You’re giving a presentation. You’ve just shared an idea you’ve been preparing for weeks. Then you notice someone in the room cross their arms, lean back, and furrow their brow. The instinct, for most of us, is immediate: They don’t like what I’m saying. Maybe they’re angry. Maybe they’ve stopped listening. Maybe I should wrap up and get out. But here’s the thing: When it comes to reading nonverbal cues, you almost certainly have no idea why that person is reacting the way they are. And your assumptions are probably wrong.

When Reading Nonverbal Cues, the Trigger and the Reason Are Not the Same Thing

Research from Dr. Paul Ekman, the psychologist behind the Facial Action Coding System (FACS), identifies seven universal emotions that we can read on the human face across cultures: anger, disgust, surprise, fear, contempt, sadness, and happiness. Each of these emotions has a universal trigger. Anger is triggered by the obstruction of a goal. Sadness comes from the loss of something we value: a job, our credibility, or an opportunity. Fear comes from a perceived threat. These triggers are reliable enough that behavioural analysts, credibility experts, and coaches use them as a framework for understanding what someone might be experiencing. But here’s what that research doesn’t tell you: why someone is feeling this emotion right now. Why is the person crossing their arms in your meeting? They could be angry because your idea threatens a project they’ve spent months building. They could be sad because you just reminded them of a missed opportunity. Their shoulder could be sore. They could have gotten a text from their vet this morning about their pet and be carrying grief they have nowhere to put. Or they might love what you’re saying and be comforting themselves because they wish they’d known it sooner. They might also just be cold! Physical reactions to emotions do tell you something. They just don’t tell you everything. And when we assume they do, we risk getting it wrong.

Single Nonverbal Cues Are Routinely Misread, Even by Experienced Leaders

The crossed arms example isn’t hypothetical. It’s one of the most misread nonverbal cues in professional settings, largely because people feel so certain what it means. We’ve absorbed a cultural shorthand: arms crossed equals closed, resistant, defensive. But a self-hug (which is what crossing your arms actually is) is often a self-soothing response. We do it when we need comfort, when we’re processing something, or when we’re cold. Sometimes it can even signal confidence: I don’t need to open myself up to you. You need what I have. Other times, it may simply mean someone is deep in thought, taking in what you’re saying. Eye contact is another commonly misread nonverbal cue. Conventional wisdom says people avoid eye contact when they’re lying. Research suggests the opposite may be true. Skilled deceivers sometimes use more eye contact, watching your reaction carefully to calibrate their story. Meanwhile, someone avoiding your gaze might be doing so because they feel shame, they’re overstimulated, neurodiverse, or anxious for reasons that have nothing to do with you. A single cue tells you almost nothing. Behavioural analysts look for a cluster: multiple changes that deviate from what’s normal for that person. Not one crossed arm or one averted glance, but a constellation of variations that together suggest something worth paying attention to. That’s not because those cues clearly reveal what someone is experiencing. Instead, they signal that it’s time to ask questions and better understand what the person is experiencing in that moment.

Why Baseline Is the Key to Reading Nonverbal Cues Accurately

This is where relationships matter. The better you know someone, the more useful nonverbal cues become. That’s not because you know what they mean, but because you know what’s different from that person’s normal, or baseline, behaviour. One example: an engineering supervisor with a prominent eye twitch. His team learned quickly that the twitch was simply part of who he was. It was his baseline, constant and unremarkable. What they eventually noticed was that when things weren’t going well, the twitch stopped. That departure from his norm became a meaningful signal. Not because they knew what was wrong, but because they knew something was wrong. That’s the distinction worth making. A variation from baseline is an invitation to ask a question, not a conclusion to jump to. It tells you something may be happening, not what that something is. Cultural, demographic, and individual differences matter here, too. Someone who grew up in a culture where sustained eye contact is considered disrespectful or confrontational will behave differently from someone for whom it’s expected. Someone who fidgets constantly isn’t displaying anxiety. That just may be how they regulate. Or it could be something else entirely. Learning someone’s baseline is an ongoing process, and it pays off most when a conversation is at its toughest.

How Coaches Can Use Nonverbal Cues to Have Better Conversations

It’s easy during difficult conversations (giving feedback, talking about performance, or managing up) to make assumptions about why the other person is reacting the way they are. Their face flushes and you think: they’re angry at me. They go quiet and you think: I’ve lost them. They cross their arms and you think: they’re shutting down. Knowing that emotional triggers are universal and that a single nonverbal cue can have a dozen different causes gives you somewhere else to put your attention. Instead of monitoring yourself through their reactions, try becoming genuinely curious about them: That shift from self-monitoring to curiosity is where coaching begins. When you notice a cluster of changes from someone’s baseline, you don’t need to interpret it. Simply use it as an opening. Ask a neutral, open-ended question. Keep them talking. Let the emotional state they’re in – whatever it is and whatever caused it – become information you’re gathering, rather than a verdict. You don’t have to dig for the reason or try to “out” them in the moment for experiencing an emotion they’re not ready to share. It’s simply another data point. Be gentle and curious. Don’t force the conversation. Sometimes people need time to process what they’re feeling before they’re able to articulate or share their experience. The emotion isn’t about you. Or at least you don’t know that yet. And that uncertainty, once you’re willing to sit with it, isn’t a weakness. It’s the beginning of a real conversation.
This article draws on the work of Dr. Paul Ekman, the Emotional Intelligence Academy’s partnership with Manchester Metropolitan University, and former FBI investigator Joe Navarro.

Key Takeaways:

  • A single nonverbal cue tells you almost nothing. Crossed arms, avoided eye contact, or a flushed face can mean a dozen different things — look for a cluster of changes, not one isolated signal.
  • The trigger and the reason are not the same thing. Emotions like anger or sadness have universal triggers, but the specific reason behind someone’s reaction in the moment is almost never obvious.
  • Baseline matters more than the cue itself. Knowing someone’s normal behaviour helps you notice meaningful deviations — it doesn’t tell you what those deviations mean.
  • A variation from baseline is an invitation to ask, not a conclusion to jump to. Treat it as an opening for a neutral, curious question rather than a verdict.
  • Curiosity is where coaching begins. Shift your attention from monitoring yourself through someone’s reaction to genuinely wondering what they’re experiencing and why.

Meet our expert: Monique Kavelaars, Director, Assessments & Team Coaching

Monique Kavelaars brings more than 15 years of experience helping high-performing teams thrive — first in elite sport and now in corporate environments. An Olympian and Canadian National Team épée fencer, she competed at the Olympic Games, World Championships, and Pan Am Games. As Third Factor’s Director of Assessments and Team Coaching, Monique designs and facilitates leadership programs and workshops for global organizations, bringing an energizing, practical approach that helps teams build trust, communicate, and align around shared goals.

“I know there’s a lot going on in people’s lives that I don’t see: personal challenges, cultural background, identity. How do I make space for that without making it awkward or overstepping?”

When I first moved to Sweden after four years in Paris, I went from feeling fluent and capable to being a complete beginner again. There I was, sitting in a classroom for foreigners learning Swedish, fumbling through sentences a five-year-old could manage. The room was full of strangers. We had nothing in common. A dentist. Engineers. People who’d come for love, for work or for school. A few had no choice but to leave home. But inside that room, we were all beginners. That shared confusion did something: we became friends. A man from Ghana and I bonded over feeling completely lost. And because of that shared experience, it got easier for us to speak Swedish badly out loud. We took more risks with the language because neither of us feared looking foolish in front of the other. When I first walked into that classroom, I didn’t know anyone’s story. What I saw was a room of adults mangling their introductions. What was actually there were decades of careers, entire identities – all set aside to start over for reasons I’d never have guessed sitting next to them. That’s the part of coaching nobody tells you about. At work, what you see in others is only a small slice of their day. What’s actually shaping it is usually invisible. So how do you make space for all of that without making it awkward or overstepping? The answer isn’t to automatically know everyone’s full story. It’s to coach as if there’s always more beneath the surface that you can’t see. Here’s how to get started:

01. Get Curious About the Iceberg

You only ever see the tip. Don’t fill in the rest with guesses. I saw this most clearly when I was fencing at the World Cup. I was competing alongside a teammate from Algeria. It was Ramadan. She was fasting. That meant she had to be up before dawn to eat enough to carry her through the day – which could stretch to 12 hours if her results were good enough to keep her in the competition longer. To most of the room, she just looked a little quieter than usual and slower to warm up. A few competitors assumed she was having an off day. Our coach knew better, and so did the rest of us on her team. So we adjusted around her without making it a production: quieter check-ins, no unnecessary chatter before her matches, and extra time built into her breaks. Nobody outside our circle saw any of that. They just saw the tip of it, a fencer who seemed a little off. The rest – the fasting, the fatigue, the discipline it took to compete at that level while managing both – was entirely beneath the surface. This shows up in offices, too. If someone’s gone quieter lately, replies slower, seems distracted, don’t start with what you think is going on. (“You’re upset you didn’t get to lead the project.”) Ask something genuinely open instead: “I’ve noticed you’re a bit quieter lately. How are things landing for you this week?” You won’t get the full picture on the first question. But if you stay curious, you’ll be able to keep the conversation going until you actually start to understand what’s happening.

02. Build Real Psychological Safety

Safety isn’t niceness. It isn’t a shield from accountability. It’s a pattern people can predict. The Swedish classroom built safety in the way that any team environment can. People admitted what they didn’t know without it costing them. (None of us knew the language, after all.) That’s what Harvard leadership professor Amy Edmondson calls psychological safety. It’s the belief that speaking up won’t get you punished or humiliated. Safety isn’t announced; it’s demonstrated. Naming your own mistake plainly (“I misjudged the timeline on the client deliverable last week. I should have flagged it two days earlier.”) teaches people more than any values deck. They calibrate their own willingness to take risks based on what leaders do, not what’s written on a wall.

03. Balance Support and Accountability

Curiosity isn’t softness. It’s finding out what someone needs and still holding the line. Safety and standards aren’t a trade-off. They work as a pair. Without both, you get either comfort or anxiety, not real performance. When someone’s struggling to hit a deadline, keep the standard and the support as two separate moves. First, state the standard plainly: “This needs to ship Friday.” Then ask a separate question: “What would help you get there? More time, fewer meetings or something else?” Keeping those distinct means the bar doesn’t move; the support around it does. That’s what stops flexibility from quietly becoming a lowered standard. Nobody lowered the bar for my teammate at that World Cup. The standard never changed. What changed was the support around her, which allowed her to meet the standard. The iceberg doesn’t disappear because you ignore it either. It just keeps shaping what you see without you knowing why. Stay curious. Build safety as a pattern, not a policy. Coaching across differences isn’t about lowering standards. It’s about coaching the person who’s on your team.

Key Takeaways:

  • What you see is the tip of the iceberg. Ask open questions that leave room for an answer you didn’t expect, instead of filling gaps with assumptions.

  • Safety is shown, not announced. Naming your own mistakes plainly teaches people more than any policy on the wall.

  • Keep the standard and the support separate. Set the bar clearly, then ask what would help your team member meet it. The bar doesn’t move. The support does.

A senior leader recently told me he wanted better collaboration in his organization. He said his people often found working together exhausting. He asked me for advice. Specifically, how could collaboration be made more “comfortable” when there seemed to be so much tension, conflict and competing priorities on the team? Before I could answer, he suggested that maybe collaboration would be easier if the person on the other side of the table were more open, more interested in alignment and more willing to see other people’s perspectives. Two thoughts came to mind. First, at Third Factor, we just completed a research project on collaboration. One finding stood out: 95 per cent of people believe they are better at collaboration than others. Almost no one thinks they are the problem. Second, the best collaborators I’ve worked with don’t try to make the process easy. They strive to make it effective. And there’s a big difference. I recently asked Olympic ice dancer, coach and commentator Tracy Wilson how she approaches collaboration under pressure. Her response: “Breakdowns are when you break through.”

“95 per cent of people believe they are better at collaboration than others. Almost no one thinks they are the problem.”

The people she most enjoys working with challenge each other, hold different views and are willing to have tough conversations. Working through those moments brings people together rather than pulling them apart, she says. In other words, great collaboration isn’t about avoiding tension or making things feel smooth. It’s about how people handle the tension that’s already there. The difference between good and great collaborators shows up in what they focus on – especially when things get hard.

Do We Have the Right People?

When collaboration becomes challenging, leaders often ask themselves, “Do we have the right team mix? The right skills and personalities? Are roles clear?” These seem like fair questions, but research suggests they don’t tell us much. In 2012, Google ran one of the most rigorous team studies ever conducted. Project Aristotle studied 180 teams to determine which mix of people produced the best results. The outcome: there was no clear link between team composition and performance. It didn’t matter whether people had similar or different personalities, or whether they were friends or strangers. None of it predicted success. Google concluded that who is on a team matters far less than how the team works together. That shifts the question from Who do we have? to What happens between them? After more than a year of research, Project Aristotle found that group norms – not individual talent or personality – drive team effectiveness. Two norms matter most. The first is psychological safety. Team members need to feel safe to speak up, take risks, admit mistakes and challenge ideas without fear of embarrassment or punishment. Without it, individual intelligence never becomes collective intelligence because people stay silent. The second is conversational equity. Put simply, everyone gets to speak. Meetings don’t default to the loudest or most senior voice. Instead, people notice who hasn’t spoken and invite them in. High-performance collaboration, it turns out, depends on who speaks, who listens and what happens when things go wrong – not who’s in the room.

From “I” Gaps to “We” Gaps

This is where Third Factor’s survey of 164 leaders adds something useful. When we asked strong collaborators what skills they wanted to build, they pointed to skills that connect people – listening more deeply, creating clarity, building alignment and understanding others’ needs. They focused on the space between people. We called these “We gaps.” When we asked weaker collaborators the same question, their focus shifted inward. They wanted to speak up more, present ideas more clearly, build confidence and overcome shyness. These were “I gaps.”

“The person in “We gap” mode is curious about what hasn’t been said. They track the energy in the room and notice who hasn’t spoken. When they do speak, they ask questions that bring others in, not questions that make them look smart.”

You’ve likely seen both in meetings. The person in “I gap” mode quietly rehearses what they’ll say while someone else is talking. They’re focused on their own next move. The person in “We gap” mode is curious about what hasn’t been said. They track the energy in the room and notice who hasn’t spoken. When they do speak, they ask questions that bring others in, not questions that make them look smart. This distinction is at the heart of what makes a great collaborator. It’s not about having the most to say, it’s about paying attention to what the group needs.

What Great Collaborators Do Differently

The shift from “I gaps” to “We gaps” separates great collaborators from good ones. When teams struggle, strong collaborators don’t look for more influence for themselves. They work to strengthen the relationships, systems and habits that help the group perform. To see how this plays out, I often think back to Tracy Wilson. She told me about two Olympic skating champions she coaches. At the end of practice, neither leaves right away. Instead, they stay and fill in the ice divots together. These are athletes at the peak of individual performance, each competing for the same gold medal. Still, they choose to take care of each other and their shared environment. As Tracy explains, top performers push, inspire and learn from each other. They believe that they were better because of each other, because this is the culture that has been created. Great collaborators think the same way. They spot pressure points early and work together to address them before they grow. Another coach I spoke with made a similar point. Mel Davidson, one of Canada’s most decorated hockey coaches, helped the national women’s team win four Olympic gold medals and one silver medal. One of the tough challenges her teams face is final cuts. Olympic Hockey teams rely on alternates – players who put their lives on hold, do all the work required to be ready for the Olympics, but unless a teammate gets hurt, will not play and will not win a medal. Early on, Mel told players what she expected from alternates. The message didn’t land. So she changed her approach. Long before final cuts, she brought the team together and asked: What do you expect from alternates? How should they act? She stopped asking players to meet her standard and asked them to define their own. And it worked. By shifting from “What do I expect of you?” to “What do we expect of each other?” the team did the work together. Mel created the conditions to build a shared clarity on expectations. [Note: This dynamic of creating accountability through shared expectations can be further explored in Great Leaders Make Accountability Feel Like a Team Sport].

Trust Accelerates Everything

Scott Vicary is a senior executive I’ve worked with for nearly 20 years. Every time he steps into a new role, he runs a team kickoff focused on alignment and trust. What sets him apart is that he doesn’t hand the team a set of values. He asks them to create it together. As he told me, “They need to feel like they own it. They created it. They’ve got some sort of piece of it they can take with them. When the team creates the values and approach, they carry weight. When they’re handed down, they’re just words.” Scott is also clear about what gets in the way. At a recent meeting, he said, “Just because you have roles that require other people to do things for you doesn’t mean those people will simply listen and comply. The only way we are going to drive innovation and change is if we build relationships based on trust and respect. Without trust and respect, there is no mutually willing effort. And without mutually willing effort, nothing truly innovative gets done.” Scott embodies what makes a great collaborator in senior leadership: he doesn’t treat trust as a soft idea. He treats it as the operating system for everything else.

“That shift doesn’t happen by accident. It occurs when leaders focus on what happens between people, rather than on how individuals perform.”

When collaboration breaks down, Scott focuses on the space between people, not the people themselves. He asks team members to put themselves in each other’s shoes and assume others are acting in the group’s best interest. In his experience, most issues start to resolve when people do this. After a recent kickoff, Scott sent a note that captured the “We gap” in plain terms: “Our success doesn’t rely only on our plans or expertise – it depends on how well we work with the groups around us. Trust accelerates everything.” He also defined what trust looks like: be clear, be consistent, communicate openly – especially when things get hard – assume positive intent and listen carefully under pressure. Scott shared one moment that stuck with him. After a series of wins, one of his managers was invited to breakfast with the board and asked what drove the results. The manager didn’t list his achievements. He said, “I have the support of my leadership and the support of all my peers.” Scott called that a small piece of gold. It shows what’s possible when people shift from mine to ours. That shift doesn’t happen by accident. It occurs when leaders focus on what happens between people, rather than on how individuals perform. The gap between good and great collaboration isn’t filled by better team members or by making things more comfortable. It’s filled by people who pay attention to what happens between them. That’s a shift we can all make.

Key Takeaways:

  • You’re probably not as collaborative as you think. 95% of people believe they collaborate better than others. Almost no one thinks they’re the problem.
  • Who’s in the room matters less than what happens between them. Team composition doesn’t predict success, group norms do. Psychological safety and conversational equity drive high performance.
  • Great collaborators focus on “We gaps,” not “I gaps.” They pay attention to what the group needs — who hasn’t spoken, what’s unsaid, where tension is building — not their own next move.
  • Effective collaboration isn’t comfortable, it’s purposeful. Great collaborators don’t avoid tension. They work through it, and that’s what builds stronger teams.
  • Trust is the operating system, not a soft add-on. Clarity, consistency, and positive intent — focused on the space between people — accelerate everything else.

Meet our expert: Tracy Wilson, Olympic Figure Skater, Broadcaster & Third Factor Sport Advisor

Tracy Wilson how to support someone after failure?
Tracy Wilson is an Olympic bronze medallist and one of Canada’s most respected figure skating coaches and broadcasters. Alongside her late partner Rob McCall, she won seven consecutive national titles and made history as the first Canadian ice dancers to reach the Olympic podium. Following her competitive career, Tracy coached world-class athletes including Olympic champions Yuzuru Hanyu and Javier Fernández, and became a trusted voice for audiences on CBC, NBC, and TSN. As a member of the Third Factor Sport Advisory Board, she brings invaluable perspective on the mindset and methods that help athletes thrive under pressure.

“How do you support someone after failure, especially when the stakes are high and the moment has already passed?”

Knowing how to support someone after failure is one of the hardest things a coach, leader, or mentor has to do. There is no rewind button. The moment has passed, the result is set, and the person in front of you is somewhere between devastated and numb. What do you do?
At the recent Third Factor Client Appreciation Dinner in Toronto, Tracy Wilson was asked how she handles an athlete who has just fallen apart in a big moment. Her answer was honest, grounded in decades of experience in high-performance sport, and it applies just as much in the boardroom as it does on the ice.
Here are six principles drawn from that conversation.

01. There is no one right way to respond

The first thing Tracy will tell you is that there is no script for this. Knowing how to support someone after failure starts with understanding who is in front of you and where they are emotionally before doing or saying anything else.
She acknowledges the complexity directly: “It does depend on the athlete. And at my age, watching what I’ve watched, sometimes these big failures can turn you around and get you going in a better direction. You learn things about yourself. If you can hang in there, it can shoot you right up.”
But she is equally clear-eyed about how difficult it is to communicate that truth in the moment. The insight that failure can become fuel is real, it just can’t always be delivered right away. The job isn’t to rush in with a lesson. It’s to figure out what this person needs, right now.

02. Be present

In the immediate aftermath of a big failure, Tracy’s instinct is not to talk, it’s to listen. Or simply to be there.
“So then it’s really hearing them out. Asking questions, or actually being okay just to sit. And sometimes I have moments where you’re sitting with somebody and it is super uncomfortable, and you’re just focusing on your breath, because you just want to be there. You just want to be a calm presence.”
That phrase, “a calm presence” is worth pausing on. The temptation for coaches, leaders, and mentors is to fill silence with solutions. But in the immediate wake of failure, what most people need is not a fix. They need to feel that someone is with them in it.

03. Help them find what else is true

Once the initial storm has passed, people often start telling themselves a catastrophic story: it’s over, I blew it, I’ll never recover. Tracy’s most consistent move is to gently challenge that narrative. Failure has a way of narrowing our vision, and part of a coach’s or leader’s job is to widen it again.
She pointed to a specific example: someone close to her who failed a major school medical exam by a single point and was convinced his path to medicine was over. Tracy’s role was to help him find a more complete picture of reality.
“It was just trying to help somebody find the truth, because oftentimes it’s exaggerated. When they said to themselves, “This is the worst thing. I can never do this now. It’s over.” And all I am really helping them find is what else is true.”
That simple question, “what else is true?” doesn’t dismiss the failure or minimize the pain. It creates a little space around the story, space where possibility can re-enter. It helps them remember what else is true about themselves: “I am knowledgeable. I am tenacious. I really care about this. I work really hard.” It works just as well in a performance review debrief as it does rinkside.

04. Use hindsight and your own failures

One of Tracy’s most effective tools is perspective: using the person’s own past, and her own.
“The other thing I try to remind them of is hindsight. Have you seen this completely different in the past? And then I try to use examples of past failures I’ve had.”
There is something disarming about a coach or leader who has failed. It signals that failure is not disqualifying but part of the path. When Tracy draws on her own failings, she is not being humble. She is demonstrating that high performance and setback co-exist in every serious career – in sport and in business alike.

05. Help break the spin

After a setback, people tend to replay it over and over. That loop can be hard to break. For anyone caught in that circular thinking, Tracy often recommends something simple.
“Sometimes journalling helps, just to sort of write it down. For me, that would get the spinning out.”
The goal isn’t deep reflection or insight, it’s simply to externalize what’s churning internally so it stops consuming all available bandwidth. For leaders supporting a team member after a setback, even encouraging someone to write down what happened can be enough to shift them out of the spiral.

06. Hold the belief for them

Ultimately, Tracy’s message to anyone supporting someone after failure is one of belief in their resilience, even when they can’t access it themselves.
“You’re stronger than you know. Hang in there, and you’re gonna get to the good stuff.”
Alongside that: question the negativity. Ask whether the catastrophic narrative is actually true. Ask what else is true. Hold both. And when the person in front of you can’t find their own footing yet, your job is to stand on solid ground for them.    

Key Takeaways:

  • There is no script. How to support someone after failure depends on who they are and where they are in the moment. Read the person before reaching for the playbook.
  • Presence over prescription. In the immediate aftermath of failure, a calm, quiet presence is often more valuable than advice. Being comfortable sitting in discomfort is a leadership skill.
  • Ask “what else is true?” Failure narrows vision. The role of a coach or leader is to gently widen it again – not by dismissing the pain, but by creating space for a more complete picture.
  • Draw on your own failures. When leaders and coaches share their own setbacks, they signal that failure is survivable and that the path forward is real.
  • Help break the spin. Writing things down can interrupt the circular thinking that often follows a high-stakes failure.
  • Hold the belief for them. Sometimes people can’t access their own resilience. That’s when a coach or leader holds it for them, until they can hold it themselves.

Meet our expert: Christopher Farris Zabaneh, Associate Trainer

Christopher Farris Zabaneh is a consultant and coach with deep expertise in leadership and communication. As an Associate Trainer for Third Factor, Chris delivers the 3×4 Coaching and Building Resilience programs for organizations including Acuity, CX Rail, RBC, and IGM Financial. With a background spanning mechanical engineering, improv, and executive coaching, Chris brings a rare combination of precision and presence to how leaders communicate and develop others.

“Why does my team say they understand, but then do something different?”

In almost every coaching program I run, someone raises the same issue: they direct their team members to do something – a task, a project, or something else. Everyone listens and nods. Then they go off and do something completely different from what was asked. They said they understood, but clearly they didn’t. Why does this happen? As leaders, we tend to assume the mistake belongs to the team. They didn’t execute correctly. But in many cases, the real problem is how the message was delivered and, therefore, understood. You could say it was lost in translation. Linguists have a term for this: “pragmatic misunderstanding.” It’s what happens when people interpret the same words differently based on context, assumptions, and experience. One reason this often happens is that, early in our careers, we start adopting “corporate speak.” We’re told to “be more strategic,” “show better judgment,” “support the team on this one,” or – one of my favourites – “get buy-in.” These phrases feel meaningful. They seem to carry weight. But they’re also vague, and they certainly don’t tell anyone what to do. So how can we solve pragmatic misunderstandings and offer clear direction that people will understand and follow every time? In the rest of this column, I’ll explain the mistakes leaders often make when conveying a message to the team, and how to avoid them.

The Concept-to-Behaviour Gap

Try this in your next team meeting: Ask everyone to write down their definition of the word “efficient.” Then have them read their answers out loud. If you’re lucky, a few responses will match. Usually, though, you’ll get almost as many different (albeit sometimes related) answers as you have people. That’s not a language problem – it’s a shared-meaning problem. This gap shows up often in office communications: in how leaders give direction, offer feedback, and coach people through performance issues. When we speak in concepts, we’re essentially asking people to match our exact interpretation – or to correctly guess what we mean. Some will guess right. Others won’t. And when they miss, we tend to label it a performance issue (their fault) when it’s really a communications issue (our problem).

What Clear Communication Looks Like

How can we start improving communication? Consider these concept-heavy phrases that managers use all the time, alongside what they should say: “I need you to try harder on this project” becomes “I need you to block uninterrupted hours for this work and check in with me by Thursday if you think we’re going to miss the target.” “Be more patient with this person” becomes “When they bring you a problem, ask them two questions to understand where they’re coming from before you talk about solutions.” “I need your support on this one” becomes “I need you to share your position in the leadership meeting on Tuesday and back the recommendation when questions come in.” See how vague statements and corporate-speak can easily be misinterpreted? And how clear direction leaves almost no room for confusion? We know what we mean when we’re giving directions. But others may not. In each of the examples above, the intent is the same, but only the second version of each is clear and observable. You’re no longer asking people to interpret what you said. You’re showing them what to do.

Define What You Mean In The Next Sentence

You don’t need to eliminate concepts from your communication entirely. They can be a useful starting point because they signal intent. The issue is stopping there. If you use a concept, follow it with specifics. A simple test can help determine if you’re being precise enough: Imagine three people with notepads listening to what you said. Would they all write down the same thing? If the answer is no, or even maybe, you’re not specific enough yet. Shifting from concept to behaviour takes practice, especially if you’ve been operating in corporate-speak for years. For example, telling an employee to “share your draft with the team for input before you finalize it” rather than asking them to “be more collaborative” can feel uncomfortable. You may feel like you’re over-explaining or being too direct. But you’re not. You’re being clear. The good news: Over time, this approach cuts confusion, reduces the need to redo work, and improves performance. It also sets a standard for your employees to follow. When people hear specific, observable language consistently from you, they will start to use it themselves. That’s when real clarity takes hold – and when what you mean and what you say is what gets done.

Key Takeaways:

  • Most communication-clarity problems in teams stem from concept-heavy language and assumed behaviours, not team performance issues.
  • Concepts like “be more strategic” or “I need your support” require interpretation. Actionable behaviours don’t.
  • It’s okay to speak in concepts as long as you follow them with specific, observable behaviour changes.
  • The gap between what you think you said and what your team heard is usually invisible. Ask questions to clarify their understanding.
  • When you consistently model specific, behavioural language, your team will start using it too.

Build Clarity Through 3×4 Coaching

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This article is part of Third Factor’s Story Behind the Story series, where we unpack both iconic and under-the-radar Olympic and Paralympic moments. In this feature, Monique Kavelaars, Director of Assessments & Team Coaching, reflects on lessons from the 2020 Tokyo Games, held at the height of the COVID-19 pandemic. — The plane to Tokyo was silent. Back home in Canada, the Olympics would look the way they always do on polished TV broadcasts: sweeping shots of stadiums, stunning skylines, and close-ups of athletes at their best. But inside the aircraft carrying Canadian athletes to the Games, the feeling was entirely different. There was no buzz. No joking. No shared anticipation. Just quiet. And with it, a growing awareness among everyone on board: These Olympics would not feel like the Games we had all imagined. Normally, the Games are saturated with energy. The host city transforms. Flags line the streets. The weight and pride of representing your country hits the moment you step off the plane. Tokyo was different. These were the Games of 2021, delayed by a year due to the pandemic. The virus was still sweeping the world, and strict health protocols shaped every aspect of the experience. Athletes could arrive only days before their event and had to leave within 48 hours of competing. Movement was restricted. Social spaces were controlled. Spectators were absent. The usual swirl of family, friends, fans, and media simply wasn’t there. What emerged instead was an intimacy that was both unexpected and unsettling. For some athletes, the lack of external stimulation helped. Fewer distractions. Less noise. A clearer path to focus. For others – especially those in individual or multi-day events – the absence of atmosphere created a quiet, persistent question: Is this really the Olympics? At night, the stillness would occasionally break. Teams gathered inside their country residences, setting up projectors to watch events they would normally attend in person. When Italy’s Marcell Jacobs won the men’s 100 metres, the Italian residence erupted. No cameras captured it. The sounds of the celebration instead echoed through the village. The next day, that energy spilled into shared spaces in a way that rarely happens during the usual chaos of the Games. Athletes had to deal with a lot of downtime. With fewer ways to decompress – no exploring the city, no meals with family, no spontaneous celebrations – athletes were left mostly with their thoughts. For those processing a performance, especially one that didn’t go as planned, that isolation could feel heavy. Normally, there is movement, distraction, and connection. In Tokyo, there was often just a quiet walk back to a room. Coaches and federations worked hard to create some sense of normal. In many cases, their support was remarkable. But the conditions were far from ideal. All this raises a deeper question that extends far beyond sport: What do you do when the conditions you prepared for no longer exist? The lessons from Tokyo go well beyond the athletes to offices and boardrooms.

Lesson #1: Perfect Conditions Are a Myth

One of the clearest lessons from Tokyo is that “perfect conditions” are largely an illusion. Athletes spend years preparing, yet competition is always uncertain. They never know exactly how their body will respond, how opponents will perform, or what the environment will deliver on the day that matters most. Tokyo made that impossible to ignore. There were no guarantees. No familiar routines. No comforting rituals. Daily COVID testing became part of life. Every morning meant spitting in a tube and waiting. Stories circulated of athletes testing positive and being sent to the “fever clinic.” Each time, the village would ripple with silent worry. And still, athletes showed up to compete. I remember one athlete in an individual event whose entire Olympic experience lasted nine minutes. One performance. First round. Done. This was not the Games she had imagined. Within 48 hours, she was on a plane home. When we spoke, she was heartbroken. Not just about the result, but about the experience she missed. She couldn’t explore Tokyo. She couldn’t soak up the atmosphere and carry it forward into the next four-year cycle. “I don’t want to go yet,” she said. “I still want to feel the Olympics.” That moment captured the emotional whiplash of Tokyo. Years of preparation compressed into minutes, followed by an abrupt exit from a city she barely saw. And yet, she stepped in knowing this might happen. That willingness to enter uncertainty is the essence of sport. It also mirrors leadership and business more than we wish to admit. At work, we try to control what we can: plans, timelines, strategies, forecasts. We design “ideal conditions” in our heads and on our slides. But at some point, courage becomes simpler than that. We need to ask: What is mine to control right now? Then commit to that fully, even when the picture is incomplete. The bar shifts from “I will only perform if conditions are perfect” to “I will perform under the conditions that actually exist.” Listen to Monique describe how perfect conditions are a myth:

Lesson #2: Self-Awareness Is a Performance Skill

When the external environment changes, self-awareness becomes non-negotiable. It becomes a performance skill. Many athletes rely on specific conditions to bring out their best. Some feed off the energy of a crowd. Others depend on routines and rituals. Others draw strength from the presence of family or familiar faces. In Tokyo, much of that disappeared. Athletes were forced to ask new questions: These weren’t theoretical questions. You could see them play out in ordinary moments, like the dining hall. One day, news spread that a Dutch rower had tested positive. Soon after, their delegation began eating in a cordoned-off section tucked into a corner, behind additional glass partitions. They were in the same room as everyone else, yet unmistakably separated. The signal wasn’t just “they have COVID.” It was the uncertainty of not knowing who might be next. Everyone shared the same building, the same air. Suddenly, the invisible risk became visible. For some athletes, it triggered anxiety. For others, it sharpened focus. Either way, it demanded awareness – and more questions: The same holds true for leaders. In times of disruption, copying what works for others rarely works for us. The best coaches in Tokyo understood this. They protected individual performance needs rather than imposing a single approach on everyone. Self-awareness isn’t introspection for its own sake. It’s knowing what you need to sustain performance when familiar supports disappear – and being honest enough to ask for, or build, those conditions. Listen to Monique describe how self-awareness is a performance skill:

Lesson #3: Presence Calms the System

In Tokyo, just arriving felt like an achievement. Between testing protocols, travel restrictions, health concerns, and constant logistical hurdles, getting to the Games was a maze. For many athletes, coaches, and staff, stepping into the village carried real emotional weight. Thinking too far ahead—to medals, expectations, outcomes – only amplified anxiety. Presence became more than a mindset. It became a stabilizer. Staying anchored to the next task, the next decision, the next controllable action helped athletes manage fear, disappointment, and even success. Because even success was disorienting. Celebrations were brief. Support systems were limited. Within two days of competing, many athletes were back home, sitting on a familiar couch, trying to process an experience that ended almost as quickly as it began. Uncertainty didn’t end with competition. It followed them home. The parallel to today’s work environment is hard to miss. Markets shift. Plans change. AI is reshaping roles and workflows in ways we can see but not yet fully understand. Conditions are moving faster than our slide decks. The leaders who navigate this best aren’t the ones who eliminate uncertainty. They’re the ones who stay present inside it. Presence doesn’t mean pretending everything is fine. It means acknowledging what’s hard, then returning to a simple question: Given everything going on, what matters most right now? Listen to Monique describe how presence can help focus attention:

Beyond Tokyo: Adapting When the Script Changes

The Tokyo Games offered a powerful reminder: resilience isn’t about grinding endlessly. It’s about adapting intelligently when the script changes. It starts with acceptance. Some conditions are out of your control. The first step is to separate what you can’t influence from what you can – and invest your energy there. It also requires honest self-recognition: Finally, presence is a discipline. Returning attention to what matters now – not what you wish were different – creates space for better decisions and better performance. The dining hall in Tokyo captured this paradox perfectly. Athletes moved through masked, partitioned spaces. Delegations like the Dutch, seated behind glass after a positive case, were a constant reminder that uncertainty was everywhere. It was strange. At times chaotic. And undeniably real. Performance didn’t stop because conditions weren’t perfect. It adapted. And that may be the most enduring lesson of all.  

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Meet our expert: Dane Jensen, CEO

Dane Jensen is an expert in leadership and performance under pressure. He is an acclaimed speaker, an instructor at Queen’s University and the University of North Carolina, is a regular contributor to Harvard Business Review, and is the author of The Power of Pressure: Why Pressure Isn’t the Problem, It’s the Solution. Alongside his corporate work, Dane serves on the Board of the Canadian Paralympic Committee.

“Our organization recently announced 5% across-the-board budget cuts. The CEO indicated that there will be further, deeper cuts coming over the next couple of years – but there is no information about when they will come, who they will affect, or how deep they will be. How do I keep people motivated with all this uncertainty?”

First and foremost – this is a very difficult situation. It’s one thing to deal with cuts, but another entirely to have future cuts hanging over the business like the sword of Damocles. Research out of University College London showed that the body exhibits significantly higher levels of physical stress – high cortisol, muscle tension, etc. – when there is a 50% chance of receiving pain (an electric shock in the case of the experiment) vs a 100% chance. When we need to live with this stress over a prolonged period it can be very draining. While there is no easy answer here, there are a few strategies that can help:

01. Acknowledge reality

While it might seem counter-intuitive, it is important to sit with the team and acknowledge the danger rather than ignoring or dismissing it. The Stoics advocated a technique called ‘negative visualization’ in which we play out potential negative outcomes in advance to rob them of their power to create irrational distress. It is far better to work as a group and process reality– “what are the scenarios we are most worried about here? How would the cuts play out? What would it mean for us?” – than to have members of the team playing their own disaster movies in their heads at night on repeat.

02. Keep attention focused on controllables

With reality on the table, the most helpful thing a leader can do is to keep the team’s attention focused on what is within their control. Helplessness is at the root of the negative impact of stress, and the goal here is to feed a sense of agency. There are two parts to this discussion: ‘where can we act to influence how this plays out?’ and ‘what is out of our control that we need to let go of?’ Clarity on what we are not going to focus on is as important as clarity on where we do want to focus.

03. Help people find a reason to commit

Motivation is energy, and energy comes from having a good answer to the question ‘why am I doing this?’. For people to lean in and commit they need to be able to answer at least one of two questions: Helping each person on the team clear a line of sight to how this period could help strengthen or develop them, and how their efforts will contribute to others, is a very valuable use of a leader’s time. Through it all, the leader’s job is to help people focus their attention productively: to avoid the night-time doom loops by surfacing and processing fears head-on, identifying the things that are a waste of time and attention and redirecting to controllables, and helping people surface and clarify what makes devoting effort to the team’s goals a meaningful use of their energy. Good luck to you – it is not an easy situation you find yourself in, but it is also in these periods that we build leadership muscle. Connecting with how this will serve a purpose in your growth, and recognizing that your effort will make a huge difference to your team is just as important as how you help your team frame it.  

Key Takeaways:

  • Uncertainty is often more stressful than bad news. Leaders must recognize that ambiguity itself is the pressure their teams are experiencing.

  • Name the reality instead of avoiding it. Shared clarity reduces unnecessary psychological strain.

  • Direct attention to what can be controlled. Leaders build resilience by clearly separating what the team can influence from what must be let go.

  • Connect effort to purpose. A clear “why” sustains commitment when circumstances are uncertain.

  • Leadership is attention management under pressure. The role of the leader is to channel energy toward meaningful action.

This article is part of Third Factor’s Story Behind the Story series, in which we unpack the stories behind both iconic and under-the-radar Olympic and Paralympic moments. In this feature, Third Factor CEO Dane Jensen speaks with alpine skier and Canadian Paralympic Champion Josh Dueck about the mindset that let him peak at the right time to win gold and silver at the 2014 Sochi Paralympic Games. — Josh Dueck has always sought out challenges that most people avoid. A competitive freestyle skier, he was paralyzed in 2004 while attempting a Superman front flip while coaching a group of kids. Rather than quit skiing, he returned to the mountains and became the first person to ever land a backflip on a sit-ski. The feat helped redefine what was possible in adaptive sport and established him as one of its most innovative athletes. By the time he arrived at the Sochi Paralympics in 2014, he had already won a silver at the Vancouver Games in 2010 and was a sponsored athlete. But the season leading up to Sochi was difficult: He was inconsistent and barely qualified for the Paralympics. “I was slumping pretty hard. Emotionally, physically, technically, I was not there,” he says. Behind the scenes, however, his coaches had a plan. They structured his preparation so he would peak during the Games, not before. To nearly everyone’s surprise, including his own, Josh won silver in the men’s downhill, the first alpine event of the Games. It’s a race where competitors can reach speeds of up to 140 kilometres per hour.

“I should have been so fired up with winning a silver. But I was actually a little bit let down … and it dawned on me that I wanted more.”

The surprise silver stirred his competitive spirit: “I should have been so fired up with winning a silver. But I was actually a little bit let down … and it dawned on me that I wanted more.” The next chance for “more” came in the Super G race – Josh’s strength. “When I go fast on snow, everything is slow for me, and I’m actually quite relaxed.” He believed he had a good chance for a medal, and at one point during the race, he was tied for first. Then, near the finish, he lost control. “I did a 360 at 100 kilometres an hour,” he recalls. After that near-miss for a gold medal, Josh’s next opportunity came in the Men’s Combined, a two-part event that blended both the Slalom and Super G. At first glance, it wasn’t an obvious fit. The speed portion suited him. The technical slalom did not. “I’m a speed skier. I love going fast – and so downhill and Super G were really my best opportunities to be successful.” And yet, the morning of the race felt different. “I woke up with a head full of steam,” he says. “I was like, ‘You know what? Today’s my day.’” In speaking with Josh about that day, a day that ended with a gold medal, there were two lessons that stood out:

Lesson #1: Empty The Cup

Athletes are trained to process doubt – to learn from mistakes and let them go. What Josh discovered in Sochi is that managing the highs can be just as important as managing the lows. On the morning of the Combined, he was riding a wave of anticipation. Then he spoke with his sports psychologist. “He said, ‘How are you feeling?’ and I said to him, ‘You’ll never guess – all night I just kept waking up with the anthem in my head. I’m feeling it. I’m ready.” Instead of celebrating with him, his psychologist offered a reminder: “You know the exercise of letting go of failure and what isn’t in your control? It’s equally applicable to let go of this anticipation, these good feelings … you need to empty the cup out so you can go out with open eyes, open heart and a curious mind.”

“… you need to empty the cup out so you can go out with open eyes, open heart and a curious mind.”

But letting go of positive emotion proved harder than letting go of failure. “It’s not so hard to let go of failure when you do it all the time – that’s the nature of being an athlete,” Josh reflected, “but the positive moments, you want to ride that wave. It feels really good.” To reset, he turned to breathing work and mindfulness. “I had to really go inside and just let it go… I started to let my heart fill with appreciation for my friends and family back home who had sacrificed so much to allow me to do what I do.” He also thought about his mom and dad and what he learned from them. When Josh was young, his dad stressed to him the joy of effort, while his mom taught him to handle setbacks with grace and to see every step back as an opportunity to grow. That shift reframed the moment. “I’d already realized that I was winning by being there. It wasn’t about crossing the line faster; it was about being open to the day.” Emptying the cup didn’t diminish his intensity. It allowed him to stay present, adapt to conditions and execute. The result was Paralympic gold. Listen to Josh describe how he let go of both positive and negative attachment:

Lesson #2: Replace Confidence With Assurance

During our conversation, I suggested that what Josh was describing sounded like replacing bravado with confidence. He pushed back. “I’m not a confident person, and I never was as an athlete. My superpower was probably that I’m incredibly insecure.” Rather than trying to manufacture confidence, he focused on what he could control: effort. His approach was simple: outwork others, follow the plan, and measure readiness against preparation. He didn’t believe he was the most naturally talented athlete, but no one could take away his work ethic. Before each race, the question wasn’t whether he felt confident. It was whether he had done the work. If the answer was yes, the result could unfold as it would. “It wasn’t confidence. It was assurance,” he said. “I did my best, and if my best is good enough today, well, all right. And if it’s not, at least I did my best.” In Josh’s view, confidence can rise and fall with circumstances. Assurance – built through disciplined preparation – remains steady under pressure. So, when a big moment arrives, he explains, you don’t need to feel confident. You need to know you’ve done the work and that you’re ready for the challenge ahead. Listen to Josh talk about replacing confidence with assurance:

Putting It Together

From the outside, Josh’s Sochi performance looks like a story of momentum: a surprise silver followed by a gold medal finish. The story behind the story goes deeper. His performance was grounded in preparation that built assurance and in training to let go of both disappointment and success, so he could stay present when it mattered most. In business, high-stakes moments create similar emotional swings. When results falter, anxiety rises. When things go well, excitement and expectation can take over. Both can distort judgment. Josh’s recipe is simple and can be applied in any domain: — Beyond being an incredible athlete, Josh is also a very captivating speaker. If you’re interested in bringing him in to speak at an event, you can find him at Talent Bureau here.