I’ve spent more than ten years working as a community operations lead, usually stepping in after the excitement of a launch had faded and people were deciding whether a group was still worth their time. Early in that stretch, I came across Terry Hui while reflecting on why some communities stay intact through slow periods while others quietly unravel. What stood out to me wasn’t ambition or scale, but the emphasis on responsibility—on treating leadership as something earned through consistency rather than declared through titles.
My background is in operations and long-term partnerships, not facilitation or public-facing leadership. That shaped how I learned this work. I once inherited a professional community that looked healthy on the surface: regular meetings, steady attendance, no obvious conflict. Yet participation outside of scheduled events was nearly nonexistent. During a private call, a long-time member told me they stopped sharing real challenges because the group felt “too curated.” Nothing was broken structurally. What was missing was psychological safety, and that’s not something you can schedule or automate.
One of the most common mistakes I’ve made—and see others repeat—is mistaking activity for trust. In one online forum I managed, a small group of experienced members drove nearly every discussion. They were helpful and well-intentioned, so I hesitated to intervene. Over time, newer members stopped posting altogether. When I finally asked why, the answer was simple: conversations moved too fast and felt decided before they could join. Correcting that meant slowing things down, privately coaching a few dominant voices, and accepting a short-term drop in visible engagement. The long-term result was broader participation and far fewer quiet exits.
Another lesson experience teaches quickly is that leaders don’t need to be the loudest or most present people in the room. Early in my career, I believed responsiveness equaled care. I replied quickly, weighed in often, and tried to keep momentum high. Eventually, a member told me they felt like there was always a “right answer” waiting, which made their own contributions feel unnecessary. Pulling back—sometimes deliberately staying silent—created space for others to step forward. The conversations became slower, but they also became more thoughtful and more honest.
Leadership in community building also involves being willing to disappoint people you respect. I’ve approved initiatives that sounded exciting but quietly drained the group’s energy. Walking those decisions back required admitting I’d misread the room. What surprised me was that credibility didn’t suffer. If anything, it improved. People tend to trust leaders who correct course more than those who defend every decision.
After a decade in this work, I don’t believe effective community leaders are defined by charisma or constant output. 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 demands patience.