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Dear Reader

The communication mistake that creates 10 extra hours of work

I recently watched Frankenstein and, honestly, I bathed in the beauty of what horror stories can be when they’re done properly.

Not the cheap “BOO!” stuff.

Rather the slow, dreadful realisation that the monster isn’t a random creature in the basement. It’s something you made. Something you assembled. Something you brought to life with great intentions and questionable judgement.

So I’ve decided to regale you with a horror story of my own.

Picture this:
​
You send an email: “Can you take a look at this and let me know what you think?”

It’s a friendly sentence. It’s also a trap door.

Because “take a look” could mean proofread, restructure, approve, or simply gaze upon it like a museum exhibit.

“Let me know what you think” could mean today, this week, or after the heat death of the sun.

So the recipient does what any sane adult does when handed ambiguity, they either:

• do nothing,
• do the wrong thing,
• or ask you twelve questions that you now have to answer.

And then, mysteriously, you are busy.

This is how leaders accidentally manufacture ten hours of work. Not with bad strategy. With unclear asks.

And it begins, (que the eerie music...) as many leadership nightmares do, with a message that looks harmless in daylight. A mild request. A gentle nudge. A soft little “whenever you get a chance.”

And then the thing awakens (daan...daan...daaaa....).

First, it lurches into Slack. One person replies with a thumbs-up emoji (a universal symbol meaning: “I have seen this and I am choosing not to be responsible for it.”).

Another says, “Happy to help” (meaning: “I will absolutely not move until you tell me exactly what ‘help’ means.”).

A third sends you a three-paragraph question that reads like a hostage negotiation.

Within hours, your original “quick” request has sprouted limbs. It has attachments. It has opinions. It has an eerie ability to appear in every meeting as a “small follow-up.” It is now a recurring character in your life.

By day three, you are in a meeting that technically exists to clarify what you meant in the first place.

By day four, you are rewriting the work yourself while telling your team, through gritted teeth, that you’re “just trying to get on top of things.”

This is the part where you look at the monster and whisper, quietly, with tears in your eyes:

“How did you get so big?”

And the monster, if it could speak, would say:

“You built me out of ambiguity. You stitched me together with politeness. You animated me with your fear of being too direct. Mwaaa-ha-ha-ha.”

The real mistake isn’t the sentence. It’s the motive.

Let’s get psychological, because this is never about “communication skills” in the way people pretend it is. It’s about what your brain is optimising for.

When you write “Can you take a look…” you’re often not trying to be unclear. You’re trying to be safe.

The mistake: you communicate in a way that avoids discomfort instead of creating clarity.

In practice it looks like this:

• You give context instead of a decision.
• You write nuance instead of a clear ask.
• You hint instead of assigning.
• You “keep it open” instead of closing the loop.
• You soften so much that your message turns into an ambient scent.

Congratulations. You have now purchased yourself ten extra hours of follow-up work using nothing but good intentions and an email.

Why your brain keeps doing this (even when you know better)

Let’s go underneath it, because this isn’t really about communication skills. It’s about nervous systems, status, and the part of your brain that would rather wrestle a crocodile than risk being perceived as “too direct”.

When you send a message that’s vague-but-nice, you’re often solving for social safety, not operational speed.

Your brain is scanning for threats like:

• “If I’m too clear, they’ll think I’m aggressive.”
• “If I assign ownership, they’ll feel controlled.”
• “If I set a deadline, I’ll look demanding.”
• “If I say what I actually want, I might be disagreed with.”
• “If I close the loop, I’m accountable.”

That’s not a strategy or productivity issue. That’s a human one.

Neuroscience 101: when status or belonging feels even mildly threatened, your nervous system nudges you toward behaviours that reduce social risk. You become more polite, more hedged, more indirect. You choose harmony over clarity.

Except clarity is what prevents chaos.

So you end up with the worst deal in leadership: you avoid 12 seconds of micro-discomfort now, and you buy 10 hours of clean-up later.

The neuroscience of “unfinished loops” (why vague messages haunt you)

There’s a classic psychological effect called the Zeigarnik effect. In simple terms: unfinished tasks stick in the mind more than finished ones.

Your brain hates open loops. It keeps them running in the background like twenty-seven browser tabs you refuse to close because you “might need them”.

Vague communication creates open loops for everyone involved.

• “Can you take a look when you get a chance?” (When? What does ‘take a look’ mean? What’s the definition of done?)
• “We should probably think about this.” (Who is ‘we’? By when? What decision are we making?)
• “Let’s align.” (On what? With what output? Who decides?)

Open loops create cognitive load.

Cognitive load reduces executive function.

Executive function is the thing you need to make good decisions. So everyone becomes slower, more reactive, and more likely to ping you for reassurance.

Then you interpret the pings as “I’m needed”, when actually they’re just symptoms of ambiguity.

The “clarity protocol” that prevents the monster

One of the simplest things to remember for reducing wasted time is OCD.

Yes, I’m aware of the acronym. That’s the point.

O = Outcome​
What’s the goal, the outcome, the ask, and the reason.

C = Constraints​
What must be true, what must not happen, and any boundaries (scope, format, stakeholders, budget, tone, risks).

D = Decision rights and deadlines​
Who decides and who does what and by when.

So your original message becomes:

“Can you take a look at this and let me know what you think?”

Turns into:

• O (Outcome): Make this board deck ready for sign-off so we can get approval. Please review and tighten the narrative.
• C (Constraints): Max 12 slides. Recommendation must be explicit on slide 2. Include top 3 risks + mitigations. Numbers must match Finance v3.
• D (Decision rights + deadlines): Priya owns the edits and sends the draft. I approve final. Draft by Thursday 16:00. If you need my input, tag specific questions by Wednesday 12:00.

You’re still kind. You’re just not mystical.

OCD gives people the minimum clarity needed to act without you.

The deeper leadership layer: clarity feels rude when you’ve been rewarded for being agreeable

If you’re senior enough, you’ve probably been socially rewarded for your ability to smooth things over. To be diplomatic. To “bring people with you.” To be reasonable. There’s a whole identity wrapped up in being the leader who isn’t heavy-handed.

So when you write a crisp, owned, deadline-bound ask, your nervous system might flare like you just slapped someone with a glove and demanded a duel.

Which isn't reality - It's social conditioning.

And here’s the twist to remember: the “agreeable” version of you is often the least reasonable in practice.

Vague requests don’t feel polite to the person reading them. They feel like risk.

Now they have to guess what you mean, what matters, and how not to get blamed later.

That’s how you end up with a little Frankenstein of anxiety and follow-ups shambling around your team.

OCD-level clarity is basically giving the monster a name, a job, and a bedtime. Outcome. Constraints. Decision rights. Deadlines.

Suddenly everyone can follow you without you dragging them behind you in chains.

A small experiment for the next 7 days

For one week, do this:

Before you hit send, ask yourself:
​“Could a smart person misinterpret this?”

If the answer is yes, add the missing line:

• Outcome
• Constraints
• Decision rights and deadline

You’ll feel slightly more direct. Your calendar will feel dramatically less possessed.

And yes, you can still be warm.

Warm and clear is elite.

Your executive coach,

Terez

P.S. Nothing says “I’m in charge” like sending a message that requires six follow-up messages to decode. (I’m kidding. It says the opposite.)

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