The Communication Mistake That Damages Trust

Most people can handle bad news.
What they struggle with is surprise.

The Situation

This spring, I hired a contractor to help prepare our lake house for our nineteenth annual Memorial Day family gathering.

The project included yard work, pressure washing, deck staining, stone cleaning and sealing, and hauling away an old dock that had outlived its usefulness. Through a referral from a friend I've known and trusted for nearly twenty years, I found our contractor, Curtis. Within a week, we had a deal.

I didn't negotiate aggressively on price. I rarely do. When I hire someone, especially through a trusted referral, I'm investing in more than the work itself. I'm investing in a relationship. The project may last a few weeks, but trust begins forming on day one. My only real requirement was that the work be completed before Memorial Day, and Curtis assured me it would be.

He did have one caveat. He and his wife were leaving for Ireland for ten days, the first vacation he had taken in more than a decade. As he told me about the trip, he rolled his eyes in a way that suggested this might not have been entirely his idea.

Naturally, I asked what would happen to the project while he was away. He assured me that his two sons, who worked with him, would keep everything moving forward. That seemed reasonable to me. Everyone deserves a vacation, especially after ten years without one. Besides, Memorial Day was approaching quickly, contractors were hard to find, and this referral came from someone whose judgment I trusted.

As often happens with projects, reality began negotiating with the schedule. There were weather delays. Curtis's trip removed ten days from his direct involvement in the project, even though his sons continued working while he was away. The delays weren't entirely on his side of the ledger, either. At one point, I underestimated how much stain we would need for the deck. Rather than making it my problem, Curtis volunteered to pick up additional supplies from our local Home Depot so the project could keep moving. It was one of several reminders that he genuinely cared about doing good work and serving his customers well.

Before long, it became obvious that everything wasn't going to be completed before Memorial Day. The question shifted from whether we could finish the project to how we should manage the remaining scope. Together, we decided to focus on the yard work and pressure washing first. That would ensure the property looked its best for our family gathering, even if the decks weren't quite ready for their close-up.

Years ago, I worked with Wayne Ratz, the CIO of a large insurance company. Whenever a project became stressful, Wayne would remind himself that "airplanes aren't falling out of the sky and babies aren't dying." It was his way of separating genuine emergencies from the discomfort that comes when plans don't unfold exactly as expected.

That perspective helped me keep this project in context. We were preparing for our annual Memorial Day family reunion, not a wedding. Had the property been hosting a wedding, I would have negotiated the agreement differently. I would have asked more questions about contingencies, staffing, backup plans, and schedule risk. I would have been far less tolerant of delays because the consequences would have been dramatically different.

But this was a family reunion. Important? Absolutely. Irreplaceable? No. The distinction mattered because it reminded me that not all deadlines carry the same weight.

Memorial Day arrived right on schedule. The family gathered, the food was plentiful, and the stories grew longer with every retelling. Another wonderful weekend was added to a tradition that now spans nearly two decades. The unfinished decks didn't seem to bother anyone nearly as much as I had imagined they might.

The Turn

The following week, Curtis was scheduled to finish the staining and begin the stonework.

When we returned to inspect the progress, we found a half-stained deck and an empty job site.

At that point, we were already two weeks behind schedule, but what surprised me was that my frustration wasn't really about the unfinished work. Up until then, the delays had all felt understandable. Weather happens. Vacations happen. Projects slip. What felt different this time was the lack of communication.

I sent Curtis a text asking what had happened. His response came back quickly.

"They had a prior commitment yesterday they had to be at. We'll wrap it all up next week."

I could feel my frustration building. At first, I assumed I was upset about the delay. But the more I sat with it, the more I realized that wasn't quite right. The deck would eventually get stained. The stonework would eventually get completed. The project was delayed, but it wasn't in jeopardy.

Something else was bothering me.

The Shift

Later, reflecting on the situation through my HEART model, which explores the human needs that often sit beneath conflict, I realized it wasn't a Heard issue. One of Curtis's strengths was communication. He was responsive, direct, and accessible. Even while he was in Ireland, he stayed engaged with the project.

Part of what I was feeling was Esteem. I found myself wondering whether the flexibility and trust I had extended were being appreciated and reciprocated. Part of it was Autonomy. I was dependent on someone else's schedule to complete a project that mattered to me. But the deeper issue may have been Role.

In my mind, my role in this relationship was clear. I was the customer. That role carried certain expectations around communication, accountability, and priority.

Over the years, I worked hard to build a company where every customer felt like they were our most important customer. They weren't, of course. We served many customers simultaneously. But great customer service is not about actually making every customer your top priority. It's about ensuring that every customer feels valued, respected, and informed. That's the standard I brought to this relationship.

When Curtis told me that his crew had been working on another commitment, I wasn't offended that another customer existed or even that another project had taken priority that day. That's simply the reality of running a business. What bothered me was learning about it after the fact.

Had he called me the day before and said, "Sam, we're going to be delayed a few more days because we've got another commitment we need to handle," I probably wouldn't have thought much about it. Instead, I arrived expecting progress, found an empty job site, and then learned why only after I asked.

That sequence mattered.

One of my biggest customer-service pet peeves has always been reactive communication. A customer should never have to ask for status. And they certainly should not have to discover a missed commitment before hearing about it.

Intellectually, I understood exactly what had happened, but emotionally it landed differently. That's when I realized the conflict wasn't really about the delay. It was about the story I was beginning to tell myself about priorities, communication, and trust.

The conflict wasn't sitting on my deck. It was happening inside me.

Once I recognized that, I could see that I had choices. I could quietly resent Curtis. I could lecture him about customer service. I could convince myself that the relationship had fundamentally changed. Or I could continue to collaborate.

I also realized I had a choice about timing. Part of me wanted to call Curtis immediately and explain exactly why his response had bothered me. But the project wasn't finished, and the relationship was still unfolding. Experience has taught me that feedback is often received differently in the middle of a problem than after the dust has settled.

So I chose patience.

Not because I thought everything had been handled perfectly. Not because I was happy with the situation. I chose patience because I wanted any future conversation to be about improving the relationship, not venting my frustration.

Eventually the work will get finished, and I suspect the relationship will survive as well. If Curtis ever asks for feedback or a referral, we'll have an honest conversation about communication, expectations, site cleanliness, priorities, and trust. Some of those conversations will be complimentary. Others may be more challenging. But they'll be grounded in the reality of the entire project rather than in a moment of frustration.

AGENT in Action

What Made the Difference

Looking back, this wasn't a story about an unfinished deck. It was a story about expectations, communication, and trust.

The work was delayed. That happens. What mattered more was how the delay was communicated and how I chose to respond when my expectations weren't met.

AWARE: I recognized that my frustration wasn't really about the unfinished deck. It was about the story I was beginning to tell myself about priorities, communication, and trust.

GROUND: I reminded myself what truly mattered. We were preparing for a family reunion, not a wedding. The consequences of waiting another week were manageable.

EMPATHIZE: I considered the possibility that Curtis was balancing commitments, customers, and pressures that I couldn't fully see from my side of the relationship.

NEGOTIATE: Rather than reacting in the moment, I chose to preserve the space needed for both the project and the relationship to recover.

TIE: The agreement remained intact, and any future conversation about accountability can happen from a place of respect rather than resentment.

Takeaway: Trust is often damaged less by bad news than by discovering the bad news for ourselves.

Practice for the Reader 🛠

Try This Before Your Next Conflict

• What expectations have I not made explicit?

• Where might surprise be creating unnecessary tension?

• What conversation would help close the gap between expectations and reality?

Closing Reflection

The deck will get stained.

The stonework will get finished.

A few months from now, I doubt I'll remember exactly how many days behind schedule the project was.

What I'll remember is that people can usually handle bad news.

What they struggle with is surprise.

Fortunately, that's a problem we can solve with a simple proactive conversation.

See you in the win-win moments this week!

Sam