Workplaces don’t fail because people are mean. They fail because people choose nice. I learned this the hard way in Washington, D.C., sitting across the table from Congresswoman Jackie Speier—in a moment you won’t believe took place, but it did.
It was one of those crisp mornings on Capitol Hill, the kind where the air hums with both power and possibility. Security lines moved slowly, staffers hustled past in sensible shoes and our small nonprofit delegation clutched briefing packets like lifelines. We were there for a high-stakes meeting that could determine our organization’s future.
A successful outcome meant federal funding to sustain our programs. Failure meant layoffs, cutbacks, maybe worse. We rehearsed the talking points, double-checked the data and drilled the message. This was our shot.
Marty, our CEO, led the charge. On the surface, he was everything you’d want in a leader: charismatic, well-connected, the kind of man people described as “visionary.” But those of us on the inside knew better. He bristled at critique, dismissed feedback and surrounded himself with yes-people. His ego was the elephant in every room—and we had all quietly agreed it was safer not to challenge it.
As we filed into the conference room, I felt the weight of history. The Congresswoman entered, composed and dignified—the kind of presence that made you instinctively sit straighter. Staffers lined the perimeter, notebooks poised, eyes sharp. The gravity of the occasion was unmistakable.
Marty launched into his pitch. His cadence was polished, his anecdotes rehearsed. I allowed myself a flicker of hope. Maybe—just maybe—this would go well. And then he said it. “I don’t know if I’m just sipping my own Kool-Aid…”
Time stopped. My pulse thudded in my ears. A silent chorus screamed in my head: Are you kidding me? Did he really just say that? Across the table, faces blanched. A staffer’s pen froze mid-scribble. The air thickened with discomfort so palpable it felt like a physical weight pressing against my chest.
The Congresswoman didn’t flinch. She locked eyes with Marty, her voice calm, steady, almost surgical in its precision: “You really shouldn’t say that to me. And by the way, it was Flavor Aid, not Kool-Aid.” Only later did Marty seem to realize the magnitude of his misstep. Speier wasn’t just another lawmaker. She had been at Jonestown that day. Speier was shot five times on an airstrip. She carries the scars—literal and otherwise—of one of the darkest chapters in modern American history. Her words landed like a gavel. Final. Unmistakable. The meeting was over.
The lesson in niceness
Walking out of that room, shame burning in my cheeks, I realized something critical: We hadn’t (only) failed because Marty was reckless. We failed because we had chosen nice.
We had known his catchphrase was problematic. Our team had joked about it in private, whispered about it in hallways, softened our notes so as not to offend. But none of us had had the nerve to confront him directly. Instead of holding him accountable, we tiptoed. We convinced ourselves that “picking our battles” was wisdom, when really it was avoidance.
That is what nice does inside organizations: It protects sacred cows, insulates fragile egos and dilutes feedback until it is meaningless. Nice convinces people that silence is safer than honesty. And in protecting comfort, it sacrifices credibility.
Our failure was not just Marty’s. It was collective. A system failure built on compliance, avoidance and misplaced politeness.
The workplace parallel
And if you think this was just one nonprofit CEO’s misstep, think again. HR leaders see this dynamic every day:
- Policies left untouched because “that’s how we’ve always done it.”
- Leaders shielded from honest feedback because they’re “untouchable.”
- Conversations watered down to avoid conflict.
This is organizational toxicity: ignoring reality, preserving comfort and convincing ourselves that avoidance is a strategy. But niceness doesn’t build resilience. It builds dysfunction.
And nowhere is this more dangerous than in the hands of leaders, who help shape culture, voice and accountability. When leaders trade candor for comfort, it signals to the entire workforce that sacred cows are to be fed, not questioned.
From nice to nerve: a clear distinction for HR
Every workplace needs less “nice” and more nerve.
- Nice=comfortable, agreeable, safe.
- Nerve=speaking truth, addressing what’s broken, choosing courage over compliance—even when it costs you.
For leaders, the stakes couldn’t be higher. The choice is clear: Will you reward compliance, or cultivate courage?
The tool that changed my perspective
Years before that failed meeting, a consultant gave my executive team a strange assignment: Keep a “creative journal.” We groaned. It felt like busywork. But as the weeks went on, something shifted.
Journaling forced us to track what we had accepted as “normal.” It revealed hidden patterns: behaviors we excused, processes we endured, assumptions we never questioned because we wanted to stay … nice. And once I started seeing the patterns, I couldn’t unsee them.
I realized that our Capitol Hill disaster wasn’t a one-off mistake. It was the predictable outcome of a system that rewarded niceness over nerve. And had we kept journaling consistently—forcing ourselves to see the patterns sooner—we might have recognized our complicity before it cost us everything.
Why journaling works
This isn’t just anecdotal. Science shows journaling is a leadership tool. It drives:
- Emotional regulation: Writing helps us process and regulate emotions, reducing stress.
- Cognitive clarity: Translating abstract thoughts into words improves problem-solving and decision-making.
- Pattern recognition: Journaling surfaces repeated dynamics—those “sacred cows” you’ve stopped questioning.
- Perspective shifting: It trains the brain to reframe experiences, see alternative viewpoints and identify illusions.
Think of it like an organizational x-ray. Journaling reveals the fractures beneath the surface. Once you see them, you can’t pretend they aren’t there.
Sacred cows and perspective shifts
In many organizations, sacred cows are the biggest obstacles to change. They’re the unspoken rules, untouchable leaders or outdated practices that no one dares to challenge.
The danger is that we grow accustomed to them. Like optical illusions—remember those “magic eye” posters that only revealed dolphins or sailboats if you stared long enough—we see only what we’ve been conditioned to see.
Journaling breaks that conditioning. By writing down daily observations, you learn to spot the disconnects: between what’s said and what’s lived, between values on posters and behaviors in meetings. And once you spot those disconnects, you can no longer collude with them in silence.
Starting a creative journal
Here’s how to apply this in practice.
Commit to daily entries
One entry a day, every day, for at least four weeks.Capture one thing you noticed that you hadn’t observed before.
Weekly focus topics
- Week One-Systems & Processes: Which ones actually work, which don’t, and why?
- Week Two-Progress & Growth: What can you do now that you couldn’t three years ago? What enabled that?
- Week Three-Fresh Perspectives: Intentionally seek out something unfamiliar. What did you notice?
- Week Four-Sacred Cows: Link one observation each day to a long-held assumption, rule or behavior you’ve stopped questioning.
Example entry (Week Four):
- Observation: During a team meeting, I avoided directly disagreeing with a colleague, softening my point instead.
- Sacred Cow Connection: I’ve believed avoiding conflict maintains harmony. In reality, it breeds miscommunication.
- Reflection: If I replaced this “niceness” with respectful candor, we could make decisions faster and clearer.
Your creative journal is about unpacking what no longer serves you.
The bottom line for HR
Niceness didn’t protect us in that Capitol Hill meeting—it destroyed our credibility. And it won’t save your workplace either.
HR’s job is not to make things comfortable. It’s to make things possible. That requires nerve from HR leaders: the willingness to speak truth to power, to dismantle sacred cows and to choose courage over compliance—even when it costs you.
Start your journal. Recognize patterns and shift your perspective. Replace “be nice” with “have nerve.” Because what HR needs most right now isn’t nicer policies. It’s the nerve to create better ones.
This article is adapted from themes in Amira Barger’s forthcoming book, The Price of Nice: Why Comfort Keeps Us Stuck—And 4 Actions for Real Change, out Oct. 28.
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