Top performers often get a pass on the "little things." My first failure as a leader taught me a humbling lesson that is relevant to this day.

It was nearly 20 years ago, and I was a young enlisted leader in the SEAL platoon. One of my top-performing teammates was late to our morning musters for work at least once a week. His teammates would often cover for him, but as the tardiness continued, they would shrug and say, “What else is new with Pete[*]?”

Other than being late, Pete ( name changed for this story) was a stellar SEAL. He was a top operator with solid qualifications as a sniper, and a talented communicator. As a well-rounded department head, Pete needed no supervision. He earned the sailor of the quarter. His teammates recognized him as an up-and-coming superstar in the Teams. Pete was a mentor to other young SEALs; they learned from him how to organize a department and prepare for the upcoming deployment.

By all metrics, he was the perfect SEAL, and now I found myself having to give him counseling about the simplest of tasks. There were times when I could swear I smelled alcohol on his breath from the night before. Something wasn't adding up. When I asked Pete what was going on, he remarked about the morale of the platoon being damaged, and that our "underperforming" platoon chief was giving him concerns. This was his excuse for drinking too much. He assured me that he would get it under control. It was easy to believe Pete meant it. He was one of the most disciplined SEALs I had worked with.

Over the next few months, there were only a couple more times that Pete was tardy or had the scent of last night's cocktails on his breath. I was pleased with his turning around and "fixing" himself. At this point, our underperforming platoon chief was relieved, and the morale was high. Looking back, there were still some identifiers of substance abuse that I should have paid better attention to. I would overhear stories of the weekends “party events,” and they often were about Pete’s antics. Funny and harmless as they were, they were still indicators that he was still not on top of “handling” his alcohol. The other issue that hindsight has offered me is that his temper went to extremes at the drop of a hat. All of these, I sheepishly turned the other cheek and justified them to myself based on his continued superior performance.

Two months into our deployment, we were wrapping up a great training exercise with one of our European partners — two weeks of advanced skills training. Shooting, jumping, and explosives combined with international relations for a future NATO mission. It was a huge success, and Pete was our trip leader. Our higher headquarters recognized it as the model of future engagements of this type.

I was proud of our platoon: they had performed beyond my expectations, and I was getting ready to nominate Pete for the sailor of the year for our entire team. After this training, the host nation threw a small dinner party as a way to say “thank you.” Pete had a little too much to drink. In his intoxicated state, he made a few bad decisions. Not quite an international incident, but embarrassing enough to leave a blemish after such an exceptional trip. I had to take action to restore good order and discipline to the platoon and show our partners that we hold our people accountable.

My plan was straight forward, but no small deal. I was going to send Pete home from deployment. This is the harshest punishment you can bestow to a teammate. Removing him from his "family" and purpose all in one blow. I didn't arrive at this decision lightly, but as a result of the impact that alcohol was having on Pete's career at this point, I felt that I had to take swift action to get him the help he needed to help him get his career back on track.

Recommending him to attend drug and alcohol counseling didn't get the reaction that I was anticipating from Pete. I sat him down and delivered written counseling that stated that his behavior had damaged our platoon and that I was sending him home on the next available flight. I included that I had made the recommendation to the commanding officer to send Pete to drug and alcohol counseling.

It was this last statement that hit him. Pete nodded as he signed and then returned the counseling to me. He looked up, and with tears in his eyes, he said: “thank you.” And then Pete delivered a blow that I was not expecting. He said, thank you, and then, "I wish you had done this to me months ago. I feel like I’ve lost control."

I was devastated. I felt like I had failed Pete by not acting sooner. I pledged after this moment that I would not fail to act when I saw someone who was putting their life and career at risk through substance abuse.

I had lost track of Pete over the years, and then we were reunited on my final trip to visit my folks in Africa who were on deployment. When I arrived at the compound, I was greeted by this burly guy with a face full of beard. He had a broad welcoming smile and said that he was glad to see me. I had no idea who this was. He had heard that I was coming onto the base for a visit, and he came out to greet me, but after nearly twenty years, I didn't recognize Pete at all.

We were able to spend some time together to catch up. Pete told me about where he was in his career now. He was immensely successful, operating at the highest level of the SEAL community. I asked Pete's leaders about him, and they reported that his reputation as one of the strongest in their unit. I felt pride enough when Pete gave me a bear hug at the end of our conversation. He said, "I am so glad that I am getting to see you before you retire. I never got a chance to say thank you. I had a few more issues with rehab after our platoon, but I have been sober for more than 15 years, and my life is great. You had a major role in motivating me to square my life away, so thank you!" It was an emotional and rewarding reunion. I was blown away by the gratitude he felt for me.

The takeaway is this: we often feel that being intrusive to our people is too much, too close, or even inappropriate. My instincts had told me that I should have taken action with Pete earlier, but I was willing to justify his actions because of circumstances and his performance. In the end, I was an enabler to his self-defeating behavior.

One of my clients recently brought me a story about one of his top managers who had too much to drink at a company function and subsequently brought discredit to their company by his inappropriate public behavior. I shared the above story with him and enforced the reasoning for taking action now to get some help to his manger. He questioned whether one instance was enough to warrant a referral to a substance abuse program. My response was simple. I asked, “Will you fire him if there is another incident? If so, then you owe it to him to provide all the resources you can to help him negotiate his relationship with alcohol.

It is an uncomfortable conversation to have with your people to be sure. But then again, leadership is not supposed to be comfortable.

Authored By: Bob Newman, Managing Director