Many years ago, while studying at university, I worked in a linen warehouse.
It was physical work. Unloading shipping containers filled with bedding, rugs, shower curtains and other household products. Picking and packing customer orders, preparing pallets and getting everything ready for delivery.
I enjoyed it.
I worked long hours, partly because I was saving money for university, but also because I had a great relationship with my manager. We worked well together, trusted each other and occasionally shared our frustrations about how things were run.
I took pride in my work and was happy to put in the extra effort when it was needed.
Then one afternoon, a conversation with the company's CEO changed how I felt about working there.
When goodwill disappears
As part of my university studies, I was undertaking a project on operations management. I wanted to explore opportunities to improve productivity and streamline processes within a real business.
I approached the CEO and asked whether I could use the warehouse as a case study.
The company would remain anonymous. The research would be completed in my own time, at no cost to the business and without interfering with my work.
He agreed.
I remember leaving his office feeling encouraged.
Over the following months, I researched the operation, developed my recommendations and completed my paper. I received a good grade and was looking forward to sharing what I'd learned.
As promised, I arranged to meet with the CEO after work.
But before I could properly explain my findings, he made it clear that he wasn't interested.
As far as he was concerned, the business was operating perfectly well. I was a university student employed to unload containers, pick and pack orders and prepare products for delivery.
That was my job.
I remember leaving his office feeling quite differently from when I'd walked in.
It wasn't that I expected him to agree with my recommendations. He may have had perfectly good reasons not to pursue them.
But I had hoped he'd at least be interested enough to listen.
Something changed for me that day.
I continued working there, but the enthusiasm and willingness to go the extra mile disappeared.
I began doing what I was paid to do. No more, no less.
And I suspect the CEO never realised what he'd lost.
The emotional balance sheet
Looking back, that experience taught me something about loyalty that I've carried into my professional life.
I think of it as an emotional balance sheet.
Every relationship, whether personal or professional, accumulates experiences over time.
When someone follows through on a commitment, recognises our contribution or treats us fairly, it adds to the trust and goodwill we feel towards them.
When we're dismissed, overlooked or treated inconsistently, something is withdrawn.
Not every withdrawal is significant. Relationships can withstand disagreements, frustrations and difficult moments. Sometimes those experiences can even strengthen a relationship when they're handled well.
But the balance matters.
In the warehouse, my relationship with my immediate manager had built considerable goodwill. Yet one interaction with the CEO changed how I felt about contributing to the organisation.
He hadn't reduced my pay or changed my working conditions.
But he'd changed how I felt about the value of my contribution.
I stayed, continued doing my job and met the expectations of my role. From the outside, very little had changed.
What disappeared was the enthusiasm to contribute beyond what was expected.
A leader can retain an employee while losing much of the commitment and initiative that made that employee valuable.
And because that employee is still doing their job, the loss may never be noticed.
When the balance is strong
I've also been fortunate enough to experience the opposite.
For many years, I worked closely with Dr Harold Hillman, building and developing our consulting business together.
Harold has been much more than a business colleague. He's been a mentor, a trusted adviser and someone who has had a significant influence on the person I've become.
One of the things I valued most was the trust he placed in me.
He trusted me to do my job, take responsibility, find solutions and work through whatever challenges came our way.
He didn't need to constantly check what I was doing or tell me how to approach every problem.
He believed in my ability to figure things out.
That might sound simple, but having someone place that kind of confidence in you can be enormously powerful. It encourages you to take ownership, develop your capabilities and have greater confidence in your own judgement.
Our relationship also extended well beyond the practicalities of running a business.
We could be open with one another, both personally and professionally. We could acknowledge vulnerabilities, talk through difficult situations and be ourselves without feeling the need to maintain a particular professional image.
That depth of trust isn't something that develops overnight.
And of course, we didn't always agree.
We had our frustrations and differences of opinion, as anyone working closely together over many years inevitably will.
But those disagreements existed within a much stronger foundation of mutual respect, honesty and goodwill.
In the language of the emotional balance sheet, there were occasional withdrawals. But the deposits were consistently greater.
And because of that, the relationship could withstand difficult moments without undermining what we'd built together.
Looking back, I think one of Harold's greatest contributions wasn't simply what he taught me about business or leadership.
It was that he believed in me, trusted me to find my own way and helped me become more capable and confident in the process.
That's the kind of investment in another person that can create loyalty lasting well beyond a particular role, project or organisation.
The influence senior leaders underestimate
One thing that strikes me about these two experiences is how differently leaders can perceive the significance of an interaction.
For the warehouse CEO, our meeting may have been a minor interruption in an otherwise busy day. He might have forgotten it by the following morning.
For me, it fundamentally changed how I felt about the organisation.
With Harold, no single conversation or gesture created the relationship we developed. It was the accumulation of countless interactions over time.
Support when it mattered. Trust when decisions needed to be made. Recognition of each other's contributions. And the ability to disagree without damaging the relationship.
Senior leaders sometimes underestimate how much weight their words and actions carry.
A passing remark, a dismissive response or a commitment that isn't honoured can have a lasting effect.
Equally, a genuine expression of appreciation, a willingness to listen or an act of support can strengthen someone's sense of belonging and commitment.
What feels like a small interaction to a leader can be a defining experience for someone else.
And those experiences shape how people feel about the organisation, often far beyond their relationship with that individual leader.
It's not about keeping everyone happy
The emotional balance sheet metaphor could suggest that leaders should constantly make positive deposits, avoid difficult conversations and try to keep everyone happy.
That's not what I'm suggesting.
Leadership involves making difficult decisions. Sometimes ideas won't be adopted, expectations won't be met or performance will need to be challenged.
Those moments don't automatically damage loyalty.
Much depends on how they're handled.
People can accept an unwelcome decision while still feeling respected. They can disagree with a leader and remain committed to working with them.
The warehouse CEO didn't need to implement my recommendations.
He didn't even need to agree with them.
But taking the time to listen, acknowledge the effort and perhaps explain why the suggestions weren't suitable would have created a very different experience.
Sometimes the difference between strengthening and damaging a relationship is surprisingly small.
What does your emotional balance sheet look like?
I wonder how often senior leaders stop to consider the balance of goodwill within their organisations.
Not simply whether people are satisfied with their jobs or planning to stay, but whether they genuinely feel valued, respected and willing to contribute.
Are promises being kept? Are contributions recognised? Are difficult decisions being handled fairly? Do people feel comfortable challenging ideas or offering different perspectives?
And perhaps most importantly, are leaders aware of the effect their everyday interactions have on others?
Financial balance sheets provide a picture of an organisation's economic position.
An emotional balance sheet, if we could see one, might reveal something equally important about its capacity to sustain trust, commitment and discretionary effort.
Because loyalty isn't something leaders can demand or assume will always be there.
It's developed through experience, through countless interactions that gradually shape whether people feel respected, valued and willing to contribute.
Looking back, I don't remember the exact grade I received for that university paper.
But I still remember how I felt walking out of the CEO's office.
And I also know how much Harold's trust and belief in me have shaped the person I've become.
The strongest loyalty isn't secured by asking people to stay. It's earned by giving them good reasons to want to.