I previously wrote about one of my compulsions: the need to speak up when I encounter stigma, discrimination or narratives towards people who use substances that I believe are harmful.
It’s almost like a voice in my head that won’t rest until it’s let loose.
Over time, I’ve become more aware that whilst speaking up is important, how we speak up matters too.
Last week (like most weeks, if I’m honest) provided plenty of opportunities to put that theory into practice.
One particular moment came at an external event where, to be frank, I couldn’t quite believe what I was hearing.
The discussion turned to the treatment, care and choices for people who use substances and some of the views being expressed felt so far removed from my own values and beliefs that I could feel myself becoming increasingly uncomfortable.
I sat listening, trying to stay open-minded and curious, but with every passing minute I could feel myself becoming more and more triggered. Like I was going to spontaneously combust kind of triggered.
Eventually, I accepted the inevitable and put my hand up for the microphone.
In those few seconds before speaking, I had a quick internal conversation with myself.
How do I challenge this? How do I make my position clear?
How do I remain respectful whilst strongly disagreeing?
Most importantly, how do I make sure that people leave understanding there is another perspective without simply creating conflict?
Those moments are rarely comfortable.
But when I think about why I speak up, it almost always comes back to the people behind the issue. If I sit silently while harmful narratives go unchallenged, I often leave feeling complicit in them.
When values collide
Reflecting on situations like this, I’ve realised that the moments I find most challenging aren’t necessarily when people disagree with me.
It’s when there’s a fundamental clash of values.
The things that feel deeply important to me won’t always feel equally important to other people.
It doesn’t mean they’re bad people.
It doesn’t mean they’re acting with ill intent.
And it certainly doesn’t mean everyone has to agree with me.
But when we’re discussing issues that affect people’s dignity, rights or wellbeing, I find it impossible not to engage.
The challenge is making sure that my response is helpful rather than simply emotional.
The theory of core qualities
One coaching model I often use with clients is the Theory of Core Qualities.
I like it because it helps us explore something that many of us experience but don’t always recognise:
Our greatest strengths can also create some of our biggest challenges.
The model asks us to identify:
- Our core quality or strength
- What happens when we bring too much of it
- What happens when we don’t bring enough of it
- The quality that helps us achieve balance
It’s a deceptively simple exercise, but it often generates really insightful conversations.
Passion and patience
When I think about my own core quality, the word that immediately comes to mind is passion.
I care deeply about the work I do.
I care about the people affected by the issues we discuss.
I care about creating change.
And I care about ensuring that people’s voices and experiences are treated with dignity and respect.
I feel incredibly fortunate and privileged to work in an area that has genuine purpose and meaning for me.
That passion is often what drives me to speak up.
But like any strength, it has a down side.
When I bring too much of it, it can become overwhelming for others.
I can become impatient.
I can dominate conversations.
I can focus so heavily on making a point that I don’t create enough space for other people to contribute.
And if I’m not careful, the very thing that motivates me can have the opposite effect of what I intended.
People may feel unheard.
Relationships can become strained.
Dialogue can shut down rather than open up.
On the other hand, when I don’t bring enough of that passion, I experience a different problem.
I leave conversations feeling uncomfortable.
I question whether I should have spoken up.
I wonder whether I’ve let people down.
I sometimes leave feeling as though I haven’t been true to myself or to the values that matter most to me.
Neither extreme feels right.
Finding the balance
The balance for me is patience.
Not less passion.
Not caring less.
Not becoming quieter.
Patience.
Patience allows me to bring my values into conversations without overwhelming them.
It helps me listen before responding.
It creates space for curiosity alongside conviction.
And it reminds me that changing minds rarely happens through winning an argument.
More often, it happens through thoughtful dialogue, respectful challenge and giving people the opportunity to reflect.
I’m not saying I’ve got this nailed.
There are definitely moments where my patience disappears and my passion takes over.
But self-awareness helps.
Recognising the pattern helps.
And understanding that strengths can become challenges when they’re overused helps too.
A useful reflection
One of the reasons I like this coaching exercise is because it’s relevant to everyone.
We often talk about strengths as though they’re always positive and weaknesses as though they’re always negative.
The reality is usually much more nuanced.
Sometimes our greatest challenge isn’t developing a new skill.
It’s learning how to use our existing strengths more effectively.
So if you’re looking for something to reflect on, or perhaps preparing for that inevitable interview question about strengths and development areas, consider this:
What’s your core quality?
What happens when you bring too much of it?
What happens when you don’t bring enough?
And what helps you find the balance?
The answers can be surprisingly revealing.








