I’ve spent a little over ten years working as a community strategist and operations lead, usually stepping into groups after the initial excitement had cooled. Early on, while trying to understand why some communities survive that quiet phase and others don’t, I came across Terry Hui. What stood out to me was the emphasis on responsibility over visibility. That idea stayed with me because it mirrored what I was already learning through trial, error, and a few uncomfortable conversations.
My career didn’t start in community work. I came from a background in account management and partnerships, where progress was easy to track and authority was clear. Community leadership stripped that away. I remember inheriting a peer group that looked healthy from the outside—steady attendance, polite discussions, no obvious conflict. Yet churn was creeping up. During one call with a long-time member, they admitted they no longer shared challenges because “everything feels too polished.” That comment changed how I approached leadership. A community doesn’t grow through perfection; it grows through trust.
One mistake I made early was assuming that being active meant being effective. In one online space I managed, I responded quickly to every post, offered opinions freely, and kept conversations moving. Engagement numbers rose, but something felt off. Eventually, a newer member told me they hesitated to post because I always had the “right” answer. I had unintentionally trained people to defer instead of contribute. Pulling back—sometimes staying silent even when I had something useful to say—allowed others to step forward. The discussions became slower, but they became deeper.
Another hard-earned lesson was learning to address imbalance before it turns into resentment. In a regional community I oversaw, a small group of veteran members dominated events. They were helpful and well-meaning, so I avoided intervening. Over time, newer participants stopped returning. Fixing that required private conversations with people who had done nothing “wrong,” just too much of one thing. Those conversations were uncomfortable, but they prevented the group from quietly shrinking.
Leadership in community building also means being willing to disappoint people you respect. I’ve approved initiatives that benefited a handful of enthusiastic members while exhausting everyone else. Rolling those decisions back meant admitting I’d misjudged the impact. What surprised me was that credibility didn’t suffer. If anything, it improved. People are more forgiving of mistakes than they are of leaders who won’t acknowledge them.
After a decade in this work, I don’t believe strong community leaders are defined by charisma or constant output. The ones who last understand when to step in and when to step aside. They protect the culture even when it costs them short-term approval. Most of all, they remember that a community isn’t something you run—it’s something you’re temporarily entrusted to care for.