Most of us are taught that leadership is about having the answers. The board expects clarity, the team looks for direction, and the wider culture rewards confidence over curiosity. Yet no one, however seasoned, can know all that the role demands. Markets shift, technology outpaces expertise, and expectations of work change faster than anyone can keep up.
This creates a dilemma many leaders know well. How do you exercise authority when you do not know? How do you stay grounded in your worth when your role asks questions you cannot yet answer?
Behavioural science offers some helpful perspectives. Five concepts in particular illuminate the leader’s inner game: the impostor phenomenon, self-compassion, growth mindset, tolerance of ambiguity, and narrative identity. Each one gives us language, evidence, and practices for staying steady in uncertainty. Together they show that authority is less about flawless knowledge and more about the choices we make in how we relate to ourselves and to others.
Beyond the evidence, there is also the deeper matter of self-stewardship. Beneath the need for “how” lies a more human question: Am I enough as I am? Leadership is not just about applying techniques but about choosing the story we live from. When we shift from proving to serving, from chasing recipes to asking what matters, we rediscover that enoughness is already present. The task is not to eliminate uncertainty but to create the ground where possibility can grow.
Part 1 – Five science-backed ways to lead without all the answers
When the fraud story shows Up
There is a story many leaders carry quietly: I don’t really belong here. One day they will find out. Psychologists call this the impostor phenomenon. A systematic review of 62 studies found prevalence estimates ranging from 9 to 82 percent depending on how it was measured (Bravata et al., 2020). The experience cuts across professions, but the cost is not distributed equally. Women, people of colour, and first-generation professionals often carry heavier burdens, shaped less by individual competence than by cultural and institutional signals about who “deserves” to lead (Cokley et al., 2013).
The impact is far from trivial. Research consistently links impostor feelings with higher rates of anxiety, burnout, and job dissatisfaction (Bravata et al., 2020). In one study of medical residents, those who scored high on impostor measures were more likely to report emotional exhaustion and less likely to seek support (Villwock et al., 2016). In corporate settings, impostor tendencies correlate with lower career satisfaction and a stronger intention to leave an employer (Vergauwe et al., 2015). Organisations pay a hidden cost when promising leaders opt out of promotions, silence themselves in critical discussions, or overcompensate by working to the point of collapse. What is framed as a private inner doubt becomes a collective performance issue.
Yet there is another side. A meta-analysis of 62 studies concluded that while impostor thoughts consistently harmed wellbeing, they did not reliably undermine task performance (Bravata et al., 2020). In some cases, leaders who acknowledged self-doubt were rated by colleagues as more effective interpersonally (Neureiter & Traut-Mattausch, 2016). The paradox suggests that the feelings are not the true enemy. The risk lies in how leaders respond. Do they hide, overwork, or distort reality to cover the gap? Or do they bring the experience into the open and reframe it as evidence of growth?
Why this matters to leaders: When authority is equated with omniscience, impostorism becomes inevitable. No leader, however seasoned, can possibly know all that their role demands. The illusion of certainty becomes a performance that extracts enormous personal energy. Worse, it closes down others. Teams quickly learn to mirror the leader’s stance. If she must always have answers, then so must we. Curiosity is suppressed, mistakes are concealed, and learning slows.
By contrast, when leaders acknowledge what they do not know and still remain steady, they model a different form of authority. This is authority based not on encyclopaedic knowledge but on presence, honesty, and the capacity to learn in public. That stance changes the atmosphere in the room. People feel permitted to contribute, to experiment, to take responsibility. Authority is not diminished. It is redistributed in ways that strengthen the whole.
A vignette: Take Raj, a divisional head preparing for a quarterly review. His new strategy was incomplete, with major uncertainties about market entry. The old pattern would have been to polish the slides, speak in confident tones, and mask the unknowns. The outcome would be predictable: sceptical questions, defensive answers, and a private sense of fraudulence.
This time he chose differently. He told the board: “Here is what we know for certain. Here are three places where the data is thin. I have asked the team to run controlled tests, and we will return with results in six weeks.” Rather than being penalised, he received engaged questions, practical offers of support, and trust that the division was in good hands. His credibility rested not on having all the answers, but on being able to frame the uncertainty and chart a path forward.
Four practices for leaders
1. Keep an evidence log
Impostorism thrives on distorted attribution. We explain successes as luck, timing, or someone else’s effort. Once a week, set aside 15 minutes to write two columns: on the left, concrete outcomes you contributed to, such as a decision made, a conflict resolved, or a result achieved. On the right, write your default explanation. Then rewrite it to include your specific role. Over time this retrains the brain to register contribution accurately (Cokley et al., 2013).
2. Use the “Know, Don’t Know, Next Step” frame
In any meeting, practise naming three things: what is clear, what is still uncertain, and how you propose to learn more. This provides authority through structure rather than performance. It also models for your team that not knowing is a legitimate stage in the process (Neureiter & Traut-Mattausch, 2016).
3. Create a Peer Circle of Disclosure
Impostor feelings fester in isolation. Form a group of three to five peers who meet monthly. Each shares a recent moment of self-doubt. The rule is no fixing and no advice, only reflection and acknowledgement. Research shows that simply naming these feelings in a safe group reduces their intensity and builds resilience (Sakulku & Alexander, 2011).
4. Design for stretch-with-support
Map your upcoming quarter into two lists: tasks that stretch you beyond your current skills and tasks where you are already competent. Ensure each stretch task has explicit support, such as a mentor, a buffer of time, or a learning experiment with clear boundaries. This prevents the “all stretch, no anchor” cycle that fuels burnout and impostor spirals (Villwock et al., 2016).
Three reflection questions
• When do I put on a performance of certainty, and what is the cost to me and to others?
• What evidence of my capability have I ignored or minimised this month?
• If I stopped trying to prove myself and instead treated each impostor moment as a growth signal, how would that change the way I lead?
Why these questions are important: Impostor thoughts are not a sign of failure. They are the shadow side of ambition and growth. To lead while feeling them is not to be fraudulent, but to be human. The invitation is to stop treating them as shameful secrets and start using them as signals, reminders that leadership is less about flawless certainty and more about creating conditions where honesty, curiosity, and accountability can flourish.
Choosing kindness toward ourselves
Leaders are often fluent in kindness toward others. They encourage teams, acknowledge effort, and show patience when mistakes are made. Yet many struggle to extend the same generosity inward. The inner voice is sharper: You should have known this already. You’re letting people down. If you were really capable, this wouldn’t be happening.
Psychologist Kristin Neff (2003) gave us language and evidence for a different path. Self-compassion rests on three elements: treating ourselves with kindness, recognising common humanity, and practising mindful awareness of difficulty without exaggeration or denial. In a meta-analysis, self-compassion was associated with lower anxiety and depression, and higher wellbeing across 20 studies (MacBeth & Gumley, 2012). More recent evidence shows self-compassion predicts greater resilience and emotional regulation (Zessin et al., 2015).
In workplaces, the stakes are tangible. Raab (2014) found that self-compassionate leaders were less prone to burnout. Reis et al. (2015) showed that self-compassion predicted adaptability during organisational change. In healthcare, Dev et al. (2018) found that self-compassion was negatively correlated with emotional exhaustion among physicians. The pattern is consistent: leaders who practise self-compassion sustain performance more effectively than those who rely on harsh self-criticism.
Why this matters to leaders: Confusing self-criticism with discipline is costly. Leaders who attack themselves internally model an impossible standard externally. Teams quickly absorb it: mistakes become dangerous, curiosity shrinks, and risk-taking vanishes. Short-term performance may look sharp, but long-term capacity weakens.
Self-compassion signals a different kind of authority. It does not mean lowering standards. It means holding ambition while recognising fallibility as part of the human condition. Leaders who can admit missteps without collapsing into shame create psychological safety. The culture shifts from proving to learning. In complex contexts, this shift is not indulgent — it is survival.
A vignette: Consider Elena, a CFO, presenting quarterly results below forecast. Her instinct is to scold herself: How could I miss this? I should have seen the downturn coming. That voice makes her tighten up, gloss over details, and retreat from dialogue.
Instead, she recalls a phrase from Neff’s practice: This is hard. Others face this too. May I be kind to myself. With the inner temperature lowered, she explains candidly what was missed, names corrective actions, and invites questions. The board sees steadiness, not panic. Her authority rests not in flawless forecasting but in modelling resilience and openness.
Four practices for leaders
1. The Compassion Break (Neff, 2003)
In moments of stress, silently repeat: “This is a moment of difficulty. Difficulty is part of being human. May I be kind to myself.” Research shows this short practice lowers cortisol and increases heart-rate variability, markers of reduced stress (Arch et al., 2014).
2. Rewrite the Inner Voice
Weekly, write down one self-critical phrase. Rewrite it as if addressing a respected colleague. This gradually retrains inner speech, increasing self-acceptance (Kelly & Dupasquier, 2016).
3. Micro-rituals of Care
Identify a small daily ritual, such as a walk, journaling, or mindful breathing, and honour it. Studies link consistent micro-acts of self-care with improved resilience and lower burnout (Slatyer et al., 2016).
4. Compassion in Conversations
Model self-compassion publicly: admit an error without harshness and frame it as learning. This builds team trust and normalises fallibility (Reis et al., 2015).
Three reflection questions
• How do I speak to myself in the quiet moments after a mistake?
• What daily ritual of care could signal to me that my wellbeing matters?
• How might practising self-compassion ripple into the culture I create?
Why these questions are important: Leadership is not sustained by toughness alone. The longer the horizon, the more brittle that stance becomes. What steadies us is the willingness to treat ourselves with the same care we claim to value in others. Self-compassion is not indulgence. It is stewardship, of our energy, our example, and the cultures we leave behind.
Shifting from “Proving” to “Learning”
Many leaders quietly carry the burden of always needing to know. The boardroom expects answers. The team looks for certainty. The culture of performance rewards confidence, not curiosity. In this climate, uncertainty feels dangerous, as if not knowing is evidence you don’t belong in the chair.
Yet the world is now defined by complexity. No single person can possibly hold the full map. Technology shifts, global markets wobble, and expectations of work change faster than expertise can keep up. What matters is not how much you already know, but how you choose to learn when the path is unclear.
This is where the work of psychologist Carol Dweck (2006) is useful. Her research on mindset distinguishes between a fixed belief, that abilities are innate and unchangeable, and a growth belief, where abilities are seen as capable of development through effort, feedback, and persistence. A growth mindset does not remove the discomfort of not knowing, but it reframes it: not as a verdict on your worth, but as the beginning of the next chapter of learning.
Meta-analyses support this. Burnette et al. (2013) found that growth mindset predicts better self-regulation and persistence in setbacks. Yeager et al. (2019) showed that even short interventions to foster growth mindset improved achievement and reduced stress for over 12,000 students across the U.S. In workplaces, Keating & Heslin (2015) found managers with growth mindsets were more likely to coach their people and invest in their development. Teams under such leaders report higher engagement and creativity.
The pattern is clear: when leaders cling to fixed-mindset thinking: “I must have all the answers to be credible”, they create cultures of fear and silence. People hide mistakes, avoid risk, and stagnate. Growth-minded leaders, by contrast, normalise experimentation. They make space for failure as data, and they frame uncertainty as a shared learning process.
Why this matters to leaders: A growth mindset is not a trick for optimism; it is a survival strategy for complexity. Every sector is in flux, AI reshaping knowledge work, climate disruption transforming supply chains, generational shifts altering expectations of employment. Leaders who insist on certainty exhaust themselves and erode trust. Leaders who frame uncertainty as an opportunity to learn keep authority by re-grounding it in process, not performance.
For leaders personally, a growth mindset protects self-worth. Instead of asking, Am I good enough to do this? the question becomes, What am I learning here? What support do I need to grow into it? That shift releases energy previously bound up in self-judgment and makes room for curiosity and creativity.
A vignette: Marcus, a senior operations leader, was tasked with implementing a new digital system. His instinct was to prove competence by learning it all himself before involving his team. Weeks of late nights followed, along with rising frustration and an unspoken sense of inadequacy.
After a coaching session on growth mindset, he reframed. At the next team meeting, he said: “I don’t know this system yet. Here’s how I plan to learn it, and here’s where I need your expertise. Let’s break it down together.” Far from losing authority, he gained credibility. The team engaged fully, identified risks early, and shared learning openly. The project delivered ahead of schedule, not because Marcus knew everything, but because he stopped pretending he did.
Four practices for leaders
1. Reframe with “Yet”
When you catch yourself thinking I can’t do this, add “yet.” Shifts identity from a fixed state to a trajectory. Studies show this simple linguistic change fosters persistence (Dweck, 2006).
2. Debrief setbacks as data
After a mistake, ask three questions: What did I try? What did I learn? What will I adjust? Mueller & Dweck (1998) showed that focusing on learning goals rather than performance goals produces greater resilience and sustained motivation.
3. Publicly model learning
Admit what you are working on developing and share progress openly. Keating & Heslin (2015) found that when managers model growth, employees tend to mirror it, leading to higher engagement and a greater willingness to stretch.
4. Create growth rituals in teams
Begin team meetings with one “learning share”: something each member has discovered recently, regardless of success or failure. This normalises learning as part of identity, reducing fear of mistakes and broadening innovation.
Three reflection questions
• When was the last time I avoided a challenge to protect my image?
• How do I respond to others’ mistakes — as verdicts or as learning opportunities?
• What might be possible if my authority rested less on certainty and more on curiosity?
Why these questions are important: Growth mindset is more than a slogan about trying harder. It is a way of locating our worth not in flawless performance but in our capacity to keep learning. For leaders, this stance is liberating. It says: you do not need to be the hero with the answers. You need to be the host of learning, for yourself and for others. That is where authority and possibility live.
Learning to stand in the fog
Uncertainty is not a passing condition of leadership; it is its native habitat. Every strategic decision, every reorganisation, every new market entry involves incomplete data and unpredictable outcomes. Leaders often feel pressure to collapse this uncertainty quickly, to provide clarity before it exists. The compulsion to “fill the fog with answers” offers temporary relief but often narrows possibility and erodes trust when those answers prove premature.
Psychologists call this capacity to remain steady in the face of the unknown tolerance of ambiguity. It refers to how comfortable a person is when confronted with unclear, complex, or conflicting information. Budner (1962) first defined it as a tendency to perceive ambiguous situations as threatening or desirable. Later work confirmed that leaders with higher tolerance of ambiguity are more adaptable, more creative, and less stressed in unpredictable contexts (Furnham & Marks, 2013).
The costs of low tolerance are visible in organisations. Studies link low ambiguity tolerance to rigidity, poor decision-making under pressure, and premature closure, choosing an answer too soon to reduce discomfort (Herman et al., 2010). By contrast, leaders who can remain present in ambiguity foster cultures of experimentation and innovation. In one longitudinal study, tolerance of ambiguity was positively correlated with entrepreneurial success and effective leadership in volatile industries (McLain, 2009).
For individuals, the stakes are high. Low tolerance is associated with heightened anxiety, stress-related illness, and burnout (Grenier et al., 2005). High tolerance is linked with resilience, openness, and the ability to lead diverse teams where multiple perspectives coexist. In other words, how leaders relate to ambiguity directly shapes not only business outcomes but also personal wellbeing.
Why this matters to leaders: Leadership is often described as the art of decision-making, but it is just as much the art of waiting without panic. When leaders grasp too quickly at false certainty, they close down options and signal to others that doubt is dangerous. Teams then follow suit: they avoid experimentation, underreport risks, and rush to consensus.
A leader with tolerance of ambiguity can do something different. They can acknowledge uncertainty without paralysis. They can hold space for competing possibilities while designing the next experiment. In doing so, they give their teams permission to think, to question, and to create. Authority here comes not from instant answers, but from the steadiness to host uncertainty well.
A vignette: Consider Dana, the CEO of a mid-sized tech company facing regulatory changes. Investors press for a clear pivot plan. Her instinct is to choose one of three possible strategies immediately, just to show control.
Instead, she reframes. At the shareholder meeting, she says: “We are facing three possible futures. Today, no one in our industry can know which will dominate. Here’s how we’re testing each one. Here’s the timeline for what we’ll learn. Here’s how we’ll decide when the fog begins to lift.”
Rather than being criticised for uncertainty, she gains credibility. The board sees not indecision, but disciplined patience. Her authority lies in naming the ambiguity and creating a structured path through it.
Four practices for leaders
1. The pause before closure
Next time you feel the urge to deliver an answer quickly, pause. Ask: What options am I closing off by deciding now? Research on decision-making shows that premature closure often reduces effectiveness under uncertainty (Herman et al., 2010). Build in “decision checkpoints”: explicit moments where new data will be reviewed before locking in direction.
2. Scenario mapping with probabilities
Instead of one definitive plan, sketch three scenarios: best case, base case, and worst case. Assign probabilities and triggers for revisiting them. This reduces anxiety by replacing “I don’t know” with “Here are the conditions under which we will know more.”
3. Ambiguity exposure training
Deliberately practise sitting in uncertain situations. For example, run meetings without a set agenda, allowing the conversation to shape itself. Studies show that repeated exposure to ambiguous conditions increases tolerance and reduces stress reactivity (Grenier et al., 2005).
4. Language of process, not prediction
In communication, shift from “Here is the answer” to “Here is how we’re approaching the unknown.” This models steadiness for the team and builds credibility through transparency. It also aligns authority with clarity of process rather than false certainty.
Three reflection questions
• When do I rush to closure to soothe my own discomfort rather than serve the issue?
• How might I communicate differently if my role was to host ambiguity rather than eliminate it?
• What signals could I create for my team that uncertainty is not weakness but the natural terrain of learning?
Why these questions are important: Ambiguity is not a flaw in the system; it is the system. Leaders who demand certainty are fighting the wrong battle. The real task is to build the muscles to remain present in the fog, to invite others into that space, and to design experiments that move us forward without pretending the mist has lifted. Authority here is redefined: it is not about knowing the map, but about walking together until the path reveals itself.
The stories we tell ourselves
Every leader lives inside a story about who they are. For some, the story is one of proving: I am only as good as my latest result. For others, it is a story of role: I am the one with answers; my authority depends on it. These stories are rarely chosen consciously. They emerge from culture, upbringing, and the echoes of past successes and failures.
Psychologists call this narrative identity, the internalised story we tell ourselves about our life that gives us a sense of unity and purpose (McAdams, 1993). Narrative identity research shows that people who frame their life stories as journeys of growth, connection, and contribution tend to report higher wellbeing and stronger resilience (Adler, Lodi-Smith, Philippe, & Houle, 2016). For leaders, the implications are profound: when the story is “I must always know,” vulnerability feels like a crack in identity. When the story shifts to “I am the one who helps us make sense together,” not knowing becomes part of the role, not a threat to it.
The business case is real. Leaders who hold flexible, growth-oriented narratives are more adaptable in crises, more open to diverse perspectives, and less prone to defensive decision-making (Shamir & Eilam, 2005). By contrast, leaders trapped in rigid, self-defining stories can become brittle, dismiss feedback, and double down on failing strategies. Culture follows suit: organisations replicate the stories their leaders live by.
Why this matters to leaders: We cannot escape narrative. The only choice is whether we author it with awareness or allow it to be written for us by fear and habit. Leaders who consciously shape their identity story gain freedom. They are no longer trapped in cycles of impostorism, perfectionism, or over-certainty. Instead, they root authority in values and presence, not performance.
This matters because people don’t just follow instructions; they follow stories. A leader who frames uncertainty as part of a collective journey invites participation. A leader who frames every unknown as a threat to their competence invites silence and compliance. Narrative identity becomes not only personal grounding but a cultural compass.
A vignette: Amira, a vice president, told herself for years: My worth is in being the one who always delivers certainty. It won her promotions, but also exhaustion and isolation. Every gap in knowledge became a crisis of identity.
In coaching, she explored rewriting her story: I am someone who convenes others to make sense of what we don’t yet know. The shift was subtle but liberating. At her next strategy offsite, she said to her team: “We are in uncharted waters. I don’t have the full map, but together we can chart it.” Instead of anxiety, the room felt energised. Her authority grew, not by controlling the story, but by rewriting it.
Four practices for leaders
1. Map your current story
Write down the three most common self-statements you use under pressure (e.g., “I mustn’t get this wrong”). Ask: what do these reveal about the story I’m living? Naming the dominant script is the first step to loosening its grip (McAdams & McLean, 2013).
2. Author a redemptive frame
Narrative research shows that people who frame challenges as moments of growth or service report greater wellbeing (Adler et al., 2016). Rewrite a past setback as a learning chapter in your larger story. Notice how it changes your sense of self.
3. Story in the open
Share with your team one story of not knowing that led to growth. Keep it short and sincere. This models that identity is not damaged by uncertainty; it is deepened by it.
4. Values anchor
Identify three values you want your leadership story to embody (e.g., curiosity, service, courage). In moments of ambiguity, ask: If my story is one of [value], what’s the next step I would take?
Three reflection questions
• What is the story I currently live about what makes me credible as a leader?
• Where does that story give me strength, and where does it trap me?
• If I rewrote my leadership story around learning and contribution, how would that change the way I show up?
Why these questions are important: Narrative is not decoration; it is identity. Leaders who do not examine their story risk being ruled by it. Leaders who consciously author their story create the ground from which steady authority and honest vulnerability can coexist. In times of uncertainty, people don’t need a flawless hero. They need someone whose story invites them into shared authorship of the future.
Part 2 – Choosing what matters when the map is unclear
When leaders are pressed for clarity, the first instinct is to ask how. How do I respond? How do I create certainty? How do I prove that I deserve this role? The obsession with how is understandable. It promises security, a roadmap, a guarantee that we are enough if we follow the proper steps. Yet the question “how” often conceals a more profound anxiety: I doubt my own capacity. I am not sure I am enough as I am.
The alternative is to stop looking outside for recipes and instead stand inside the more complex questions: What really matters here? What do I most value? Who do I want to become in this moment? These questions do not yield tidy answers. They call for choice. They locate authority not in expertise alone but in courage, integrity, and presence.
This shift matters because the search for how can easily postpone action. Teams wait for the right model, the best practice, the proven guarantee. In the meantime, the energy for possibility withers. By contrast, when a leader is willing to declare what matters and act on it, even without certainty, they create motion. People see that leadership is less about answers and more about holding space for choice and commitment.
Consider Julia, a department head asked to respond to sweeping regulatory changes. Her board pressed for a detailed plan. She did not have one. Instead of scrambling for a perfect answer, she began with what mattered most: We will not compromise on safety, we will honour our mission, and we will test three options over the next quarter to see what serves best. She did not remove the uncertainty, but she re-grounded her team in values and next steps. Trust rose, not because she had the map, but because she had the courage to frame the journey.
Four practices for leaders
1. Shift from “how” to “what matters.”
Every time you notice yourself or others asking “how will we do this?” pause and step back. Write down the values at stake and the outcomes you care about. For example: instead of “how will we restructure the team?”, ask “what do we most want our team to embody in the next chapter?” Only once this is named should methods follow. This discipline ensures that methods serve meaning rather than replace it.
2. Name your values aloud.
Values often stay private, but their power comes when they are spoken. In moments of uncertainty, say explicitly, “Here are the principles I will not compromise on.” Doing this makes the invisible visible. It steadies your team more than any improvised certainty would. It also makes you accountable to what you declare. Teams who hear values named are more likely to align decisions and behaviours with them.
3. Choose service over proving.
Impostor anxiety often drives leaders to prove themselves. The antidote is to ask, “What choice here best serves the larger mission or community?” This shifts energy away from image protection and toward contribution. For example, in a heated meeting, instead of defending your competence, you might ask, “Which option best serves our customers right now?” This question both disarms defensiveness and redirects the group toward shared purpose.
4. Practice small commitments.
Large uncertainties cannot be solved in a single leap. What restores trust is not grand answers but consistent commitments, however small. When facing ambiguity, declare one next action you can deliver on a stakeholder conversation, a pilot project, or a decision deadline. Then honour it fully. Over time, people stop needing you to know everything. They trust you because you follow through on what you say.
Reflection questions
• When I reach for “how,” what fear am I really naming?
• What values do I want to be visible in how I lead uncertainty?
• If I trusted that I am already enough, what choice would I make right now?
Why these questions are important: The right way to lead without all the answers is not to find a better recipe. It is to embrace that leadership is about creating the ground for possibility. Enoughness is not earned by knowing more. It is recognised by choosing what matters, serving beyond the self, and making commitments you can honour. Vulnerability and authority meet here, not as opposites but as companions.
This second, shorter section was inspired by Peter Block’s “The answer to how is YES!”
Do you have any tips or advice? What has worked for you? Do you have any recommended resources to explore? Thanks for reading!
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