Post by Erin Beattie, Founder + CCO
I’ve spent most of my career in rooms where the loudest voices are the ones that get heard. You know who I mean: confident, charismatic, unflinching in their opinions. They speak first and longest. They command attention. And because of that, we often mistake volume for vision.
But over time, I’ve come to realize something: the leaders who left the deepest imprint on me, the ones I still think about years later, were rarely the loudest in the room. They showed up with care, with curiosity, and with a steadiness that didn’t need to shout.
Leadership isn’t the loudest voice in the room
A common myth states that leadership is about bold speeches, dramatic moves, or high-visibility decisions. Those things can matter. But most leadership doesn’t unfold on a stage or behind a podium. It lives in the in-between spaces, in hallways and Zoom calls, in one-on-one check-ins, in the quiet moments when we choose to listen rather than react.
I’ve watched leaders build loyalty not because they had all the answers, but because they were willing to sit beside someone and admit they didn’t. I’ve seen trust grow not from grand gestures, but from consistent follow-up. And I’ve seen change happen not because someone shouted a vision, but because someone made people feel seen.
One recent article on leadership put it simply: “Often, less talk equals more influence.” There’s real power in restraint, in choosing words carefully, in pausing and giving space for others to speak.
The small things that change everything
Once, I worked with a leader who made a habit of sending handwritten notes to her team. Just a few lines acknowledging something they’d done or a quality she admired. It seemed so simple, almost trivial, and yet I watched those notes pinned above desks for years. The point wasn’t the stationery (or not entirely). The point was: I see you. You matter.
I’ve also been on the receiving end of quiet leadership when I needed it most. Early in my career, I made a mistake. It wasn’t catastrophic, but it was big enough to keep me awake at night. I steeled myself for the reprimand, the disappointment, the “we need to talk” moment. Instead, my manager called me in, asked me what I’d learned, and shared a story of his own mistake in a similar situation. That small act of compassion changed everything. I walked out determined to do better, not out of fear, but because I felt supported.
These are the moments that no press release captures. They don’t show up in annual reports. But they shape the kinds of workplaces we build and the kinds of people we become.
Compassion isn’t a weakness
Somewhere along the way, we started treating compassion as a liability in leadership, a soft extra, a “nice to have.” But the more I lean into this work, the more convinced I become that it’s the opposite. Compassion is a discipline. It demands patience, restraint, and the courage to slow down in a world that rewards speed. It asks us to read context before reacting, to put people before metrics when the two bump up against each other.
It’s not light work. It takes more strength to hold space for someone’s struggle than it does to rush past it. More courage to say “I don’t know” than to pretend you do. And more confidence to share power than to hold it tightly.
Brené Brown captures this beautifully when she says, “Clear is kind. Unclear is unkind.” Compassion isn’t about lowering expectations or avoiding hard conversations. It’s about being courageous enough to have them with honesty and care.
The leaders I most admire are those who make decisions with empathy, even when they’re hard. They know people aren’t resources to manage; they’re humans to support. They don’t see care and accountability as opposites. They see care as the foundation from which accountability grows.
Rethinking power
For too long, leadership and power have been treated as synonyms. We hand people titles and authority and call it leadership, even when their actions don’t build trust or create change. We reward those who command attention, who hold control tightly, who make final calls without asking questions. In many organizations, more power means less accountability.
This kind of power tends to be rooted in hierarchy and scarcity. It assumes there’s only so much power to go around, so whoever’s at the top must guard it. But that model is breaking down. It silences voices. It discourages collaboration. And it often reproduces exclusion.
Power doesn’t have to look like that. It can be shared, amplified, and used to empower rather than silence. It can mean influence, not authority. It can mean building trust and creating conditions for others to step in. It can mean making space for voices that have long been marginalized.
Quiet leadership doesn’t mean stepping away from power. It means using it differently. It means seeing power as something that grows when it’s spread. The most impactful leaders aren’t those who hoard power. They’re those who help others hold it too.
Brené Brown reminds us that “Vulnerability is not weakness. It’s our greatest measure of courage.” And I think about that often in leadership, because choosing to share power, to invite others in, to loosen your grip on control takes exactly that kind of courage.
Recent research on teams shows that when leadership is shared across senior and junior members, team impact rises. In other words, power that’s distributed is power that’s multiplied.
And as leadership author Susan Cain has written, courage is as much about sitting down and listening as it is about standing up and speaking. That idea lives at the heart of quiet leadership: the power to wait, to listen, and to hold/make space for others to lead.
What I’ve learned by watching
I’ve learned just as much from flawed leaders as from great ones. I’ve seen how fear-based leadership erodes trust. I’ve watched control masquerade as competence. I’ve seen cultures crumble from ego and competition. I’ve seen people feel dismissed, disposable, and invisible.
But I’ve also seen quiet revolutions when someone in power chose differently. I’ve seen teams thrive under leaders who prioritized rest, boundaries, and balance. I’ve witnessed innovation when people felt safe enough to speak up. I’ve watched entire systems shift when someone decided kindness and care were non-negotiable.
These lessons, the ugly ones and the hopeful ones, have shaped how I show up. They’ve taught me to notice the small things: the tone of an email, someone’s shoulders relaxing when they feel heard, the difference between listening to reply and listening to understand. They’ve reminded me that leadership isn’t a title. It’s a daily choice. It’s how we treat people.
Choosing a quieter way
We live in a world that rewards those who make noise. The loudest opinions dominate feeds. The boldest personalities grab promotions. The biggest strategies are framed as the most ambitious. But maybe real leadership work doesn’t happen under spotlights. Maybe it happens in the quiet places: in pauses, in questions, in moments when we decide being kind matters more than being right.
I don’t always get it right. None of us do. But when I lead with compassion, when I choose curiosity over certainty, care over control, the work changes. It feels more honest. More human. More aligned with the world I want to help build.
Leadership isn’t about being the loudest person in the room. It’s about creating space for others to speak. It’s not about commanding attention. It’s about earning trust. It’s not about knowing all the answers. It’s about asking better questions.
It’s about choosing, again and again, to lead quietly, to share power, and to let that quiet speak volumes.
Further Reading and Resources
- Brené Brown, Dare to Lead — On vulnerability, courage, clarity, and trust in leadership
- Susan Cain, Quiet Power — On the strength of stillness and the impact of listening
- The Benefits of Quiet Leadership — Association for Talent Development, 2025
- Quiet Leadership: The Superpower the World Needs — Psychology Today, 2024
- Shared Leadership and Team Impact Research — arXiv, 2023
