It’s not the big crises that destroy companies. It’s those three seconds when the ego falters — and instead of holding the right line, we choose to prove ourselves.
Everyone thinks it happens in big decisions.
The truth is: it always happens quietly.
It’s not in the big decisions where we betray ourselves.
It’s not in crises.
It’s not in strategic failures.
It’s in those three seconds when the ego falters —
and instead of holding the line we know is right,
we choose to prove ourselves.
To appear strong.
To save face.
And to lock the entire system behind us.
I remember a CEO I worked with.
Early forties.
Not one to play the alpha role.
More of a builder at heart.
Smart. Curious.
The kind who really listens. Who seeks engagement, meaning, collective construction.
A man who had true courage.
For six months, he had been leading an ambitious strategy: repositioning the company toward a more sustainable, more differentiated model.
The market had followed at first.
But the initial feedback was showing weak signals.
Not a failure — a gray area.
And he wanted to own it. To bring it to the board. To say:
“We need to adjust. We need to listen. We need to hold the course — intelligently.”
He had prepared this stance.
No retreat. No denial. A mature line.
He was ready.
The board meeting was that morning.
Quiet room. Light oak.
Twelve around the table.
Among them, the former CEO — an old shark.
Not one for nuance.
Sarcastic. Dominant.
Always ready to remind others who really knows what leadership means.
The CEO began calmly:
“I’d like to start with a listening point.
We have positive signals, but also weaker ones that we need to face clearly.
I think it would be healthy to adjust in certain areas. Not to step back, but to clarify what we stand by and what we need to adapt.”
He spoke with clarity.
The room was attentive.
And then, without looking at him, the old shark dropped his line, loud enough for everyone to hear:
“So you’re going to make excuses again for not moving forward?
Stop flipping like a pancake. We need direction — not a philosophy workshop.”
Three seconds.
The CEO felt the heat rising in his neck.
He felt the eyes watching him.
He knew that right then, he could hold his line.
Say: “No — this isn’t retreating. It’s mature leadership.”
But his ego had been hit squarely.
He wanted to prove he was solid.
He wanted to erase that word “pancake” from the room.
And he heard his own voice stiffen:
“Of course. We’re holding the course. We’re moving forward. That’s clear.”
In that moment, he knew he had just betrayed what he came to defend.
He knew he had closed the door he wanted to open.
He could already feel the tunnel closing around him.
But the very next instant, he couldn’t stand the idea of having caved.
Not the thought that he could have said something else.
Not the thought that the shark had won.
So in the span of three heartbeats, he rewrote his own story:
“No. This is the right strategy. It was the right thing to say. This is what we’ll do. We’ll stand. We’ll commit. This is leadership.”
He felt his ego taking the wheel.
He drowned out the voice of doubt.
He forbade himself to revisit it.
Leaving the boardroom, he joined his direct reports, a tight smile on his face.
“It’s decided. We’re holding the line. This is no time to step back. We’ll show we know exactly where we’re going.”
He looked at them, almost swaggering.
In that moment, he almost believed his own story.
And the machine rolled on.
But deep down, he knew:
what he had just locked in was more than a strategy.
It was his freedom to choose tomorrow.
That evening, replaying the scene in his mind, one question kept turning over and over:
“How do we still know what we know — when we so badly need to believe what we just said?”
And that’s always how it starts.
Not with a mistake.
But with a tiny moment of ego.
That ends up costing millions — or an entire mission.
I share what I’ve seen and learned from years of working inside real transformation.
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