The Squeakiest Wheel Gets Oiled First

I’ve been working with a client recently who is trying incredibly hard to support a struggling member of their team.

And I mean really trying. They’ve coached. They’ve listened. They’ve put structures in place. They’ve given time and space. They’ve tried encouragement. They’ve tried being firmer. They've tried carrot. They've tried stick. They've probably contemplated becoming the entire vegetable patch at this point.

And still... Squeak.

This has gotten me thinking about where our energy goes when we’re trying to help people.

Because we all do this to some extent. Something is loud, so we respond to it. But loud isn’t necessarily the same as important. Repeated isn’t necessarily the same as urgent. And helping isn’t the same as endlessly responding.

What about all the other wheels?

This is the bit I keep coming back to. When one person is taking up a huge amount of your time, attention and emotional energy... what’s happening to everyone else? What about the nice quiet wheels that are just rolling along?

Sometimes our most capable people receive the least of us precisely because they’re capable. And that’s a bit uncomfortable, isn’t it?

None of this happens because we don’t care about those people. Quite the opposite. It happens because we’re human.

We only have so much time, attention and emotional capacity to pour into other people. And when most of it is being poured into the same endlessly squeaking wheel, there simply isn’t as much left for everyone else. Or, actually, for ourselves.

Loud doesn’t always mean emergency

I see this everywhere, not just in business. With children. Friends. Family. Colleagues. Neighbours. Someone needs something from us, so we respond. Then they need something else, so we respond again. And gradually, without really deciding to, we can become conditioned to the noise.

Squeak. Respond. Squeak. Respond. Squeak. Respond.

Sometimes that response is absolutely necessary. If somebody is genuinely at risk or in crisis, that needs to be taken seriously and the appropriate professional support needs to be involved.

But sometimes something isn’t an emergency. It’s just... loud. And I think part of good coaching — and perhaps just good human-ing — is learning to notice our own response long enough to ask:

·        Is this actually urgent?

·        Is this mine to solve?

·        Have I done everything I can reasonably do within my role?

·        Am I helping this person to move forward — or have we fallen into a pattern where I keep helping and they keep needing me to?

And perhaps the slightly harder question:

·        What is continually responding to this costing me — and everybody else?

When helping becomes rescuing

This one hits me personally, because this is a boundary I have to watch in myself - because I’m a helper. I like helping people. I’ve literally built a career around it.

But something I’ve learned through coaching, leadership and supervision (and life!) is that there’s an important difference between supporting someone and carrying them.

Good support should help somebody build their own capability. It should give them tools, space, confidence, knowledge or perhaps a different way of looking at something. It shouldn’t require you to become permanently responsible for keeping them afloat.

And sometimes the most supportive thing you can say is also one of the hardest:

“I feel I’ve done everything I reasonably can to support you within my lane. I don’t know what else I can do for you here. I want you to get the right help, but I need you to take the next step too.”

That can feel horrible. Particularly when you care. Because setting a boundary can feel remarkably like withdrawing support. But it isn’t. Boundaries aren’t cruelty. And they aren’t abandonment. Sometimes they’re what stops helping from becoming rescuing.

If someone is drowning, of course you want to help them. But allowing them to pull you under too doesn’t result in one person being saved. It results in two people drowning.

Recognising the limits of your role matters. As a manager, friend, parent or colleague, you can care enormously about somebody without being able to fix everything for them.

Sometimes helping means knowing when somebody needs support that you simply aren’t qualified or equipped to provide. Sometimes it means signposting. And sometimes it means recognising that you've done your bit and the next move belongs to them.

And then something interesting happens...

When you stop automatically reaching for the oil every time the same wheel squeaks, you have a chance to look around. And you start noticing all the other wheels. The reliable one that’s been quietly turning for months. The ambitious one that could probably go much faster with a little investment. The slightly wobbly one that hasn’t made a fuss, but might really appreciate someone noticing.

Maybe you sit down with the person who never asks for your time and discover there’s something they’ve been quietly carrying. Maybe you finally have the capacity to develop the person who is doing brilliantly rather than spending all your time trying to bring somebody else up to baseline. Maybe you notice and say thank you to the people whose reliability has accidentally made them invisible.

And perhaps you notice yourself too. Because there’s only so much oil in the can. Where we choose to pour it matters. So maybe the old saying needs a bit of an extension:

The squeakiest wheel might get oiled first. But good helping means noticing which wheels actually need it — and making sure you save enough oil for yourself and everyone else too.