and technology were connected.

Why it mattered:

Different backgrounds became an asset rather than a deviation.

“We’re daring to challenge them then.”

Why it mattered:

Different thinking was framed as valuable.

Not disruptive.

“Maybe we can merge some questions together.”

Why it mattered:

The focus stayed on improving the idea.

Not proving who was right.

Quotes That Reduced Inclusion

Again, none of these are evil.

Many are common.

That is exactly why they matter.

“Maintain eye contact.”

This was presented as a communication requirement.

Why it can become problematic:

Eye contact is not experienced equally by all humans.

For some neurodivergent people, direct eye contact consumes processing power.

The assumption becomes:

“If you aren’t making eye contact, you aren’t listening.”

That is not universally true.

“You should…”

This phrase appeared repeatedly throughout role plays and examples.

Why it can become problematic:

It assumes a correct way of being.

Curiosity disappears.

Prescription takes over.

“The right way to communicate is…”

Various versions of this appeared throughout the training.

Why it can become problematic:

The moment communication becomes one correct model, difference becomes deviation.

“People feel heard when…”

Why it can become problematic:

People are not identical.

What makes one person feel heard may make another person feel controlled.

“You need to…”

Why it can become problematic:

Needs are often assumptions disguised as facts.

“If someone does X, they are probably feeling Y.”

Why it can become problematic:

This was a recurring pattern.

Behavior was interpreted.

Why it matters:

Behavior is data.

Meaning is hypothesis.

Those are not the same thing.

One piece of feedback I received during the training was that I smile too much.

At first glance, this seems harmless.

Perhaps even useful.

After all, feedback is meant to help us grow.

But the more I reflected on it later , the more I realized it perfectly captured the difference between correction and curiosity.

Earlier that same afternoon, I had already explained how I process information.

I had explained that I am neurodivergent.

I had explained that eye contact can consume cognitive bandwidth.

I had explained that context matters to me.

I had explained that understanding purpose helps me participate.

I had explained that artificial constraints can sometimes make communication harder rather than easier.

In other words, I had already opened the door.

I had already offered insight into how my mind works.

What fascinated me is that after all of that, nobody became curious about the smile.

Nobody asked what purpose it served.

Nobody asked what was happening underneath it.

Nobody asked whether it was helping me connect, helping me think, helping me regulate stress, helping me create safety, or helping me stay engaged.

The observation immediately became a correction.

“You smile too much.”

But compared to what?

Compared to whom?

Based on whose nervous system?

Based on whose personality?

Based on whose culture?

Based on whose life experiences?

Because the truth is that I smile when I am excited.

I smile when I am nervous.

I smile when I am connecting ideas.

I smile when I am trying to create psychological safety.

I smile when I am curious.

I smile when I am uncomfortable.

I smile when I am exploring.

Smiling is not something I consciously perform.

It is part of how I move through the world. It was even my nickname since childhood: Smiley.

A more inclusive response might have sounded different.

“I notice you smile a lot. Is that something you’re aware of?”

Or:

“What role does smiling play for you when you’re communicating?”

Or even:

“I’m curious whether that’s helping or hindering what you’re are trying to achieve.”

Now we are learning.

Now we are exploring.

Now we are becoming curious about the human sitting in front of us.

The difference seems small.

But it is enormous.

One approach says:

“Change yourself.”

The other says:

“Help me understand you.”

Only one of those creates inclusion.

What makes this especially fascinating is that throughout my career I have heard both:

“You should smile more.”

and

“You smile too much.”

I have heard:

“You need to be more assertive.”

and

“You are too direct.”

I have heard:

“You should speak up more.”

and

“You talk too much.”

I have heard:

“You need to be more authentic.”

and

“That part of you is too much.”

The contradiction reveals something important.

The feedback is often not about effectiveness.

It is about preference.

And preferences are not universal truths.

The deeper lesson is this:

When we stop asking why a behavior exists and immediately move to correcting it, we are no longer teaching communication.

We are teaching conformity.

And somewhere in organizations all over the world, people are slowly learning which parts of themselves are welcome and which parts need to be hidden.

That is not inclusion.

That is adaptation.

And adaptation comes at a cost.

The Most Non-Inclusive Moment Wasn’t A Quote

Ironically, the most non-inclusive moment wasn’t a sentence.

It was what happened after I explained what I needed.

I explained:

• I need context.

• I process literally.

• Artificial constraints impact my ability to communicate naturally.

• Understanding purpose helps me participate.

The explanation was heard.

But nothing changed.

That is the deeper lesson.

Inclusion is not:

💚 “Thank you for sharing.”

Inclusion is:

💚 “Now that I understand, what should we adjust?”

The first is listening.

The second is curiosity.

The first acknowledges difference.

The second makes room for it.

And that is the difference between diversity and inclusion.

Diversity is inviting the dragon into the room.

Inclusion is rearranging the furniture so the dragon can actually spread its wings. 🐉💚🔥