Holding the line: Acting with integrity in facilitation

Integrity is a word that gets used freely in professional life and examined rarely. We assume we have it. We assume the people we work with have it. And then a session becomes difficult, a client pushes for an outcome we did not agree to, or a group turns on one of its members, and we discover that integrity under pressure is a considerably more demanding thing than integrity in principle.

I once worked with a senior leadership team whose sponsor asked me, privately before the session, to steer the group towards a decision that had already effectively been made. The phrasing was careful: they wanted me to “help the group land in the right place.” I named what I heard and declined. I explained that I could design a process that gave their preferred outcome a genuine hearing alongside other possibilities, but that engineering a predetermined conclusion was not something I could do. There was a pause. They agreed to proceed on those terms.

The session ran as designed. The group arrived at a different decision from the one the sponsor had expected. It was a better one, tested more thoroughly and owned more honestly than a managed conclusion would have been. The sponsor thanked me afterwards, though not without some discomfort. What I remember most is not the gratitude but the moment before it: the pause in which I had to hold my position against pressure from someone who had hired me and whose approval I would have found easier to keep. Integrity in facilitation is not always comfortable. It is always necessary.

IAF Core Competency F2, Act with Integrity, describes the ethical and relational ground on which facilitation stands. It asks facilitators to believe genuinely in the group and its possibilities, to bring authenticity and a positive attitude into the room, to describe what they see honestly and invite others to share their perspective, and to model the professional boundaries and ethics set out in the IAF Statement of Values and Code of Ethics. These four commitments are not decorative. They are the behaviours that make it possible for groups to trust the facilitator enough to do real work. F2 depends on the self-knowledge developed in F1, you cannot hold integrity under pressure if you do not know your own values well enough to recognise when they are being tested, and it creates the foundation for the neutrality that F3 requires.

The four strands of acting with integrity

In practice, F2 rests on four commitments that work together:

  • Demonstrating a belief in the group and its possibilities
  • Approaching situations with authenticity and a positive attitude
  • Describing situations as the facilitator sees them and inquiring into different views
  • Modelling professional boundaries and ethics as described in the IAF Statement of Values and Code of Ethics

None of these is a technique. They are stances: ways of being in the room that either build or erode the trust that makes facilitation possible. Facilitation depends on trust. Groups will not say what they genuinely think, surface what they are genuinely afraid of, or commit to what they genuinely believe if they do not trust the person holding the space. And trust in a facilitator is not earned through competence alone. It is earned through integrity, through the consistent alignment of what we say, what we do and what we believe. The moment that alignment breaks, the role collapses. Groups become guarded, contributions become performances, and whatever output emerges carries the residue of a conversation that was not quite real.

Demonstrating a belief in the group and its possibilities

Of the four strands, this one is the most interior. It is not something we do so much as something we hold, and groups sense whether we hold it or not. A facilitator who does not genuinely believe in the group’s capacity to work things out will, without intending to, begin to compensate: over-structuring to prevent the group from going off course, asking leading questions that nudge rather than open, moving on before the group is ready because they do not trust what will happen if the space stays open, rescuing too quickly when struggle appears. The effect is that the group never quite gets to do the work it is capable of. The facilitator’s doubt becomes a ceiling.

Approaching situations with authenticity and a positive attitude

Authenticity in facilitation is not the same as self-disclosure. It means being genuinely present, responding to what is actually happening rather than to our idea of what should be happening, and bringing ourselves into the room rather than a professional performance of ourselves. Groups can tell the difference. A facilitator who is going through the motions is recognisable even when they are technically proficient. The questions land differently. The attention feels divided. A positive attitude does not mean suppressing honest responses or performing cheerfulness that is not felt. It means bringing a genuine orientation towards what is possible and towards the people in the room being capable of doing the work.

Describing situations as the facilitator sees them and inquiring into different views

Facilitation leans heavily towards listening and questioning. But there are moments in every significant piece of work where the facilitator sees something the group is not seeing, or where the group appears to be heading somewhere that will not serve the work. In those moments, staying silent is not neutrality. It is a choice, and often not a helpful one. This strand asks for something specific: describe what you see, and then inquire. Not “here is the truth of what is happening” but “here is what I am noticing, and I am curious whether others are seeing it differently.” This combination of honest observation and genuine curiosity is one of the most powerful things a facilitator can offer.

Modelling professional boundaries and ethics

The IAF Statement of Values and Code of Ethics sets out the ethical commitments that underpin professional facilitation: client service, participant safety and wellbeing, professional integrity, the free flow of information within the group, and the valuing of collaboration and cultural awareness. F2 asks facilitators not only to know these commitments but to model them, to make them visible in how they work. Modelling is different from compliance. Compliance means staying within the rules. Modelling means embodying the values in a way that others can see and, over time, internalise.

Reflections on demonstrating belief in the group

Belief in the group is both a moral stance and a practical one. The moral dimension is respect: treating the people in the room as capable of finding their own way rather than as problems to be managed towards a predetermined destination. The practical dimension is effectiveness: groups that are trusted to work think more freely, take more risks with their ideas and produce outcomes they genuinely own. The two dimensions are not in tension. Respecting the group’s capacity is also the surest route to the quality of outcome the client is paying for.

Research in self-determination theory, developed by Edward Deci and Richard Ryan through decades of experimental and field studies, demonstrates that people’s intrinsic motivation, the engagement that produces the deepest and most creative thinking,  is directly supported by conditions of autonomy, competence and relatedness. When people feel that they are directing their own engagement, that their contribution has genuine value, and that they are working in a community of respect, their cognitive and emotional resources are available for the work. When they feel managed, evaluated or doubted, those resources redirect towards self-protection. A facilitator who genuinely believes in the group creates the autonomy and competence conditions that self-determination theory identifies as prerequisites for intrinsic engagement. One who does not undermines those conditions even without intending to.

The practical expression of belief in the group is restraint as much as action. It shows up in the willingness to hold silence rather than filling it, to stay with productive struggle rather than rescuing too quickly, to ask a second or third question rather than summarising before the group has arrived at its own understanding. Research by Peter Senge on learning organisations describes what he calls generative conversation: dialogue in which participants genuinely think together rather than defending established positions. Generative conversation only becomes possible when the conditions support it, and the most important condition is the facilitator’s own belief that the group can produce something neither the facilitator nor any individual participant could produce alone.

Belief in the group is also not naive positivity. A facilitator who ignores power dynamics, conflict or disengagement in favour of relentless optimism is not demonstrating belief in the group. They are avoiding the group’s reality. Genuine belief holds both possibility and difficulty. It says: I think you can work through this, and I am not going to pretend it is not hard. This quality of honest confidence is what differentiates genuine trust in group potential from the cheerful management of impressions.

Seven practices that help me demonstrate belief in the group

  1. I resist the pull to rescue when the group is struggling. Struggle is often the sign that something genuinely productive is happening. I practise holding the space rather than filling it, and I notice when my urge to intervene is responding to my own discomfort rather than the group’s actual need.
  2. I design processes that draw out the group’s own thinking before importing external frameworks. Starting with what the group knows and believes, before offering models or expert perspectives, signals that the group’s intelligence is the primary resource in the room.
  3. I ask questions I am genuinely curious about. A question whose answer I already know or hope for is not a genuine inquiry. I test my questions against the criterion: am I genuinely interested in what the group will say? If not, I rewrite the question.
  4. I hold silence for longer than feels comfortable. Silence often signals that thinking is forming. Filling it too quickly prevents that forming from completing. I count silently before intervening and notice what emerges when I wait.
  5. I stay with difficulty rather than moving on prematurely. When the group is in a hard place, I resist the temptation to lighten it with activity or pace. Some of the most important conversations happen in the discomfort just before a group would rather move on.
  6. I notice my doubts about specific groups and examine them honestly. When I find myself believing, before a session, that this group will not be able to do the work, I ask where that belief comes from and whether it is based on evidence or on assumption. Unexamined doubt shapes design choices in ways that become self-fulfilling.
  7. I let my belief in the group be visible. Not through cheerleading but through the quality of my attention: the steadiness with which I hold difficulty, the genuine interest with which I receive unexpected ideas, the consistency of my trust that the group will find its way if the conditions are right.

Reflections on authenticity and positive attitude

Authenticity is among the most discussed and least precisely defined qualities in professional practice. In facilitation, it has a specific and practically important meaning: the alignment between the facilitator’s inner state and their outer presence. When a facilitator is genuinely present, there is a quality of attention that the group can feel even if they cannot name it. When they are performing presence rather than inhabiting it, groups sense the gap and become correspondingly guarded.

Research on social presence in interpersonal and professional communication consistently shows that perceived authenticity is the most significant driver of trust in helping relationships. Carl Rogers’s foundational work on the therapeutic relationship, which has been extensively validated in coaching, counselling and more recently in facilitation research, identifies congruence, the alignment of inner experience and outward expression, as the first of three core conditions for effective helping. Rogers distinguished congruence from self-disclosure: a facilitator does not need to share everything they are experiencing to be congruent. What they need is to not be performing a false version of themselves. The distinction matters because false presence is not neutral. It creates a quality of inauthenticity in the room that participants absorb and mirror back in the quality of their own contributions.

A positive attitude, in this framework, is not about emotional management in the sense of controlling or suppressing what is felt. It is about the orientation the facilitator brings to the work itself: a genuine belief that the work is worth doing, that the group is capable of doing it, and that difficulty is part of the process rather than evidence of failure. This orientation is tested most sharply in the sessions that are hardest to hold: groups that are resistant, briefs that feel dispiriting, clients whose intentions are complicated. In these conditions, maintaining a genuine positive orientation is an act of professional discipline rather than a natural response. It rests, ultimately, on the belief in the group that the first strand describes.

The moments that test authenticity most directly are the unexpected ones. A participant becomes upset. A conversation surfaces something the group was not prepared for. The energy in the room shifts suddenly and the design is no longer appropriate for what is happening. In each of these moments, the temptation is to retreat into role,  to become more professional in the sense of more controlled and less present. The more useful move is almost always the opposite: to stay with what is happening, to acknowledge it honestly without drama, and to bring a grounded presence that the group can orient around. A facilitator who can meet the unexpected with steadiness rather than anxiety is modelling the quality of presence the group needs in order to stay with its own difficulty.

Seven practices that help me maintain authenticity and positive attitude

  1. I distinguish between performing presence and inhabiting it. Before each session I take a few minutes to settle and to arrive genuinely — not to rehearse a version of myself I want to project but to arrive in the actual state I am in and to orient from there. This small practice has more effect on the quality of my presence than any amount of preparation of materials.
  2. I acknowledge difficulty honestly rather than bypassing it. When something difficult is happening in the room — an emotional moment, a piece of resistance, a shift in atmosphere, I name it without drama rather than pressing on with the plan. This acknowledgement is itself a form of authentic presence and often opens the most important conversation of the session.
  3. I attend to my own state across a session and adjust when needed. Fatigue, frustration or disconnection are part of the work. Noticing them and making a small internal adjustment, a breath, a moment of re-orientation, is more honest and more effective than suppressing them and continuing from a depleted presence.
  4. I reconnect with why the work matters when it feels difficult. Every facilitator encounters commissions that feel draining or dispiriting at points. Having a clear sense of the purpose beneath the work, why this particular group’s conversation matters and what it makes possible, provides an orientation that a positive attitude can return to when the surface conditions are not supporting it.
  5. I model the kind of engagement I am trying to create. The quality of presence I bring into the room sets a tone that participants absorb. A facilitator who is genuinely engaged, genuinely curious and genuinely steady signals to the group that this kind of engagement is available and appropriate. This is less a technique than a consequence of authentic presence.
  6. I separate my positive attitude toward the group from false positivity about the situation. Genuine positive attitude does not require pretending that difficult things are not difficult. It requires believing that the group can work through what is difficult. These are not the same thing, and conflating them produces a kind of forced cheerfulness that groups experience as patronising rather than supportive.
  7. I debrief sessions where I felt least present with a peer or supervisor. The sessions where my authenticity was most strained are the ones I learn most from when I examine them externally. Bringing them to a trusted colleague rather than processing them privately helps me identify what was happening and what I could do differently next time.

Reflections on describing situations honestly and inquiring into different views

The discipline of naming what you observe while holding your interpretation lightly is one of the most specifically demanding aspects of professional facilitation. It is demanding because it sits between two failure modes that are easier to inhabit: saying nothing, and saying too much. Saying nothing, when something significant is happening that the group is not naming, is not neutrality. It is a choice whose consequences belong to the facilitator as much as any other. Saying too much, interpreting and concluding on the group’s behalf, closes the space that facilitation is supposed to open.

Chris Argyris and Donald Schon’s research on organisational learning, particularly their work on the Ladder of Inference, offers the most practically useful framework for understanding what this strand requires. The Ladder of Inference describes how human reasoning moves rapidly from observable data through selected data, interpreted meaning, assumptions, conclusions and beliefs to action, usually without awareness. By the time a facilitator intervenes in a conversation, they have typically climbed several rungs of this ladder. The discipline that F2 requires is to be aware of which rung you are on, and to offer only as much of the ladder as the group needs to make progress.

In practice, this means keeping naming close to what is directly observable and holding interpretations explicitly as hypotheses rather than conclusions. “I notice that several people have gone quiet in the last ten minutes” is a description: it is close to the data and it leaves all the meaning-making with the group. “I think this group is avoiding something difficult” is an interpretation: it is further from the data and it implicitly claims an authority to understand the group’s experience that the facilitator does not actually hold. Both may be appropriate at different moments. Descriptions are almost always safer as a starting point, and the invitation to the group to add their own meaning is what turns observation into genuine inquiry rather than disguised direction.

The courage dimension of this strand deserves naming directly. There are moments in facilitation where naming what you see is genuinely uncomfortable: where the observation challenges a powerful participant, where the pattern you are noticing is one the group would prefer not to examine, where the thing that needs to be said is the thing that the client would rather leave unsaid. Facilitation that avoids these moments in the service of comfort is not facilitation that serves the group. Naming what is present, with care and without accusation, is an act of professional courage that the group depends on even when it does not make it easy.

Seven practices that help me describe situations honestly and inquire genuinely

  1. I stay close to the observable when I name what I see. My first formulation of an observation stays as close to what I can directly observe as possible. I name behaviour, pace, energy, silence or pattern rather than jumping to interpretation. This keeps the meaning-making with the group rather than transferring it to me.
  2. I hold interpretations explicitly as hypotheses. When I offer an interpretation, I frame it as tentative and invite correction: “I could be misreading this, but I am wondering whether…” This signals intellectual humility and creates space for the group to disagree with my reading, which is itself valuable data.
  3. I pause before naming difficult things, then name them anyway. The pause is necessary: it ensures I am acting from professional judgement rather than reactive impulse. But the naming is also necessary. Indefinite deferral of difficult observations is avoidance, not tact.
  4. I separate the observation from the person. When I name something that involves a specific participant’s behaviour, I frame it as a pattern or a process observation rather than a personal characteristic. “I am noticing that one voice has been shaping most of our direction today” is more useful and less damaging than anything that names or implies an individual failing.
  5. I ask genuine inquiry questions after naming what I see. The observation is only the opening move. The inquiry that follows is what makes it facilitative rather than directive. “What are others noticing?” or “Does this match your experience of the room?” returns interpretive authority to the group and opens a conversation rather than closing one.
  6. I practise the Ladder of Inference as a regular reflective discipline. After sessions where I made significant observations or interpretations, I examine which rung of the ladder I was on when I intervened, and whether I was offering what the group actually needed at that moment or what I found most compelling from my own perspective.
  7. I say what I see even when the client would prefer I did not. The most important test of this strand is not whether I name comfortable things but whether I name difficult ones. When something significant is happening that the group has not noticed or has chosen not to address, naming it is an act of professional integrity even when it creates discomfort.

Reflections on modelling professional boundaries and ethics

The boundary questions that arise in facilitation practice are rarely dramatic. They do not usually arrive as clear ethical dilemmas with obvious right answers. They arrive as gradual pressures, as small requests that seem reasonable in themselves but that accumulate toward a direction the facilitator has not consented to travel in. A client who asks for slightly more detail from a confidential debrief. A sponsor who wants to attend a small group conversation that was designed to be private. A brief that shifts, over several conversations, from facilitation toward consulting without anyone explicitly naming the change.

Research on professional boundary maintenance in helping relationships, including work by Kenneth Pope and Melba Vasquez on ethics in practice, identifies boundary drift as the most common form of ethical failure in professional practice: not dramatic violations but the gradual erosion of clarity about what the professional’s role is and who it serves. The facilitator who allows their role to expand under client pressure without naming and renegotiating the expansion is not simply being flexible. They are allowing the ethical architecture of the engagement to degrade in ways that will eventually cost both the client and the participants the quality of facilitation that was contracted for.

The IAF Statement of Values identifies five core commitments: client service, the safety and wellbeing of participants, professional integrity, the free flow of information within the group, and the valuing of collaboration and cultural awareness. These are not listed in order of priority, but there is an implicit hierarchy that ethical practice requires the facilitator to hold. When client service comes into tension with participant wellbeing,  when what the client wants from the session would harm the group that is being asked to produce it  participant wellbeing takes precedence. This is not a dramatic position. It is the ethical ground on which professional facilitation stands.

Declining work is itself an act of integrity, and it deserves particular attention because it is among the most difficult professional acts for independent practitioners to perform. A brief that asks you to serve a purpose you cannot support, to operate in a way that conflicts with your ethical commitments, or to create conditions in which participants cannot be protected is a brief you should decline. Knowing when to say no, and being able to say it clearly and without apology, is one of the most important professional capabilities a facilitator can develop. A practice built entirely on work you can stand behind is more sustainable, more satisfying and more effective than one built on work you cannot.

Seven practices that help me model professional boundaries and ethics

  1. I read the IAF Statement of Values and Code of Ethics regularly, not once for accreditation and then forgotten. The moments when ethical clarity matters most are rarely the moments when there is time to think. Knowing the framework in advance means having something to orient around when things become difficult.
  2. I name the brief explicitly before I accept it. I say back to the client what I understand they are asking for and what I am agreeing to provide. This surfaces assumptions, prevents drift and gives both parties a reference point if the work becomes contested later. It is also the moment to name anything in the brief that gives me pause.
  3. I name role drift explicitly when I notice it happening. When a commission begins to move from facilitation toward consulting, coaching or advocacy, I pause and name the shift rather than accommodating it silently. Renegotiating the scope explicitly protects both parties and preserves the integrity of the original agreement.
  4. I treat participant wellbeing as a non-negotiable. When participant wellbeing comes into tension with the agenda or the client’s preferences, wellbeing comes first. A facilitator who allows a participant to be harmed in service of an outcome has damaged the trust of every person in the room who witnessed it.
  5. I build in a moment before responding to pressure. When a client or participant says something that pulls me off centre, I build in a pause before I respond. That pause is where integrity lives: the gap between stimulus and response in which I can choose to act from values rather than react from anxiety.
  6. I make my process choices transparent to the group. Transparency about why I am making the design choices I am making is itself a form of integrity. It signals that I have nothing to hide about the process and helps participants trust the container I am creating.
  7. I decline work that compromises my values, and I do so without apology. Not every commission is right for every facilitator. The most professional response to a brief I cannot support is a clear, respectful decline, not an attempt to make the work fit through accommodation. A practice built on work I can stand behind is more sustainable than one built on work I cannot.

The payoff

When integrity is consistently present in facilitation work, something changes in the quality of the space. People take more risks with their thinking. They say the thing they had not planned to say. They stay with difficulty rather than retreating to safer ground. They trust that what happens in the room will be held with care.

This quality of space is not created by method. It is created by the person. A facilitator of deep integrity creates conditions that the most sophisticated design cannot manufacture. Groups feel held not because the process is impressive but because the person running it can be trusted, and because that trust has been earned through consistency between values and actions, through honesty about what the facilitator sees, through genuine belief in what the group is capable of, and through the willingness to hold professional boundaries even when it would have been easier not to.

The lasting payoff extends beyond any individual session. A group that has experienced genuinely integrity-held facilitation carries something forward: a memory of what it felt like to be trusted, held and challenged honestly at the same time. That memory shapes how they convene their own meetings, how they hold space for one another, and sometimes how they understand what good leadership looks like in practice. The facilitator’s integrity becomes, in the most useful sense, contagious.

Frequently asked questions about IAF Core Competency F2: Act with integrity

What does acting with integrity mean for a facilitator?
It means that what you do consistently reflects what you say you believe and what the professional framework of facilitation requires. It includes believing in the group’s capacity, being genuinely present rather than performing, naming what you observe honestly, and operating within the ethical commitments of the IAF Statement of Values and Code of Ethics. Integrity in facilitation is less about dramatic ethical decisions than about the quality of presence and honesty you bring to every ordinary moment of the work.

How is integrity in facilitation different from integrity in other professional roles?
The difference lies in the nature of the facilitator’s position. Facilitators hold neither authority over the content nor accountability for the outcome. The only thing that makes the role legitimate is the trust of the people in the room. Other professionals can compensate for lapses in integrity through expertise, authority or structural power. Facilitators cannot. When trust breaks, the role collapses. This makes integrity not a desirable quality in facilitation but a structural necessity.

How is a positive attitude different from false cheerfulness?
A positive attitude is an orientation towards possibility: believing that the work is worth doing, that the group is capable of doing it, and that difficulty is part of the process rather than evidence of failure. False cheerfulness is a performance that denies what is actually happening in the room. Groups can tell the difference. One is a resource that supports honest engagement. The other is a form of inauthenticity that erodes the trust it is designed to project.

What should I do if a client asks me to steer an outcome?
Name what you are hearing and decline. You can do this with care and without confrontation: “What I am understanding is that you would like the group to reach a particular conclusion. I want to be honest with you that this is not something I can do within a genuine facilitation process. What I can do is design a process that gives the outcome you hope for a fair hearing alongside other possibilities.” If the client cannot accept this, the work may not be appropriate for you to take on.

How do I balance naming what I see with respecting the group’s autonomy?
The balance is held through how you name, not whether you name. Describing what you observe and inquiring into different views keeps the interpretation with the group rather than transferring it to the facilitator. “I am noticing something and I am not sure what to make of it. I am wondering whether others are seeing it differently” is an honest observation that invites rather than closes. The group’s autonomy is not threatened by what the facilitator notices. It is threatened by what the facilitator concludes on their behalf.

Where can I find the IAF Statement of Values and Code of Ethics?
The full Statement of Values and Code of Ethics is available on the IAF website at iaf-world.org. It is worth reading alongside the Core Competencies rather than separately, since the two documents are designed to inform each other. The values describe the orientation a facilitator should hold. The competencies describe the behaviours through which those values are expressed in practice.

What if I genuinely disagree with a decision a group is moving towards?
Your role is not to protect the group from its own conclusions, but it is to ensure those conclusions are reached through a process that is honest and well-informed. If the group appears to be moving towards a decision based on incomplete information, unexamined assumptions or suppressed dissent, naming that observation is appropriate and consistent with your role. If the group has considered the issue honestly and arrives at a conclusion you personally disagree with, your responsibility is the quality of the process, not the direction of the outcome.

What is boundary drift and why does it matter?
Boundary drift is the gradual expansion of the facilitator’s role beyond what was contracted and consented to, usually through a series of small accommodations that each seem reasonable in isolation. It matters because it degrades the ethical architecture of the engagement without either party explicitly choosing to do so. When a facilitation commission drifts into consulting, coaching or advocacy, the group loses the protection of a genuinely neutral process and the facilitator loses the standing to hold the process impartially. Naming drift when you notice it, and renegotiating explicitly rather than accommodating silently, is how professional integrity is maintained across the life of a complex engagement.

How does F2 relate to F1 and F3?
F2 depends on F1 and creates the foundation for F3. You cannot hold integrity under pressure — declining a client request, naming something difficult, maintaining professional boundaries when they are being tested — without the self-knowledge that F1 develops. If you do not know your own values well enough to recognise when they are being tested, you cannot reliably act from them. And the professional stance of neutrality that F3 describes — trusting the group, minimising your own influence on content, maintaining an objective and non-judgmental presence — is only sustainable when the integrity that F2 describes is the ground beneath it. The F group as a whole describes a practitioner who knows themselves, acts from that knowledge ethically, and places both in service of the group’s own potential.

What is the most honest question I can ask about my own integrity in practice?
Where in my practice do my actions most clearly align with my stated values, and where is the gap most visible? The sessions that reveal this gap most clearly are usually not the dramatic ones but the quiet ones: the moment I did not name something I had noticed, the commission I accepted despite my reservations, the summary that slightly privileged my reading over the group’s. Examining these moments honestly, with a peer or supervisor rather than alone, is where professional integrity is developed rather than simply assumed.

Where in your practice do your actions most clearly reflect the values you say you hold, and where is the gap most visible?

What is the most difficult thing you have had to decline or name in a facilitation engagement, and what made it possible to do so?

What would the group from your last significant commission say about the integrity of your presence if they were asked honestly?

Thanks for reading!

Explore IAF Core Competency F: Model positive professional attitude

This article is part of a three-part series on the facilitator’s inner life and professional conduct.