What’s not to love about a healthy smoothie in the morning? Plenty, it turns out.
For years, several times a week, I’ve started the day by constructing an industrial-strength nutrition bomb — predominately vegetables and protein powder, but with enough fruit to barely make it palatable.
No romantic relationship has ever survived it.
Armed with the certainty of its healing properties and, therefore, the righteousness of my campaign, I’ve always evangelistically invited whoever I happen to be married to or dating to try some. Actually, maybe “strenuously urged” is more accurate. Insisted? Commanded?
But they’ve hardly been able to look at it, much less taste it, and for those who have, it’s been a deeply injurious experience, both digestively and emotionally.
As I’ve written before, I call their reaction PTSD — Post-Traumatic Smoothie Disorder, which will hopefully soon be included in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM). My smoothie might even have magical properties, because soon after they drink it, they disappear. Often forever. Given my charm, good looks and high level of enlightenment, it can’t possibly be about me — it has to be the smoothie.
Which got me thinking. As a leader in long-term care, might it be tempting sometimes to try to do too many good things, for too many good reasons, too quickly? To forge ahead with major, well-intentioned changes before weary and overwhelmed staff are ready? To force-feed too much metaphorical smoothie?
Since I’m not a leader (nor should I be), I reached out to some current facility administrators, who largely confirmed my hypothesis.
“I came into my first building with what I thought were so many great ideas, a fresh perspective, and an eagerness to transform the place to match my vision,” said one. “But I didn’t have much historical knowledge of the facility or its processes, and no personal rapport with the people I was managing. It was a big learning experience for me, and one of the fastest ways to lose respect.”
Now, an established and effective veteran, he talks about the butterfly effect — the unintended consequences down the line of mandating changes too quickly. Even when he sees a process or practice on the surface that might seem puzzling or nonsensical, he takes a breath. “Try to understand the why of what is currently done, the benefits and downsides, before you stir things up by insisting your way is best,” he advises. “I’ve learned to swallow my pride, be observant and curious, and first establish trust.”
Was he still talking about his facility experience, or not-so-subtly criticizing my uncompromising smoothie approach? It was difficult to tell.
Next I talked to an administrator who has now moved on to a regional position overseeing operations at multiple facilities. Particularly as she mentors new leaders, I wondered, has she observed this leadership trap in long-term care settings?
“Absolutely, it’s a huge danger,” she responded, describing how young leaders especially can sometimes charge into a building energetically looking at all the things they could change and all the difference they could make.
“Maybe it’s in a dining program, or staffing procedures, or workflows or even how the rooms are set up,” she noted. “But without a historical context, they have no way to know what has or hasn’t worked.”
The first advice she gives them is to watch, wait and take it all in for the first six months, before advocating major changes that could seem unpleasant.
“That time gives them an opportunity to get to know people,” she says. “Because if they don’t trust you, they won’t follow.” She then suggests running new ideas past department heads, line staff and other leaders, which can not only make them better, but generate buy-in. “You have to meet people where they are, and then you can all go together.”
Maybe I’m just paranoid, but it was like she somehow knew about my smoothie aggression problem, and was now lecturing me personally. It was spooky, and hurtful.
My final conversation was with an administrator of 20 years who, to my disappointment, didn’t seem to have any horror stories to share of advocating too quickly for disruptive and possibly unwelcome new initiatives. Instead, she stressed the need to take one’s time and echoed the importance of involving staff at every point in the process.
“Don’t set the place on fire,” she said. “Rather than telling them this is what we’re going to do because I said so, ask how we can do what needs to be done together.”
I observed that she’d turned my metaphor on its head. Rather than trying to force someone to drink an unappealing but nutritious concoction, like I do, she would enlist her staff to help create something delicious but still effective that they could all share in and enjoy from day one. She agreed her approach was better, but still called me a delightful Canadian.
I was flattered, and maybe we’ll even be friends — until I offer her a smoothie.
Things I Think is written by Gary Tetz, a two-time national Silver Medalist and three-time regional Gold and Silver Medal winner in the Association of Business Press Editors (ASBPE) awards program, as well as an Award of Excellence honoree in the APEX Awards. He’s been amusing, inspiring, informing and sometimes befuddling long-term care readers since the end of a previous century. He is a writer and video producer for Consonus Healthcare in Portland, OR.
The opinions expressed in McKnight’s Long-Term Care News guest submissions are the author’s and are not necessarily those of McKnight’s Long-Term Care News or its editors.
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