We were called in and told to go back to our teams, have a conversation with them, and reassure anyone who asked.
I was working in finance at a technology company in the middle of a huge amount of change, and the company was heading towards one of three places: bankruptcy, a sale to someone else, or a bailout by the government. Because of my seat in finance I could see a lot of what was happening behind the scenes, and most of the company had no idea how close we were to the wire.
I asked how transparent we were allowed to be, and I remember thinking, how am I supposed to reassure anyone when, in the back of my head, I know things are not right and none of us knows what is going to happen?
Somewhere in your week there is a version of that instruction, and underneath it the real request is always the same: sound certain. Geopolitical tension and AI are reshaping the workplace unevenly, bringing rapid productivity gains to some companies and job anxiety, workflow bottlenecks and strategic pullbacks to others, and a lot of what felt solid for decades has been uprooted.
People are still looking to you for the answer, and the only true sentence available to you is the one you have trained yourself not to say. I don't know. Those three words can make a leader sound like someone who is not good enough, who does not have enough information, who should not be in charge, and the fear is not imagined: in five experiments, Shilaan Alzahawi and Francis Flynn found that leaders who express uncertainty are rated as less effective, less warm and less competent, and gain less influence.
I went back to my team carrying more than the instruction. I was young, leading people older than me, with a chip on my shoulder and a feeling that being right was a must, so I felt I had something to prove, and admitting I didn't know was very uncomfortable.
I said it anyway. "The reality is, I don't know what's going to happen. I know we are trying to figure things out, and I know there are options on the table, but for now we have a job, and doing it well is what matters. When there is enough information, the seniors will share it with us. I know that doesn't give you the clarity you are looking for. I'm asking you to trust me, and when I can share more, I'll let you know."
I had no idea how they would take it: whether they would go over my head looking for more information, or put their heads down. Most of them put their heads down. One of them did not, and there is always one.
What happened next I only heard about afterwards. The rest of the team had a conversation with him and told him we were all in the same boat and he was not to start creating a mess, and he backed down. It felt like a mutiny shut down before it started, and I did not have to get involved. They shut it down because they had trust and faith in me, which was really, really good to hear.
That trust was already there before I said a word. Saying "I don't know" did not create it; it could only land because it was already there.
Reassurance would have asked them to trust a certainty I did not have, so I told them what I did not know, what we did have, which was a job to do well, and when they would hear more. Some leaders reach for the "I know what I'm talking about" side of themselves instead and are proved wrong twelve months later, and that does not build trust.
Three questions to sit with this week:
- When did you last tell your team "I don't know", and what did you tell them next?
- What are you reassuring people about right now that you privately do not believe?
- What has your team already learned about what you will not admit, and what have they quietly stopped bringing you because of it?