There’s a kind of silence that follows failure. A heavy, suffocating quiet that settles in after the dust has cleared, leaving you standing in the wreckage of something you thought would work. That awful silence makes you question everything. Everything. Every little detail of your actions. It makes you question your value and skills. Whether you are really cut out to be a leader. After all, if you can’t get your own stuff right, how can you lead others?
That kind of silence I know well. It’s been a constant companion on my leadership journey.
I’ve felt the heartache of royally stuffing things up. Decisions that I laboured over to only have backfired on me. Of heading down paths I thought were so right to realise just how wrong I was. Decisions that had serious consequences. Decisions that left egg on my face, covering up the redness of embarrassment and guilt.
There’s been many moments in my life where I’ve felt like an imposter. Times where I have tried so hard to hold it together, like hanging off a ledge by my fingertips, with my mind screaming at me, What are you doing? Everyone is going to see through you.
No one told me how lonely leadership can be. No one told me that when things go wrong, when a project fails, when a tough decision leaves people disappointed, that you’d feel like a fool. No one told me that as a leader, there is no back up. Of course, I’m a smart woman; I know the buck stops me and with great power comes great responsibility. I signed up for good times and bad. But why don’t these leadership books and posts about leadership talk more about the dark, messy parts of leadership? Instead, it’s all the 5 books great leaders read or the 5 things leaders do every day or look at me, I won an award. The weight of leadership can be unbearable, like a mountain collapsing on top of you, and you don’t have the right equipment to dig yourself out.
There’s a certain type of shame that comes with failing in front of people who believe in you. When you stumble and no one’s watching, it’s not so bad. You can pick yourself up, readjust and get on with it. But when you do it in front of others, especially when your team, clients, or peers are watching, the pressure to get it right is heavy.
I remember a time when I had to make a tough staffing decision. I know it wasn’t going to be popular. But I knew it was necessary. I went back and forth, agonising over it, picking at it, weighing the pros and cons, worrying at it like an old sore. I finally convinced myself I was doing the right thing. Oh my goodness, the fallout was worse than I could have imagined. I miscalculated. I underestimated how deeply it would affect the team. The disappointment in their eyes was like a punch to the gut. I felt like I did as a kid when mum would say ‘I’m not angry. I’m just disappointed.’
The worst part was I couldn’t go hide in my room and lick my wounds. I had to keep showing up.
There was no time to wallow or undo what had been done. There was no rewind button. I had to sit in that discomfort, own my mistake, and figure out how to move forward without losing their trust completely. I worked it out but boy, oh, boy, there were days I wanted the earth to open up and swallow me.
Some days, I don’t know what I am doing. I’ve no freaking idea. I show up and wing it, hoping no one sees through my facade of ‘I’ve got it all together’ face.
Some days, I wake up and feel completely unqualified to be doing this leadership thing. A job seems like a better option. Some days, I second-guess every decision I make, running through a mental checklist of What if I’m wrong again? What if this backfires? What if this is the moment everything falls apart? What if? What if? What if? Argh!
But, I keep going. That’s what leaders do. Not because I’m fearless, not because I’ve figured it all out, but because I don’t let the fear stop me.
I thought leadership was about having all the answers. Now, I know it’s about being willing to say, I don’t know, but I’ll figure it out.
I’m learning to sit with my own imperfections. Own my failures instead of hiding them. Let my team and others see the human behind the title.
The most surprising thing happened – my honesty strengthened my leadership, not weakened it.
When I admitted to my team that I’d made the wrong call on that staffing decision, I was ready for a tsunami of resentment to crash over me. Instead, I was met with something I didn’t expect—respect. My team doesn’t expect me to be perfect. They need me to be accountable, to see when I make mistakes, I don’t sweep them under the rug. I acknowledge them. I learn from them. I do better.
We’ve been fed this idea that strong leaders are unshakable, that they always have control. Real strength is knowing when to seek help. It’s knowing when to admit you’re struggling. It’s standing in the discomfort of failure and choosing to grow from it instead of letting it define you. Leadership is about having the courage to keep going, even when you don’t want to.