In academic libraries, workplace tension does not always begin with a major disagreement, a policy change, or a visible conflict. More often, it begins quietly. It begins when people fill in the blanks instead of asking questions. It begins when someone assumes they know what another person needs, prefers, understands, or can handle. Over time, those assumptions shape decisions, relationships, and workplace culture.

I’ve worked with good bosses, difficult bosses, and a few who reminded me how fragile healthy workplace culture can be. I’m often asked why I don’t switch organizations.

Onboarding wasn’t just about ticking off boxes on a checklist—it was about setting the stage for success, inclusion, and long-term satisfaction. For professional librarians, who often entered new roles with a wealth of experience but faced unique challenges in adapting to a new environment, the onboarding process was critical. At Goldey-Beacom College, our approach to onboarding professional librarians was rooted in empathy, care, and leadership. We believed that by prioritizing these values, we could create a workplace where every librarian felt supported, valued, and empowered from day one.

In the ongoing pursuit of diversifying academic libraries and higher education, the word "attract" often takes center stage. We emphasize the need to attract diverse talent, attract underrepresented students, and attract marginalized voices. However, as Ruha Benjamin insightfully argues in her seminal work, Viral Justice, this narrative is flawed and ultimately misguided. The problem isn't that Black, Latinx, and Indigenous students are not drawn to fields like STEM—or any field, for that matter. The issue is the systemic barriers that undermine and exclude these groups at nearly every turn.

We talk about innovation in academic libraries as if it needs to be controlled—carefully implemented, assessed, and aligned.

You do not hate innovation. You hate the ritual of buying a shiny new thing and calling that change.

Becoming a dean changes the weight of your words in ways you may not fully realize at first.

The first promotion changes something that is hard to name at first.

In earlier posts, I have explored some of the quieter challenges that shape organizational life: communication that breaks down, supervisors who withdraw, and the slow erosion of trust that follows. These are not dramatic events—they tend to unfold gradually, in the margins of daily work. Today I want to reflect on another set of behaviors that operate in that same quiet register: microaggressions.

A disappointing performance evaluation. A critical remark from a supervisor. Another year without a raise. A promotion awarded elsewhere. A demanding, disruptive leader who appears to face no consequences while others absorb the impact.

Academic libraries do not recognize all leadership equally. Two unit directors may start at the same organizational level, yet one is repeatedly invited to chair committees, lead strategic initiatives, and represent the library across campus, while the other is expected to manage staff tensions, handle follow-up, solve operational problems, and keep the unit functioning behind the scenes. Both are leading. Both are contributing. But only one is being positioned to advance.

In academic libraries, first impressions carry enormous weight.

Student employment in academic libraries is often described in practical terms. Student workers staff desks, support projects, complete tasks, and help keep the library running. All of that is true. But if that is all we see, we miss something important.

Not long ago, I found myself in a familiar leadership moment—navigating a decision that needed to move forward quickly, with limited time and competing perspectives. The instinct, as it often is in higher education, was to decide, communicate, and implement. But what was missing wasn’t information—it was alignment.

What does a university look like when its community members are truly flourishing — and what is the cost when they are not?

I recently wrote about leadership accountability and blame-shifting, and the silent supervisor, exploring how leaders deflect responsibility when things go wrong or are non-communicative with their colleagues. That pattern of avoiding accountability often manifests through the communication dynamics I will examine here, the subtle ways our messages can undermine rather than support, even when we mean well.

In a previous post, I explored how communication and trust form the bedrock of effective leadership. But what happens when leaders undermine that foundation by refusing to accept responsibility for their own decisions? And more troublingly, what does it reveal about their leadership when they attempt to shift blame onto those with less power, namely their direct reports, frontline staff, or mid-level managers?

Higher education organizations often speak about belonging. Strategic plans reference it. Conferences center it. Leadership programs aspire to cultivate it.