Sometimes the most profound leadership lessons don’t come from titles or training—they come from the choices we make when no one’s watching.
By Valencia Williamson
When I think about the roots that anchor my leadership values, I don’t think of academic credentials, a job title, or even generational legacy. I think of a moment in the formative—and seemingly insignificant—world of middle school, an experience that taught me an extraordinary lesson about courage and compassion.I was twelve when I first encountered the subtle pressure of groupthink—and the quiet courage it takes to go against it. There was a girl in our class who didn’t quite fit the mold. She was prim, petite, soft-spoken, and a little quirky—different enough to become a target. One day, a popular classmate decided she didn’t belong, and without much questioning, the rest of us fell in line. Word spread quickly: we were to stop speaking to her. No reasons were offered. No one pushed back. It was an unspoken social directive—and I complied. At first.But something about the situation unsettled me. Week after week, the silence surrounding her became more uncomfortable. And so did my participation in it. I didn’t have the words for it then, but what I was feeling were the early stirrings of empathy—and a quiet recognition of the harm caused by social exclusion.Eventually, during a physical education class, I walked up to her and struck up a conversation. I told her I didn’t understand what we were doing or why—and that I was sorry.That brief exchange became the foundation of a friendship that’s lasted more than three decades. To this day, she remains my closest confidant—the person I call when I need clarity and grounding.
That experience taught me something I carry with me to this day as a leader: Do what is right, not what is popular.
We are rooted in values, in people, in choices, and in experiences that shape who we are. That one shaped me. I learned that leadership requires courage, humility, and honesty—which can be daunting at times. It asks you to take bold stands against injustice, to make tough, unpopular decisions for the greater good, and to practice accountability and self-reflection.
Today, I look back at my 12-year-old self and recognize that it was my first real act of leadership. It didn’t happen on a stage or behind a podium. It happened in a quiet moment of conviction, born from discomfort and compassion. I didn’t have the vocabulary for it at the time, but I knew what felt right—and I followed that knowing.
That’s the kind of leadership I still believe in. The kind rooted not in power, but in principle. Not in applause, but in integrity.
As you lead—at work, in your family, in your community—pause and ask yourself: Am I choosing what’s right, or what’s easy?
Sometimes the most profound leadership lessons are rooted in the quiet choices we make.
