Years ago, when I was working in an office environment, I found myself in an interesting situation. One of my peers, someone I had worked closely with for years, someone who I admired and respected, was promoted to become my manager.
I was pleased with the news. She was very talented, and I felt she had earned the role. I had learned a great deal from her, and I was looking forward to learning even more as we adjusted to this change.
There was just one problem.
In the time we had worked together, we had become close friends. And everyone in the office knew it.
We had spent countless hours working side by side on projects. We trusted each other deeply. We saw eye to eye on most things, laughed at each other’s jokes, and had learned how to disagree in ways that made our ideas better. We also gave each other permission to be courageous. From time to time, we would stage what we jokingly called a “march,” standing together to take a concern to our manager when we thought something needed to change.
But now she was the manager.
I recognized immediately that our relationship would have to change. The unguarded flow of information between us couldn’t be quite the same. She now had responsibilities that I didn’t have, and information that she couldn’t necessarily share. She also had to represent the organization in ways she hadn’t before.
And there was another issue that I knew was important to both of us: appearances. If I were selected for an opportunity, I didn’t want people wondering whether I had earned it or had gotten it because I was friends with the boss.
So during one of our first conversations after her promotion, I decided we needed to talk about it.
“You are in a high-profile position now,” I told her. “People are going to be watching everything you do. You can’t treat me any differently from how you treat anyone else on the team. I don’t want people thinking I’m being favored because we’re friends. It doesn’t serve either one of us for me to be seen as some kind of ‘teacher’s pet.’”
I could tell she was a little surprised.
“So what does that mean?” she asked.
“We’re still friends. That doesn’t change. But we probably won’t be quite so obvious about it around the office.”
Then I added something else.
“But this change also comes with a promise. I promise to do everything I can to make you look good.”
She didn’t hesitate.
“And I promise to make you look good, too.”
I don’t remember whether we shook hands on it, but in that moment, a professional pact was born.
And that pact served both of us very well through quite a number of career iterations, that took place over the course of years, and eventually across several organizations.
I have been thinking about that conversation recently, because I believe it illustrates an important distinction in leadership.
There is a difference in the ways that employees may choose to follow their leaders; I like to call these the levels of followership.
At the most basic level, there is compliance: I do what you ask because you are the leader.
There is nothing inherently wrong with compliance. In fact, an employee can be perfectly competent and dependable while operating at this level. They come to work, perform their assigned responsibilities, follow established policies and procedures, and respond when the leader asks them to do something.
But their followership is largely transactional. They do what is expected, but not much more. They may see a problem developing but wait for the leader to notice it. They may have an idea but keep it to themselves. They may disagree with a decision but simply go along with it. They provide the leader with their labor and cooperation, but they have not necessarily become invested in helping the leader succeed. With this kind of followership, high trust is not required.
Then there is voluntary followership: I choose to follow you because I trust you and believe in your leadership.
This is different from compliance because the leader’s authority is no longer the primary reason for following. Employees willingly accept the leader’s influence. They respect the leader’s judgment, trust their intentions, and are willing to go where the leader is asking them to go. Even when they don’t completely agree with a decision, they may support it because they have confidence in the person making it.
But I think there is another level beyond that—what I call active followership: I willingly choose to follow you and want to contribute to your success.
At this level, employees don’t simply trust the leader enough to follow. They have developed a stake in whether the leader succeeds. They bring the leader information rather than waiting to be asked. They raise concerns before problems become crises. They contribute ideas, challenge assumptions, offer candid feedback, and help the leader see things the leader might otherwise miss. When something important needs to get done, they are willing to extend themselves beyond what is strictly required.
In other words, they aren’t merely following the leader. They are helping the leader lead.
That is what changed for me when my friend became my manager. I wasn’t merely willing to accept her leadership. I wanted her to succeed. And I was prepared to behave in ways that would help make that happen.
Why? Because I knew she wanted the same thing for me. When that happens, trust becomes reciprocal.
The best leader-employee relationships are not built simply on an employee’s trust in the leader. The leader also demonstrates trust in the employee. The leader invests in the employee’s success, provides opportunities to grow, listens to their ideas, values their contributions, supports them when they need it, and gives them meaningful responsibility.
Over time, something important can happen in return: You are invested in my success. I become invested in yours.
That was the real meaning of the pact my manager and I made all those years ago. “I’ll make you look good” didn’t mean that I would flatter her, protect her from legitimate criticism, or blindly support every decision she made. In fact, because we trusted each other, sometimes making each other look good meant telling the other person something they didn’t particularly want to hear.
It meant that we had each accepted some responsibility for the other’s success. And that is what active followership looks like.
It is more than cooperation or even loyalty. It is the willingness to use your own judgment, effort, influence, and courage to help another person succeed. And because it is voluntary, it cannot simply be demanded as part of someone’s job.
A title can produce compliance. Authority can establish expectations and accountability. But neither can make another person genuinely want you to succeed. That has to be earned.
And I believe one of the most powerful ways leaders earn it is by demonstrating first that they are genuinely invested in the success of the people they lead.
Perhaps the real measure of a trusted leader isn’t simply how many people are willing to follow them.
It’s how many people genuinely want them to succeed—and are willing to help make that success happen.