Mark entered the quarterly review meeting with a confident smile. His confidence collapsed, though, when the client opened with the words, “We’ve been having some real issues with our current service.”
Mark made a conscious effort to keep that smile in place and nod respectfully as the client continued. Inside, though, Mark’s heart was racing. This was a major account. What if he’d messed this up? What if this contract didn’t renew? What would his boss say? What would his wife say?
At the very first opportunity, even though his mind had been wandering a bit, Mark leaned forward and launched into monologue mode, offering a series of solutions for (what he only guessed was) his contact’s main “issue.” He quickly and loudly took control of the exchange, outlining upgrades, new support tiers, and faster response times – and even promising personal involvement on technical questions he hadn’t really been trained to handle. Throughout, his pace was rapid and his vocal tone upbeat—as though his urgency alone might deliver the value the client was missing.
He'd imagined he was demonstrating proactive ownership. What he actually demonstrated was that he wasn’t listening.
His contact had opened a door to a deeper conversation, but Mark never walked through it. He didn’t ask when the issues had begun. He didn’t explore the underlying frustrations or their impact personally. He didn’t clarify whether the major concern was operational, communicative, cultural, strategic, or a combination of those factors. By reacting instead of inquiring, Mark revealed that he was more focused on holding on to the deal than on understanding the problem.
And that, ironically, is what cost him the deal.
Mark’s instant response turned out to be the moment he lost the business. Not because his organization was incapable of fixing the problems, but because he signalled—clearly—that he could not hear and validate the client on a purely human level or set aside his own emotions long enough to listen actively. David Sandler had a saying: Selling is a Broadway play performed by a psychiatrist. Meaning: don’t get emotionally sucked in, no matter how intense things become. Keep your perspective.
A psychiatrist doesn’t get swept away by the patient’s problem. When the patient says they have a problem, the psychiatrist doesn’t respond emotionally and leap into problem-solving mode. What do they do? They ask questions.
A qualified psychiatrist is good at playing the role of psychiatrist, just as a good actor plays a role to perfection without imagining they’re actually trapped inside the play. Both create the emotional distance that allows them to do their job well. When a problem surfaces, a psychiatrist says things like: “Tell me more about that.” “When has this been happening?” “What do you think is causing it?” “How has this affected you?”
In other words, they ask meaningful, authentic questions from a grounded, objective stance -- to better understand what the other person is saying and where they are coming from. That’s what we must do as salespeople, too. So when someone says, “I’ve got a real problem with so-and-so,” it’s not our job to jump in and fix it on the spot—and it’s certainly not our job to elevate our own emotional response above their experience.
Our job is to stay objective and diagnose the situation properly. To step back and play the role that makes the most sense. To be more of a psychiatrist—learning as much as we can about both the issue and the people involved—and less of an interested party with emotional skin in the game.
Once we get emotionally sucked in, we lose control. Even if things get intense, it’s still our job to be the psychiatrist: objective, curious, asking strong questions, connecting the dots.
If we can avoid becoming emotionally involved, we can get to the bottom of virtually any issue affecting a client or prospect and, eventually, make the recommendation that makes the most practical sense to everyone involved. If Mark had done that; he could have kept that client.
