The Whatsapp Message

Written by Dr Lisa Reidy MVB, The HR Vet 

“I need to start a disciplinary,” he said. 

It was 8.07am. 

I hadn’t finished my first cup of tea. 

“Okaaay,” I replied. “What’s going on?” 

“She’s undermined me in front of the whole team. I can’t let that stand.” 

Ah. We were in “example must be made” territory. 

The crime? A WhatsApp message sent at 11.47pm the previous night. 

There is something about 11.47pm that amplifies problems. Rational thought goes to bed at 10.30. After that, only fatigue and Wi-Fi remain. 

“What did she say?” I asked. 

He read it aloud. 

It was about the rota. Late shifts. Again. She referred to fairness. She mentioned exhaustion. She cited the Working Time Directive. She ended with, “I think this needs to be addressed.” 

There was no profanity. It was not a manifesto. 

“She’s challenging my authority,” he said. “In front of everyone. She is practically accusing me of abuse”. 

WhatsApp has given us modern convenience - instant access, immediate communication, the ability to reach someone in the palm of our hand. It has also brought us something less convenient - the tendency to interpret fifteen pairs of blue ticks as mutiny. 

“I think I need to bring her in formally,” he continued. “Issue a written warning. I can’t have this.” 

I knew this nurse. Solid. Competent. Well-liked. Not prone to theatrics. The kind of nurse who turns up, does the work, and doesn’t require management. 

“Has she done this before?” I asked. 

“No.” 

“Has she been late? Rude? Insubordinate?” 

“No.” 

“Has anyone complained about her?” 

“No.” 

Pause. 

“Has anyone complained about the rota?” 

Silence. 

“Well…” 

The rota had been tight. Two staff on maternity leave. One resignation. Everyone covering. Everyone “managing.” 

Managing is a marvellous Irish word. It suggests resilience. It usually means simmering quietly." 

I wonder if the disciplinary procedure is the right course of action,” I said. 

“So, I just ignore it?” 

“No.” 

Silence again. 

There is a moment in these calls where I can feel the temperature of the room even though I’m not in it. His pride was dented. A bit bruised. 

“She undermined me,” he said. 

“I know”, I said, 

“She embarrassed me,” he said. “I would never deliberately abuse my staff.” 

There it was. 

Not policy. 

Not procedure. 

Embarrassment. 

“What do you hope to achieve by disciplining her?” I asked. “I mean, what do you want to happen?” 

“She’ll think twice next time.” 

“About raising a concern?” 

I felt that land at the end of the phone. 

He exhaled. 

“She could have come to me privately.” 

“Yes,” I said. “And perhaps she should have. But she didn’t.” 

We both sat in that for a moment. Me in my office. Him somewhere between a caesarian and the next TB test. 

“How about,” I suggested carefully, “you speak to her first? Not formally. Just… a chat.” 

“And say what?” 

“Ask her if she is ok.” 

A long pause. 

“I don’t want to look weak.” 

“You won’t,” I said. “You’ll look compassionate. And understanding.” 

There is something deeply counterintuitive about leadership. The instinct when challenged is to tighten control. Often the smarter move is to loosen it slightly. 

Later that week, he rang back. 

“I spoke to her,” he said. 

“And?” 

“She’s exhausted. Her partner is working away. She’s been covering extra lates. She didn’t mean it as an attack.” 

“And you?” 

“I overreacted.” 

Yes. 

What would a disciplinary have achieved in this case? A formal note. A bruise. Possibly a resignation three months later framed as “seeking new opportunities.” Or worse, a sick leave.  

Instead, the rota was adjusted. Expectations around raising concerns were clarified. And the team was remineded that WhatsApp at midnight is rarely constructive. 

No warning issued. 

No file opened. 

No procedure launched. 

The group chat went quiet. Which, in my line of work, is often the sound of success. 

It struck me afterwards how quickly we reach for formality when what we are really feeling is personal. A dented ego dressed up as a governance issue. 

Most out-of-character behaviour is not rebellion. It is stress-leaking. Pressure building internally, then escaping sideways as behaviour that isn’t really about the surface issue. 

Most of my work is not drafting letters. 

It is slowing people down long enough for perspective to re-enter the room. 

Sometimes HR is imagined as the department of policy. 

In reality, it should be the department of patience. 

Handled gently, what appears to be insubordination could become a conversation between two tired professionals who both felt unappreciated. 

No storming into the practice with policy in hand. 

No threats. 

Just space. 

Just adult conversation. 

And occasionally, that is enough.