She Had The Answers. No One Knew.
I want to tell you about Julia (not her real name), a senior attorney at a prestigious law firm. When she first came to coaching, she was perceived as a quiet genius. Julia was the person others turned to when the stakes were high and the problems were significant.
But in high-level meetings, when strategy, vision, and influence mattered most, she held back. Her colleagues praised her work. Her direct reports respected her deeply. Yet when senior leaders asked for opinions, she said almost nothing.
At first, she chalked it up to being introverted. “I think better in quiet environments,” she told me. And while that may be true, there was something deeper at play.
We dug into the story she’d been telling herself—one that’s especially common in the legal world, where risk-aversion is not only normalized but trained. The fear wasn’t public speaking. It was about being wrong. And not just a little wrong—publicly, strategically, visibly wrong.
In fact, research from the Harvard Business Review shows that introverted leaders can be just as effective—if not more—than extroverted ones, especially when they lean into their natural strengths. One study found that teams led by introverts outperformed those led by extroverts by up to 20%, particularly when the team was proactive. But that only happens when the leader actually steps in.
So, we practiced. Low-stakes meetings became testing grounds. Julia started contributing earlier, framing her ideas as questions when needed, and letting go of the belief that everything needed to be airtight before it left her lips. And something shifted.
Over the next three months, she began getting looped into strategy discussions earlier. Her managing partner even commented, “It’s like you’ve always had the answers—we just never knew they were there.”
The real breakthrough came, surprisingly, through a pro bono case she’d picked up for a nonprofit helping tenants navigate complex housing disputes. During a community info session, the nonprofit’s director introduced her as someone “who doesn't just know the law, but knows how to make people feel heard.” That stuck with her.
It was the first time Julia saw herself as more than just a precise thinker—she was a steady presence in rooms that felt uncertain to others. That moment, outside the formal world of corporate law, reminded her that her voice wasn’t just helpful. It mattered.
She was, in her own way, being inspired by LIFE—not the loud, performative version, but the kind that shows up when you connect what you do with why it matters.
Sometimes the most powerful form of leadership isn’t about speaking louder. It’s about recognizing that your silence is being misread—and choosing to step forward anyway.
If you're a leader—or know someone like Julia—who feels like their ideas live in the background, I’d love to talk. You might be closer than you think to finding your voice.
