I was recently talking to a police officer from the department where I spent thirty years of my life. He was hired after I retired, but we’ve known each other for a while. He transferred into Aurora from a larger agency, and when I heard he’d chosen to make APD his home, I felt that burst of pride that never really leaves those of us who have served.
As we caught up, he told me my name had come up during one of his training sessions. Unprompted, his Field Training Officer felt compelled to share how much he loathed me. I experienced a ping of discomfort. No one likes hearing that someone is speaking negatively about them, but I took a deep breath and tried to appear unaffected. The moment he revealed the name, all the tension fell away. Because I know that guy, and there’s a reason he doesn’t like me. Actually, several.
He’s one of the malcontents, the perpetual whiners who drain the morale out of a room the moment they shuffle into it. And during one of our department’s critical incidents, this same officer can be heard on the radio, screaming—full-on panic—for no good reason. I won’t rehash the details, but let’s just say cowardice has a very distinct sound, and he broadcast it over the airwaves that day. When we later recognized the officers who rose to the occasion during that crisis, he was furious that he was not included, despite his actions having contributed to the chaos rather than commanding calm. Guess who he blamed? Yours truly.
There are other stories about this officer, but I’ll stay classy and stop there.
I didn’t tell any of this to the new officer, because I have no desire to disparage someone—not even this someone. I simply said, “Yeah… when you’re the chief, there will be a lot of opinions. All different.” And that was enough.
But afterwards, I thought of a quotation I stumbled upon recently:
“Some people will say I’m the nicest person in the world. Others will say I’m the biggest asshole they’ve ever met. Believe them both. They got the version of me they deserved.”
If you mention my name in my old department, people will have divided opinions. Strong ones. Unfortunately, that is the cost of leadership—especially the kind where you actually make decisions rather than hiding in neutrality. It took me a long time to get comfortable with people being upset with me.
Leadership requires you to disappoint people. Marty Linsky, a Harvard professor and one of the authors of Leadership on the Line, teaches that leadership is, at its core, an exercise in disappointing people at a rate they can absorb. Leaders must make choices that upset, frustrate, anger, or inconvenience others. And if you try to avoid that, you’re not leading—you’re babysitting. As long as you’re making decisions that are best for the organization, you have to be okay with that friction.
The alternative is to do nothing — to let poor performers skate by because accountability is uncomfortable. That’s how leadership collapses, when leaders choose comfort over responsibility.
I didn’t. And the enemies I do have from my own department are precisely the people I want as enemies. They are the ones who lied, manipulated, defended bad cops, or abused the system by calling in sick incessantly or doing nothing. They are the ones who created unnecessary drama or made decisions that endangered others. I can live with their disdain. In fact, I welcome it. Their approval would be the red flag.
There is a universal leadership lesson here, and it’s not just for police chiefs. It’s for anyone who leads anything: a team, a business, a project, a household, or themselves.
If you want to lead, you must be comfortable being disliked.
Most people think the opposite of being liked as a leader is being feared. It’s not. The opposite of being liked is being respected.
Modern leadership research (especially Amy Edmondson’s work on psychological safety at Harvard) shows that the most effective leaders blend two things: warmth and authority. They create an environment where people feel safe enough to speak up, but clear enough to know where the boundaries are.
Leaders who are desperate to be liked tend to erode standards. They soften hard conversations, avoid holding people accountable, and contort themselves trying to keep everyone happy. And the irony? They end up losing respect anyway because people don’t trust leaders who won’t make the tough calls.
Listen, if you are doing leadership right, some people will not like you. They will resent your choices, your standards, your decisions, your courage. They will weaponize your past mistakes, exaggerate your flaws, and rewrite history to cast themselves as martyrs and you as the villain.
Let them. It says everything about them and nothing about you.
If you find yourself avoiding leadership roles—formal or informal—because you fear the friction, you’re robbing the world of your influence. You’re shrinking instead of stepping in. You’re letting the possibility of someone not liking you outweigh the certainty that your leadership could have made things better.
And once you are long gone from your organization, not one of the people who hated you for holding them accountable will matter. I promise you. I don’t give them a second thought. What will matter is whether you lived aligned with your values. Whether you lifted others to a higher standard. Whether you used your position—whatever it was—to make things better, cleaner, safer, stronger.
If someone tells you I’m the nicest person, they’re right. I’ve poured into people who wanted to grow and met them with generosity and care.
If someone tells you I’m the biggest asshole they’ve ever met, they’re right too. Accountability feels like aggression to people who thrive in mediocrity.
Both stories can exist. And both are true.
Because in the end, they got the version they deserved.
