Last week, I sat in a Zoom call with Trang Vu, a brilliant leader stepping into her role as CEO of a company whose products touch millions of lives. We met through a network for Overseas Vietnamese, and bonded over a too-good-to-be-true fact that her aunt who recently passed away shared my name - a rare Vietnamese name.
Meeting and seeing someone underneath the usual professional mask is a powerful experience. She was open to share with her about her latest challenge: to step into the CEO role of a major biotech company.
“I own every room I walk into,” she said, her voice carrying that familiar blend of pride and weight that leaders often wear. “But sometimes, standing there with all eyes on me, I’ve never felt more alone.”
The words hung in the virtual space between us, both revealing and obscuring something deeper.
Here was someone who had achieved what she’d dreamed of since childhood - leading a company that could scale and transform countless lives. Yet in that moment of vulnerability, she wasn’t speaking as a CEO. She was speaking as a human being carrying a vision too precious to share carelessly.
“I can’t share this with many people,” she confided, her voice quieter now. “They’d see it as weakness, and I can’t afford that. It’s like wearing a glass suit - everyone can see you, but no one can really reach you. And the higher you climb, the thicker the glass becomes.”
I recognized that feeling - the paradox of being simultaneously so visible and so unseen. It’s a peculiar kind of loneliness that comes not from being apart from others, but from carrying something that others can see but few can truly understand.
As we sat there, the conversation shifted from the weight of leadership to something more fundamental: the courage it takes to let ourselves be seen, not just as figures of strength, but as full human beings with our own doubts and dreams.
“You know what’s strange?” she said, leaning closer to her camera. “This is the first time I’ve said this out loud. We spend so much time talking about vision and strategy, but so little time acknowledging how it feels to carry them.”
In that moment, I witnessed something powerful: the relief that comes when we find someone who understands without need for explanation. It’s like finding a mirror that reflects not just our surface, but our depths.
This conversation reminded me that our most personal struggles - those moments when we feel most alone - are often the very things that connect us most deeply to others.
The weight of leadership, the tension between visibility and vulnerability, the quiet loneliness of carrying a vision - these aren’t just individual experiences. They’re threads in a larger human story.
Perhaps true leadership isn’t about appearing invulnerable, but about having the courage to acknowledge our shared humanity.
Maybe it’s in those moments when we dare to lower our glass walls that we not only find connection but also inspire others to do the same.
For those of you carrying visions that feel too heavy to share, know that you’re not alone in your aloneness.
Sometimes the bravest thing we can do is to let ourselves be seen, not just in our strength, but in our wholeness.
With care,
Khuyen
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