The Cost of Speaking Up

Learning When the Hill Isn't Worth Dying On

"The right thing isn't always the easy thing." We've all heard some version of this saying, and most of us nod along in agreement.

What nobody tells you is that sometimes doing the right thing isn't just difficult, it can actively blow up in your face.

Last week, I wrote about integrity when no one's watching and the quiet power of doing right without recognition. This week, I want to share the flip side: when speaking up for what I believed was right cost me my job.

Several years ago, I was part of a leadership team going through some cultural challenges. We had a new manager who was trying to make a name for himself through threats and excessive documentation. His approach was creating a climate of uneasiness, and the entire team (including other supervisors) was struggling with his management style.

I had built solid rapport with my team and in many ways had become sort of the glue. I was good at my job, which gave me a false sense of security. I wasn't arrogant or rude, but I had developed a tendency to speak up and push back more than others. Not to be argumentative, but to challenge the status quo and try to improve conditions for everyone.

During a team meeting, we reached an "open floor" portion where we were told everything would stay in that room… and like an idiot, I took the bait.

I told the manager, point-blank, that he was acting as a manager and not as a leader. When he responded that he didn't see the difference, I told him that was precisely the problem. I explained how his approach was negatively affecting the team, suggesting (tactfully, I thought) that a change in mindset would benefit everyone, including him.

I never intended to embarrass him or pick a fight. My genuine hope was that addressing this in a forum designed for open feedback would lead to positive change. I thought I'd accomplished my goal and set wheels of improvement in motion.

The only wheels I set in motion were the ones moving the target onto my back.

From that point forward, he had it out for me, though he was strategic about it. There were no public attacks or obvious retaliation. Instead, he took the less respectable approach: waiting in the shadows for any slip-up, ready to pounce. Eventually, his moment came, and he got me. I found myself on the wrong side of employment. It wasn't performance-related; it was an incident strategically twisted into something it wasn't.

The part that hurt most wasn't losing my job, it was the silence from all the people I had consistently spoken up for. Not one of them stood up for me. I was hurt and bitter about it, and it was really hard not to become resentful.

Eventually, I came to a realization that brought some peace: circumstances are different for different people. If I got fired for speaking up (which, obviously, I ultimately did), the only one at stake was me. I wasn't married at the time, nor did I have any kids. I didn't even have a pet relying on me. Nearly everyone else had a family, or spouse, or kids. Someone depending on their paycheck and stability.

I was naive. At the end of the day, they really did care about me and were upset and saddened by my departure, but they were in positions that didn't grant them the same flexibility to voice their thoughts and concerns. I understand that now.

I learned a lot from that experience. I'm not going to claim I became timid and never ruffled feathers again because that wouldn't be true to who I am. But I definitely became better at reading the room, the situation, and the receiver of the message. I improved my delivery and became smarter about my approach. Most importantly, I became more selective in my battles, instead of treating every situation as one worth fighting.

At the end of the day, what do individual battles matter if you lose the war?

This experience taught me that integrity isn't just about speaking truth regardless of consequences. Sometimes, true integrity requires strategic patience and understanding the larger context. It means recognizing when a principled stand might do more harm than good… not just to yourself, but to the very people you're trying to help.

I still believe in speaking up when something isn't right. I still advocate for team members and push back on approaches I think are harmful. But I now understand that how and when you do this matters just as much as whether you do it at all.

Sometimes wisdom isn't about knowing what to say but rather it's about knowing when to say it, how to say it, and whether this particular hill is worth dying on.

Have you ever experienced consequences for doing what you thought was right? How did it shape your approach moving forward? I'd love to hear your stories in the comments.