Back to Clackmannanshire: What Coffee, Integrity, and a Car Crash Appraisal Taught Me About Leadership

I wasn’t planning to return to Clackmannanshire.

But there I was, easing my car into a quiet car park, ready to meet a new client for coffee. A frontline post with a national eating disorder charity had sparked unexpected interest north of the border, and the organisation had asked if I could support their recruitment efforts.

They didn’t need to ask me twice.

The café was warm. The client was thoughtful. The Ochil Hills still loomed with quiet majesty.

And then, like smoke through a half-open window, something old drifted in. I hadn’t been back here in a while. And yet, the moment I stepped out of the car, memory pressed in like mist. I felt it before I could name it......a tightness in my chest, the ghost of an old resignation.

Last time I stood on this ground, I was walking away from a workplace that had abandoned its own values. What began as a mission-led organisation had morphed into something brittle, ruled by a chair who confused control with competence and seemed allergic to accountability.

Eventually, I left. Not because I wanted to. But because staying would have meant signing off on a culture that mistook silent endurance for strength. I couldn’t do that. Not then, not now

What caught me off guard was how sharply the memory returned. Not overpowering, just suddenly present. Like a shadow that had never quite gone.

This new client was preparing for an interview presentation. My role? Ask questions. Offer feedback. Help them centre their voice. It was straightforward, human work. The kind of work that makes sense.

And watching them - open, grounded, and committed to learning - I found myself thinking: this is what high standards actually look like. Not a weapon, but a compass.

It reminded me of something else, too. My final "appraisal" before I left the old role. Appraisal is too clean a word. It was a character assassination dressed up as process.

One line, aimed squarely at me, still stands out:

"I have exceptionally higher standards than Mark."

It was a lie, but not just that. It was a weapon. Sharpened not for truth, but for survival. The kind of line you deploy when your own failures are catching up with you, and you need a distraction. It reeked of insecurity dressed as superiority, a performance designed to convince others - and maybe herself - that she was above reproach.

Because when your leadership can’t withstand scrutiny, you don’t reflect. You deflect. You pick a target, fire off a line like that, and hope no one notices how hollow and nauseatingly obnoxious it all sounds.

The chair didn’t just avoid responsibility. She bent reality to fit the shape of her control. And the board, a gallery of seasoned professionals, let her. Not because they couldn’t see the damage, but because pretending not to was easier. They kept their eyes on their papers, nodded through meetings, and convinced themselves silence was neutrality. It wasn’t. It was cowardice.

Here’s what I’ve learned since: when people in power feel exposed, they don’t always lash out. Sometimes they curate. They curate a version of events in which they’re always the expert, always the victim, never the problem.

If you happen to be the nearest person with a working moral compass, you might just find yourself recast as the issue.

That organisation may carry on with its dysfunction. But I carry something else now. Clarity. Boundaries. Integrity, intact. And the people I support today? They get care. Attention. And sometimes, a job offer.

Helping that client prepare - and watching them land the role - felt like exhaling something I hadn’t realised I was holding. Not closure. Not revenge. Just a return to myself.

The coffee was good. The hills were still watching. And this time, I left Clackmannanshire with something I didn’t have last time.

Hope.

Reflection prompts:

• When have you stepped away from something misaligned with your values?

• What does "high standards" really mean to you?

• How do you respond when leadership distorts the story?

If this resonated, pass it on to someone who needs to know they’re not alone.

#QuietLeadership #WorkplaceCulture #ThirdSectorVoices #IntegrityAtWork #HumanFirstWork #clackmannanshire