Early in my preparation for a senior leadership role, I hired an executive coach. During our very first session, the conversation turned to humility. My coach said something that disturbed me: Humility in positions of higher authority can be risky. She said it is often perceived as a weakness and exploited, causing leaders to fall short in qualities such as inspiring confidence.
I didn’t take it well.
I vigorously engaged her in a philosophical debate, but it went nowhere. Neither of us changed our views, and we agreed to disagree.
As I reflected on that exchange later, I reached several realizations.
The first was the irony of arguing for humility with arrogance. I remember remaining cordial in the words I used, but not in my thoughts. I was making judgments about my coach, assuming she couldn’t appreciate the depth of humility as a concept. I even concluded that her point of view was one of the root causes of the poor leadership we witness all the time. I was so sure of my position, and so unwilling to listen to a different one, that I brought the conversation to a close.
Reflecting further on this irony made me realize how tricky humility can be. It works best when paired with confidence; yet confidence can sometimes hinder humility. Leaders need confidence to inspire trust, make difficult decisions and create direction. But confidence can also quietly evolve into certainty—and certainty can make us less open to perspectives that challenge our own.
That led me to another realization: Perhaps leadership unintentionally strengthens the very forces that work against humility. Authority, expertise, success and experience can gradually create the illusion that we have earned certainty.
As I reflected more deeply on why this happens, I arrived at the thought of how we relate to our sense of self—the collection of thoughts we hold about who we are. It quietly seeks validation, protection and even elevation. It can make us overly attached to our wisdom, our experience, our achievements or our positions. This shows up as arrogance, overconfidence, unwillingness to listen, defensiveness or being closed to feedback.
I can clearly see these “footprints” in my conversation with my coach. My certainty felt justified. My judgments felt justified. I simply couldn’t recognize them at the time.
I also realized that we often approach humility behaviorally—listening more, speaking less, asking questions, giving others credit. While valuable, if these behaviors are not rooted in deeper beliefs, they can eventually feel inauthentic—to ourselves and to others.
Through this reflection, I came to define humility as a commitment to remaining a student of life, learning from anyone, anything, at any time. True humility emerges when we hold an unflinching belief that no matter how much we know, no matter what we have accomplished and no matter where we stand in life, there is still much more to learn—and that a part of what we know is incomplete or even wrong.
That is why I have come to see humility as a leadership discipline. It is the discipline of becoming increasingly aware of the subtle influences of our sense of self and remaining open when authority, experience and success tempt us to close ourselves off. It is the practice of continually questioning our assumptions, listening beyond our own certainty and keeping the door to learning wide open.
When practiced consistently, humility expands our wisdom, sharpens our judgment and strengthens our connections with those around us. But perhaps the better news is that these gains do not end at leadership. When we step out of our roles and return to life itself, they enrich our experience far more broadly—deepening our relationships, widening our understanding and carrying us toward a fuller human experience.
