What happens when we leave our emotions at the door? We often think professionalism requires objectivity and composure, but the qualities that build trust, inspire commitment, and deepen relationships can’t thrive when we keep our humanity at arm’s length.
“Do not use the word love in a professional setting.”
That was the email a leader I coached sent to his entire division.
The message was unmistakable: love does not belong at work. No more “I love this project.” No more “I love working here.” Certainly no “I love that about you.”
On his Leadership Circle Profile, he rated himself in the 90th percentile on Distance. His colleagues rated him even higher. No one was surprised.
He valued rationality without compromise: clear thinking, objectivity, composure, and sound judgment. These are real strengths. But beneath them lived a quiet disdain for emotion—especially anything he considered messy, inappropriate, or uncontrollable. Tears. Personal struggles. Emotional conflict. Love.
Distance has a gift, but it also has a cost. It protects the heart. It allows us to remain composed, observant, and self-contained. But when it becomes Reactive, it operates from the neck up. It sorts for safety rather than connection. It pulls us away from discomfort—and from one another.
I know this pattern because I use it, too.
Eight years ago, I was facilitating a three-day session when I made an obvious mistake while introducing a concept. I was embarrassed, but I laughed it off and recovered. Later, I asked a few colleagues for perspective, reminded myself that everyone makes mistakes, and continued teaching.
I thought I put the incident behind me, but as the workshop went on, I realized I hadn’t. Without even noticing, I had begun to withdraw. Even though I was physically present the next few days, I was far away, in my head, and emotionally checked out. At the closing session, I suddenly realized that, despite days of interaction and numerous opportunities for conversation, I had not formed a meaningful connection with anyone in the room.
That is how Distance works. It often reveals itself not through what people see, but through what disappears.
Curiosity disappears. Warmth disappears. We stop leaning in. We listen to the words someone is saying but miss the fear, longing, or concern beneath them. We may stare at our screens and appear attentive while quietly telling ourselves, “I don’t even care anymore,” or “This is not worth my energy.” In short, we disappear.
When emotion cannot enter the room, neither can empathy, intuition, or the honest conversation that leads to breakthrough. A workplace that suppresses emotion may appear orderly, but it is not psychologically safe. People quickly learn which parts of themselves are welcome—and which must remain outside. When we can’t bring our full selves to work, we can never fully show up for one another.
Beginning to consider he might be too distant, the leader who banned the word love began to change through a series of seemingly small choices. He started asking people, “How are you?” Not as an automatic greeting, but as a real question. When they answered, he listened. (Not all the way through, but he took it step by step.) He resisted the urge to move on in his mind before they even finished speaking. He worked to remain curious long enough to hear what was happening in their lives and, sometimes, even their families.
Then, during a town hall, he shared with his employees that his father had cancer. He confessed that he was scared.
No one had ever heard him speak publicly about anything so personal.
It may not have been a grand leadership gesture, but it was a human one. In that moment, something shifted. By making his own humanity visible, he made space for theirs.
For me, the way out of Distance is always a connection. When I feel myself withdrawing, I reach out to someone I trust—my son, my best friend, a colleague I’ve been teaching with for years—and I do it fast, before I can talk myself out of it. Being vulnerable and honest with a trusted friend allows me to be open and willing to learn. It reduces my wall. My mind settles and, before long, I regain access to my heart, my intuition, my full intelligence, and my inner leader.
Moving toward connection changes me. It changes us. It changes our leadership. And it changes what is possible for everyone around us.
Cindy Adams, Co-CEO
Cindy Adams is Co-CEO of Leadership Circle. For more than three decades, she has worked alongside leaders and organizations to develop more effective leadership, navigate complexity, and create lasting change. An executive advisor, author, and keynote speaker, Cindy is passionate about helping leaders build the capacity to create organizations where people—and results—can thrive.
