Where Is the Chair? Shadow work for leaders: the exclusion we didn't mean to create

A friend once handed me a reframe so simple it has followed me for years.

I complained that I never bring my son a beach chair because he never sits with us anyway.

My friend paused and said: "Maybe he doesn't come to sit because you don't have a chair for him."

That sentence keeps rearranging my leadership brain.

It casually revealed a pattern that shows up everywhere: we often mistake absence for disinterest, when it's really about the conditions we've created, often unconsciously, for who can belong.

The chair we didn't know we were withholding

When someone doesn't engage, our minds default to a tidy story.

They don't care. They're not committed. They're disengaged.

It's a very human reflex: we explain other people's behavior as if it's primarily about who they are, not what the environment is signalling. Under pressure, especially in cultures that reward speed over reflection, those stories harden into "truth" fast.

But the beach-chair reframe offers a different question: what if the "non-engagement" is a rational response to a system that doesn't yet have a place for them?

At work, chairs aren't literal. They're the invisible architecture that tells people whether it's safe, and worthwhile, to join: clarity, permission, time, a role that isn't vague or risky, and a culture that doesn't punish "trying."

Amy Edmondson calls this psychological safety: "a shared belief that the team is safe for interpersonal risk-taking."

When that safety is missing, absence isn't apathy. It's self-protection.

The Catch-22 that keeps change stuck

Here's the loop that traps us:

You wait for evidence before you invest: I'll give them responsibility when they show me they're ready. I'll invite them deeper when they show up more.

Meanwhile, they wait for investment before they give evidence: I'll show up when it's clear I matter here. I'll contribute when it feels safe. I'll take the risk when I know I won't be punished for getting it wrong.

The evidence never arrives, because the conditions for evidence never arrive.

This is the machinery of the self-fulfilling prophecy. Sociologist Robert K. Merton described how a belief about a situation can trigger behavior that makes the belief come true, often without anyone noticing the mechanism at work.

If I assume people won't step up, I stop building the conditions that would make stepping up possible. Then I get "proof" that people won't step up. The loop completes itself, silent and invisible.

This is what makes my friend's comment such a powerful leadership tool: it shifts the locus of control.

Instead of "they won't engage" (which makes you a victim of other people's choices), it becomes "what haven't I built yet?"

That question is actionable. That question is creative. That question is a doorway.

Shadow work for leaders: the exclusion we didn't mean to create

None of us are perfect. We carry blind spots. We carry preferences that disguise as "standards." We carry unexamined beliefs about competence, tone, speed, professionalism, confidence.

And in leadership, those beliefs become architecture.

Sometimes we unintentionally design rooms that only confident people can enter. Or only insiders. Or only those with extra time. Or only those who already know the unwritten rules. No one says "you don't belong." The room just quietly communicates: hover at the edge until you've earned your seat.

Shadow work, in practice, is asking with honesty:

• What do I reward here?

• What do I punish, intentionally or not?

• Who has a chair, and who has to stand?

This is also where the bravest conversations begin.

"I notice we keep saying 'no one steps up.' I wonder what makes stepping up risky or unclear here."

"I realize I move fast when I'm anxious. Does my pace accidentally communicate there isn't room?"

"What would make it easier to contribute, without you having to be fearless?"

Those are courageous questions. They interrupt the story and return us to design.

The burnout connection: when we forget to make space for help

Here's where this pattern gets painfully personal: we burn out while simultaneously complaining that no one helps us.

We've never actually made room for help.

We haven't delegated with real authority, we've delegated tasks while holding onto decision-making. We haven't built systems that allow others to contribute without needing us as the gatekeeper. We've been so busy being indispensable that we've made it structurally impossible for anyone else to sit down.

The chair doesn't exist, so of course we're sitting alone.

Then we resent it. We interpret the isolation as proof that we're the only ones who care, the only ones willing to do the work. But often, we've unconsciously designed it that way, not because we're controlling, but because we haven't asked ourselves: Where is the space/the way for someone else to share this load?

Internal locus of control means recognizing: the loneliness I feel might be connected to the conditions I haven't yet created.

That realization can be painful. It's also liberating. Because if you created the conditions, you can change them.

You can:

• Delegate not just tasks, but decisions

• Create clarity around what "good enough" looks like so others don't need to be perfect

• Build in buffers so people have time to learn without breaking things

• Name that mistakes are expected, not punished

• Ask explicitly: "What would make it easier for you to own this?"

This isn't about blame. It's about agency. It's about recognizing that waiting for others to spontaneously step into a space that doesn't exist is a recipe for exhaustion.

The question that changes everything

When someone isn't participating, or when you find yourself alone, burned out, wishing for support, ask this before you decide what it "means":

Where is the chair?

• Is there a clear way to contribute?

• Is it safe to try?

• Is there time?

• Is the invitation open, or conditional? do people have to earn it by proving themselves first?

• Have I actually created (and communicated) space for someone to help, or am I just hoping they'll magically appear?

Shadow work for leaders can take us this creative pivot: from pointing out and blaming to internal locus of control; from judgment to curiosity, from assumption to hypothesis, from resentment to design.

It returns power to the place you actually have power: the conditions you shape.

Because here's the truth: you cannot control whether people show up. But you can control whether there's a place for them to land when they do.

And sometimes, that's the difference between loneliness and collaboration, between burnout and sustainable impact, between waiting for proof and creating the conditions where proof becomes possible.

The chair, it turns out, is always your move.

PS: I shared this article with my son. He smiled and said the locus of control thinking is cool, but actually? He wasn't sitting with us because he was having fun with his friends. A good reminder: sometimes people aren't absent because there's no chair, they're just somewhere they'd rather be. And that's okay too.

If this landed for you, and you're navigating a moment where you want more shared ownership, clearer engagement, or simply less loneliness in leadership, I offer 1:1 coaching and facilitation for leaders and teams. My work is strengths-based, human-centered, and practical, supporting creative leadership without burnout through better sensemaking, cleaner design, and braver conversations.

You can reach out to explore what support could look like.

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Hi, I’m Monika, Strengths Coach and facilitator. I help individuals and groups thrive, cultivate resilience, emotional intelligence, and well-being through strengths-based coaching. Passionate about transformative and creative leadership, I empower leaders to drive meaningful change within themselves, their organizations, and beyond.

I hope you’ll visit often, and I look forward to connecting and working together!