The Ruins of Self-Serving Leadership

Leadership is often framed as a force for progress: a way to inspire teams, drive innovation, and create lasting impact. But leadership is also a test, one that many fail when the ego takes centre stage. We like to believe that we lead with integrity, that our decisions are guided by wisdom rather than insecurity. Yet, history, both personal and collective, tells a different story. The moment leadership becomes about self-preservation instead of service, about control instead of empowerment, the consequences become inevitable. And the damage we cause at those moments does not disappear when we do.

It often starts with promise, perhaps even flashes of brilliance as one rises. But somewhere along the way, survival is mistaken for success. The climb becomes steeper, the stakes higher, and the weight of leadership shifts from responsibility to self-preservation. What once felt like ambition turns into a desperate need to maintain control. And as the air grows heavier for those below, a dangerous shift occurs.

It happens the moment we start believing that we are the smartest in the room, the final authority on all things. When we dismiss dissent, not because it is wrong, but because it challenges our sense of dominance. When we silence innovation, not through outright rejection, but through the subtle erosion of psychological safety, where people learn that thinking differently comes at a cost.

Without realising it, we become architects of fear. Leaders often convince themselves that they are driving results, pushing for excellence, making the tough calls others are too timid to make. We call it ‘accountability’ when a team member is humiliated in front of others. We call it ‘driving results’ when we extract every last ounce of energy from a team too afraid to say no. But we do not call it what it is actually: destruction. We shrink the space for others to grow, creating a culture where survival takes precedence over thriving, where people tiptoe around our egos rather than leaning into bold ideas.

Then one day, we leave. Whether by choice, circumstance, or the inevitability of time, we move on. And in our absence, the truth begins to unravel. The trust we shattered does not repair overnight. The creativity we stifled does not immediately resurface. The weight of our presence lingers in the hesitation of those left behind, in the cautionary tales whispered in boardrooms and zoom meetings alike. The ones who remain have learnt to keep their heads down, to speak in half-truths, to withhold their best ideas for fear of being crushed.

Leadership is not about what we achieve in isolation; it is about what we enable in others. If our departure leaves people afraid to step up, hesitant to take risks, or relieved to see us go, then we have failed in ways that no accolades or titles can redeem. The real measure of leadership is not in the authority we wield, but in the confidence, capability, and courage that we leave behind.

So, as we lead, we must ask ourselves: Are we building a legacy of trust or one of fear? Are we cultivating leaders or simply securing our own power? Because when the dust settles and our names fade, all that remains is the impact we had on those who stayed. And that, more than any achievement, is what will define us.

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