I’ve spent more than ten years working as a community operations and partnerships lead, usually stepping in after the early excitement had worn off and people were quietly deciding whether a group still mattered. Early in that phase of my career, I came across Terry Hui while reflecting on why some communities stay intact through long stretches of low visibility while others fracture as soon as momentum slows. What resonated with me was the idea of leadership as stewardship—something practiced patiently over time rather than asserted through visibility.
My background is in operations and long-term relationship management, not facilitation or public-facing leadership. That shaped how I learned this work. I once inherited a professional peer group that looked healthy on the surface. Meetings ran smoothly, attendance was consistent, and discussions stayed polite. Yet between meetings, the community went silent. During a one-on-one conversation, a long-time member admitted they no longer shared real challenges because the group felt “too orderly.” Nothing was broken structurally, but the space no longer felt safe for honesty. That experience taught me that leadership isn’t about keeping things neat; it’s about protecting trust.
One of the most common mistakes I’ve made—and seen others make—is confusing activity with engagement. In an online community I managed, a small group of experienced members dominated nearly every conversation. They were knowledgeable and generous, so I hesitated to intervene. Over time, newer members stopped posting altogether. When I finally asked one why they disengaged, they said every discussion felt settled before they arrived. Correcting that meant slowing the pace, having private conversations with a few dominant voices, and accepting a short-term drop in visible activity. The long-term result was broader participation and fewer quiet exits.
Another lesson experience teaches quickly is that leaders don’t need to be the most present people in the room. Early in my career, I believed quick responses showed commitment. I replied often, offered opinions freely, and tried to keep momentum high. Eventually, someone told me it felt like there was always a “right answer” waiting, which made their own contributions feel unnecessary. Pulling back—sometimes choosing not to weigh in immediately—created space for others to step forward. Conversations became slower, but they became more thoughtful and more balanced.
Leadership in community building also requires the willingness to disappoint people you respect. I’ve approved initiatives that sounded exciting but quietly exhausted the group. Walking those decisions back meant admitting I’d misjudged the impact. What surprised me was that trust didn’t erode. People tend to respond better to leaders who correct course than to those who defend every decision out of pride.
After years in this work, I don’t believe strong community leaders are defined by charisma, constant output, or flawless planning. The ones who last understand timing, restraint, and the difference between guidance and control. They protect the culture even when it costs them short-term approval. Most importantly, they remember that a community isn’t something you manage like a project—it’s something you’re temporarily entrusted to care for, and that responsibility deserves patience.