It was my first few weeks at a new company.
I had just moved to Singapore, taking on a completely new challenge. I was tasked to lead a high-profile project: a next-generation platform that would serve millions of users. The brief I received from my manager was crystal clear: start from scratch. Build a new team. And most importantly, deliver fast.
There was a small existing team, no working prototype, and no prior infrastructure. In other words, I was handed a clean slate, and a ton of pressure.
I did what any experienced engineering leader would do: I hired smart people. Some were internal transfers, while others were brand new to the company. Each person brought a different skillset, a different background, and different expectations. We were all excited, but we were also kind of strangers trying to build something complex in a new space.
And then I made a decision that, at the time, probably looked reckless to some.
I stepped back.
Tempting as it was, I didn’t impose my way of working. I didn’t try to control the team’s dynamics. I didn’t micromanage.
I let them fall apart, on purpose.
The “storm” I chose to watch unfold
The first few weeks were chaotic.
New technologies, new workflows, and most of all, conflicting opinions on how to design the system. I witnessed team members clashing over priorities, software design principles, and our meetings were going in circles.
I remember one meeting in particular where two senior engineers disagreed so intensely that we had to cut the meeting short. The air was thick, but I didn’t try to mediate their conflict. Another team member later messaged me saying, “Maybe you should intervene?”
I didn’t.
Not because I didn’t care. But because I did.
Why I let it happen
Some of you may be thinking that I’m a horrible leader for not intervening and just choosing to watch the team fall apart from the sidelines.
I admit that as a leader, it’s tempting, almost addictive, to step in. To fix the mess, bring order, and save the day, right?
But I’ve learned something over the years: If you’re always the safety net, your team will never learn to land on their feet.
The truth is, I wasn’t worried. Granted, the situation was messy, but I trusted my team. I had hired smart, capable engineers, and I firmly believed they could figure it out.
I held, and still hold, true to this principle:
Teams need to struggle before they gel. Conflict is part of the process. Chaos is the path to cohesion.
We recently discussed Tuckman’s model of team development, which outlines five stages: Forming, Storming, Norming, Performing, and Adjourning. The point is: you can’t skip the storm. If you try to shortcut it by smoothing conflicts, enforcing a rigid structure, or spoon-feeding solutions, you rob the team of the very experience that creates trust and clarity.
I like to compare this with the butterfly struggling to emerge from its chrysalis. That struggle is an essential part of the process, not a flaw in nature’s design. If you try to help by breaking the cocoon open, the butterfly doesn’t get strong enough to fly. The resistance is what builds the wings.
So I waited and watched.
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The turning point
One day, I noticed something subtle but powerful.
Instead of looking at me for decisions, team members began turning to each other. Heated debates turned into collaborative design sessions. The same two engineers who had once clashed were now whiteboarding ideas over coffee.
They were not the same team I had seen a few weeks earlier.
They had found their rhythm, and discovered their own way of working. And more importantly, they developed trust and understanding.
By letting them fall apart, I gave them the opportunity to own the journey to finding their footing, and building deeper trust with each other.
My key takeaways
We often assume our job is to protect the team from failure, stress, and discomfort.
But great leadership isn’t about shielding people. It’s about believing in them enough to let them struggle, and letting that struggle become their teacher. It’s similar to letting go of the bicycle when teaching your children how to ride, knowing well they will fall and hurt themselves, and trusting they will get back on their feet again.
Here are five key takeaways from my experience that you might find useful:
1. Don’t interrupt the “storming” phase
If you inherit or build a new team, expect friction.
Disagreements aren’t dysfunction. They’re often the signs of people caring deeply and trying to figure things out. If you intervene too early, you risk creating compliance instead of commitment.
Let the team work through the storm. Be a calm observer, and step in only if things become toxic or cross a line.
🛠️ Related framework: Tuckman’s 5 Stages of Team Development
2. Be a Multiplier, not a Diminisher
When I held back from “saving” the team, I wasn’t being passive.
I was being intentional.
In her book Multipliers, Liz Wiseman talks about two kinds of leaders:
Diminishers: who unintentionally (or intentionally) reduce the intelligence of the team by micromanaging, solving problems, or being the smartest person in the room.
Multipliers: who create space, ask questions, and allow others to stretch and rise.
In my case, I was choosing to be a multiplier.
Ask yourself: Are you giving people room to grow, or are you blocking their path by always stepping in?
🛠️ Related framework: Multipliers vs Diminishers
3. Let your team struggle, a bit
Many leaders think trust is built through team building and offsites.
In reality, trust often forms when teams go through something hard together. When they see each other’s flaws, they argue, disagree, and come out the other side stronger. I’m sure you’ve seen this play out in marriages, too: the more hardships you face as a couple, and persist through them, the stronger your bonds become over time.
Patrick Lencioni’s Five Dysfunctions of a Team begins with the absence of trust as the foundational pillar. And the only way to build a rock-solid foundation of trust is through shared struggles.
🛠️ Related framework: Five Dysfunctions of a Team
4. Be strategically invisible
This is a leadership paradox: The more you do, the less your team will need to.
If you always lead the meeting, they won’t know how to step up.
If you always suggest the path, they won’t explore other options.
If you always correct them, they will lose their voice.
It’s not about being absent. It’s about being strategically invisible: strong in presence, but subtle in control. Like a climbing rope: always there, only tightening when someone slips.
That said, let’s face it: staying invisible is hard, especially when you’re caught in what I call The Insecurity Loop. When you are caught up in the loop, you seek to take control to “look confident”.
But it’s a trap, because every time you jump in, your team leans back.
The only way out is to break the loop.
Strategic invisibility is powerful, not passive. You’re not removing yourself: you’re making room for others to rise.
🛠️ Related framework: The Insecurity Loop
5. Let the silence do the heavy lifting
Sometimes, the most powerful thing a leader can do is say nothing.
Silence forces ownership. It invites people to reflect, to step up, to decide.
Early in that project, there were moments I wanted to jump in and offer my suggestions, mediate the conflicts, and steer the conversation. But I resisted the urge. And every time I did, someone else filled the space by stepping up.
That silence wasn’t emptiness. It was space. Space for growth.
According to Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, once people feel safe and included (belonging), they start seeking esteem: the sense of being capable, trusted, and valued. And eventually, they reach for self-actualization, unlocking their full potential.
But here’s the thing: you can’t give someone self-actualization. You can only create the conditions for it.
When you speak less, they discover more. When you do less, they grow more.
🛠️ Related framework: Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs
Final Thoughts: The Courage to Let Go
I’ve seen too many so-called “leaders” who see holding on as their strength. Their entire definition of leadership revolves around them being at the centre of control.
But in my experience, the greatest strength of a leader is in letting go.
How about you? What’s your experience with letting go? Let us know in the comments. 👇
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II've often observed that highly paid managers simply do nothing, claiming "I'm giving the team freedom." But the team also does nothing and waits for something to happen. Have you experienced this too, and how do you distinguish between leadership through autonomy and inactivity?
This post is very insightfull. How do you deal with unhappy customers is in this situation? Because that is one of the reasons I find it hard to not intervene sometimes.