I still remember the pride I felt.
I was young—very young—for the position I had just earned.
It was my first job as a manager, and not just in any place, but in a beautiful, reputable hotel that I admired deeply. I was thrilled… and a little nervous. One of the challenges? The job was in French—and French wasn’t my first language. I was still learning it, refining it, pushing myself daily to be better.
One of the first tasks assigned to me was to recruit someone for my team. I took it seriously—interviewing nearly 20 candidates, assessing not just their experience but their energy, their attitude, their potential fit with the team. Finally, I found her: someone who felt like the perfect match.
On her first day, I was excited. I wanted her to feel welcomed and valued. So I decided to personally show her around the hotel, give her a glimpse of what working with us would be like.
And then, it happened.
While we were mid-tour, the General Manager approached. He looked at her, then looked at me and asked bluntly:
“Who is this?”
I proudly introduced her as the newest member of my team.
But instead of acknowledging or welcoming her, he exploded—right there, in front of her, in front of other managers, colleagues, and team members.
He raised his voice and scolded me for not following “the proper onboarding protocol.” According to him, every new hire should be formally introduced by HR on their first day. He made sure everyone knew I had done it “wrong.”
I was mortified.
I felt small, humiliated, and deeply hurt. I went home in tears. It was my first task in my new role… and it felt like I had failed.
Was I wrong?
Looking back, 20 years later, I honestly don’t remember anyone telling me about this protocol. Maybe someone did. Maybe not. I don’t want to play the blame game. The real issue wasn’t whether or not I made a mistake.
The real issue was the way it was handled.
That day, I made myself a promise:
I would never lead through humiliation.
I would never use my authority to shame someone—especially not publicly.
And I would always remember that leadership is about lifting people, not crushing them.
It was the first time I truly understood what leadership meant—not in theory, but in real life. Not from a book, but from a moment that hurt deeply and taught me even more.
That manager showed me the kind of leader I never wanted to be.
And maybe that’s how leadership starts.
Not always with knowing what to do, but sometimes with learning what never to do.
Because people will forget what you said.
They’ll forget what you did.
But they will never forget how you made them feel.
If this story resonates with you, if you’ve experienced a moment like this—or if you’re in a leadership role and want to create better human-centered workplaces—let’s talk.
Leadership can be different. You can be the kind of leader people remember for the right reasons.
