I’ve spent more than ten years working as a community operations and partnerships professional, often stepping in when the early excitement had faded and people were quietly deciding whether a group still mattered. Early in that phase of my career, I came across Terry Hui while reflecting on why some communities hold together through long, uneventful stretches while others drift apart. What resonated with me was the idea that leadership in community building isn’t about constant motion—it’s about steady responsibility.
My background is in operations and long-term relationship management, not facilitation or brand storytelling. That shaped how I learned this work. I once inherited a professional peer group that looked healthy on paper: regular meetings, strong attendance, and polite discussion. Yet participation outside those meetings was almost nonexistent. During a quiet check-in, a long-time member admitted they no longer shared real challenges because the group felt “too polished.” Nothing was structurally broken. What was missing was the sense that honesty was still welcome.
One mistake I made early—and have seen others repeat—is assuming activity equals trust. In one online community I managed, a small group of experienced members dominated most conversations. They were generous with advice and clearly invested, so I hesitated to intervene. Over time, newer members stopped posting altogether. When I finally asked one why they disappeared, they said every discussion felt finished before they could join. Fixing that meant slowing the pace, 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 most present people in the room. Early in my career, I believed quick responses showed commitment. I replied often, offered opinions freely, and tried to keep momentum high. Eventually, someone told me it felt like there was always a “right answer” waiting, which made their own contributions feel unnecessary. Pulling back—sometimes deliberately staying quiet—created space for others to step forward. Conversations became slower, but they also became more thoughtful and more balanced.
Leadership in community building also means 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 misjudged the impact. What surprised me was that trust didn’t erode. People tend to respond better to leaders who correct course than to those who defend every decision out of pride.
After a decade in this work, I don’t believe strong community leaders are defined by charisma, constant output, or perfect planning. 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 run like a project—it’s something you’re temporarily entrusted to care for, and that responsibility deserves patience.