Nothing stings quite like failure in a field where you believe yourself to be strong—where you feel confident enough to outperform most of your peers. You think you know something, only for life to remind you that unforeseen variables can surprise even the most seasoned expert. Experts, of course, should be prepared for such surprises. But let’s be honest—you can’t prepare for everything.

In my case, that unexpected variable was my wife.

I am a process guy—it’s what I do for a living. I help people optimize their work to achieve better results. I identify inefficiencies and eliminate problems. I make sure that people have the right knowledge to meet their objectives. By analyzing day-to-day activities, clarifying decision points, and helping teams define expectations and responsibilities, I make the world a better, more efficient place.

At least, that’s what I thought.

The Dishwasher Incident

One evening, I came home from work and, as always, noticed that the dishwasher had just finished its cycle. Wanting to be helpful, I decided to unload and repack it. Since I had done this many times before, I had developed a keen awareness of how my wife typically loads the dishwasher. Over time, through trial and observation, I had also refined my own technique—an optimized method—one that, in my opinion, left little room for improvement.

It became clear to me that my way was more effective than my wife’s way. By grouping similar dishes together and prioritizing the right selection from the sink, I could pack more items in a more structured and space-efficient manner.

With the superman problem-solving instinct ingrained in me, I thought: Why not help my wife optimize her process?

So, full of optimism, I called her into the kitchen and enthusiastically walked her through the “mistakes” she had made. I demonstrated how my approach was superior—pointing out how many more dishes I managed to fit and how neatly they were arranged. I even reassured her that, should she forget the pattern, I would always be there to help.

She smiled and nodded, then returned to whatever she had been doing.

I was beaming with pride. I had made our life better. I felt like a hero.

Reality Check

The next day, I came home and, out of curiosity, opened the dishwasher.

To my shock and disappointment, the dishes were arranged exactly as they had been before—my wife’s way, not my optimized way.

Later that evening, I asked her why she hadn’t followed my improved method. She simply replied that she had been busy—baking a cake, preparing dinner, and making ice cream for our daughter. In all that chaos, the last thing on her mind was my “optimized” dish-loading process.

I could hardly believe it.

Why wouldn’t she use the better method? Why not save time, water, and electricity? It bothered me so much that I even brought it up again later that evening. I explained, once again, that my process would save time and effort. We would cut costs, and everyone would benefit.

Her response caught me off guard.

She looked at me and asked:

•Did I ever ask you to help me improve this?

•Have I ever complained about how I load the dishwasher?

•How much time and money are we really saving?

•By the way, have you noticed that the kitchen window seal is broken and needs fixing?

I did the math—calculating how much water and electricity we would save per month and year. Unfortunately, the savings weren’t as groundbreaking as I had imagined.

And then it hit me.

Why was I so fixated on improving something that didn’t need fixing?

Why didn’t my wife embrace the change?

What did I do wrong?

Where was my mistake?

The Simple Truth

The answer was obvious: She didn’t want to change.

Her way worked just fine for her. The potential savings were insignificant in the grand scheme of our household budget. And most importantly—her time was something she had full control over. Optimization in this area simply wasn’t necessary.

Who cares if a process is technically “better” if there is no actual need to change the existing one?

Instead of improving the dishwasher process, my wife expected me to fix the real problem—the broken window seal.

The Lesson for Quality Professionals

The mistake I made is one of the most common in the world of quality management.

We, as quality professionals, are so full of great ideas—ideas that can add value in many areas—that we sometimes forget a fundamental truth:

– We can only help those who actually seek help.

– We should only offer solutions where solutions are needed.

When we design and document processes, the most important focus must be the customer and their needs. The key to success lies in gathering proper requirements. Only by understanding what truly matters to the customer can we develop valuable and effective processes.

To do this right, we need to:

1. Get to know our customer – Learn how they work, their challenges, and their priorities.

2. Identify the real pain points – Not all inefficiencies need fixing. Some processes work well despite being “imperfect.”

3. Let the customer ask for help – Forcing an unwanted (even brilliant) solution will not create value—it will likely cause resistance instead.

People naturally resist changes they haven’t asked for—even good ones.

So, should we just wait for product teams to come to us?

Of course not. Product teams won’t ask for help unless they understand the value we bring. Even worse, if they don’t see our role as relevant, they won’t even think to ask.

Management Teams Must Operate Like Any Successful Business

To avoid the kind of situation I had with my wife, we—as management professionals—must:

• Treat our process function like a business.

• Understand our customers.

• Build our portfolio around expectations and needs.

• Sell our expertise effectively.

•  Educate stakeholders on the value we bring.

•  Continuously improve our own processes to adapt to changing business needs.

By doing this, we ensure that our work adds real value—not just theoretical efficiency gains that no one actually cares about.

Final Thoughts

The next time you’re about to optimize a process, stop and ask yourself:

• Does anyone actually need this?

• Have they asked for it?

• Is this solving a real problem—or just one I assume exists?

If the answers aren’t clear, maybe the real priority isn’t optimization—it’s understanding what truly matters.