Late to the party and fearing the fallout
“Dear Emma,
I've been working with a couple - Dave and Lucy - for over twenty years. At a recent meeting, Dave shared that he's been diagnosed with terminal cancer.
From a planning perspective, everything is in good shape. But after speaking with a few colleagues facing similar issues at the moment, and as selfish as this sounds, I'm worrying what this means for me.
I've never really built much of a relationship with Lucy. I've always found her a bit offhand if I'm honest. She stays quiet during meetings while Dave does the talking. But I know she's the one who wears the trousers at home.
To be blunt, I'm concerned that when Dave passes away, Lucy might not want to continue working with me. And if she walks away, their two adult children - whom I also advise - might go too.
I'd like to do something about that - not just for business reasons, though I won't pretend that's not part of it. I know I've dropped the ball. But I don't know how to suddenly start engaging her more without it seeming awkward or manipulative.
Is it too late to turn this around? Or is there still a way to open up a better relationship with Lucy?
Yours, Late to the Party”
Dear Late to the Party,
Your letter stood out because of how relatable it is. Your concern is real and unfortunately well founded. Research suggests that up to 70% of widows change advisers within a year of their husband's death. And as wealth increasingly shifts into the hands of women, building meaningful relationships with all your clients—not just the ones who speak loudest—is essential.
The good news? It's rarely too late to repair a relationship. Of course, you can't control how Lucy responds, but you can take responsibility for your part in this dynamic.
In psychotherapy, we talk about 'rupture and repair' - the idea that relationships inevitably involve moments of disconnection. Your complicity with Dave taking the lead may have left Lucy feeling unimportant or unseen. Her 'offhandedness' appears to have left you bruised too. But ruptures, when repaired well, can actually deepen trust and connection.
That said, it will take courage. The kind of courage that asks you to put aside your professional mask and meet Lucy human to human—with authenticity, humility, and a willingness to hear what's true for her, even if it's hard.
You might say something like:
"Dave's diagnosis casts a different light on our work going forward, Lucy. It's made me realise I haven't served you as well as I could have. I regret that. It's hard to admit, but I've sometimes felt like you were less interested in my advice than Dave was, and I took the easier path of focusing on him. That's on me. But I'd really like to understand your perspective. How has this felt to you? Perhaps it's felt like I was dismissing you."
And then you need to listen. Not to rebut or justify, but to build a shared understanding you can move forward from.
I realise I'm asking a lot. I'm asking you to take responsibility without defensiveness, to be vulnerable with someone who might brush you off. But as Brené Brown reminds us, "Vulnerability is the birthplace of connection." And connection is what builds trusted, loyal client relationships.
If Lucy does decide to find another adviser after Dave dies, you'll know you tried. You showed up fully. Better late than never.
One final thought: you mentioned colleagues facing similar issues, which suggests this might be a wider pattern. I'd encourage you to take a wider lens and wonder whether there's something happening at a cultural level in your firm? Something around how attention is given, whose voices are drawn in, and who might be left quietly in the background. Sometimes what's needed isn't just individual insight, but a shared willingness to reflect, realign, and repair together.
Warmly,
Emma