I’ve noticed something in myself lately, and in a lot of the leaders I coach.

When a conversation drifts off course, when someone shares something half-baked or emotionally raw, there’s this itch to jump in.

To clarify.
To contribute.
To give our “two cents.”

Sometimes it comes from wisdom. Sometimes it comes from anxiety. Usually, it’s both.

The truth is, people who lead for a living often have finely tuned radar for confusion. We spot what’s off in the room, not because we’re arrogant, but because that’s what leadership trains us to do. We see patterns, inconsistencies, blind spots. We see where a team is stuck and want to help them move.

So when someone is fumbling toward clarity, in life, at work, or even at the dinner table, we feel the urge to jump in and fix it.

But, here’s the rub: clarity offered before it’s invited almost always lands as control.

It’s taken me years to understand that impulse, that reflex to quote-unquote add value when silence would have served better. It’s not always ego. It’s often care disguised as control. A sincere desire to help that crosses the line into managing other people’s process.

I reckon there are three reasons we (yep, you and me) do it.

1. You Care Deeply About Clarity and Growth.

You’re wired to see potential and to pull it out of people. When someone shares something messy, your brain starts sorting it, tightening it, shaping it. You want to help them make sense of it.
That’s not bad, it’s a gift.
But gifts overused become weapons.

The work for leaders is learning to calibrate that instinct. To let people wrestle with their own tension instead of relieving it for them. To trust that silence might be the most generous contribution you can make.

2. It’s Part of Your Leadership Imprint.

If you’re a Designer or Driver, you see things. You can’t not. Your mind connects dots faster than most. When others are still describing the problem, you’re already ten steps into the solution.
That speed serves you when you’re creating. It can sabotage you when you’re relating.

I’ve had to learn that my “clarity reflex” isn’t always about service, sometimes it’s about discomfort. When I see confusion, I feel it in my body. I want to resolve it because it unsettles me.
The practice, then, isn’t silence for silence’s sake.

It’s sitting in the discomfort long enough to discern: Is this mine to fix? Or, is this theirs to find?

3. It’s a Control Reflex Masquerading as Care.

There’s a subtle belief that peace will come once everyone else “gets it.” That if the people around me would just see what I see, everything would feel easier.

That’s ego disguised as efficiency.
And, it’s exhausting.

When I start to feel that pull, to correct, to clarify, to make the room make sense, I’ve learned to pause and ask three questions. They’ve become my inner compass for restraint:

1. Who is this for?
   Am I speaking to serve them or to settle myself?

2. What’s my motive?
   Is this about helping, fixing, or feeling heard?

3. What would love do?
   Sometimes love speaks. Sometimes love stays quiet.

Those questions didn’t come from a book. They’re a blend of recovery wisdom, Ignatian reflection, and hard-won experience. They help me notice the difference between contribution and compulsion.

When I ask them, I find myself breathing again.
I start listening instead of formulating my next point. And, more often than not, the room finds its own clarity, without me.

The Hardest Kind of Leadership Is Restraint.

Restraint of tongue and ego. Restraint of the need to be seen as helpful. In a culture addicted to commentary, restraint feels like invisibility. But, it’s actually presence.

It’s the kind of power that doesn’t need to prove itself.

The best leaders I know carry that quiet authority. They can hold tension without filling it. They can sit in a room that’s messy, emotional, or uncertain and not need to fix it.

That’s real influence.

Because, when you lead that way, your words start to matter more. People stop bracing for your input and start waiting for your insight.

A Simple Practice

Next time you feel the urge to give your two cents in a meeting, a conversation, or a living room try this:

> Take one breath before you speak.

> Ask the three questions.

> If you still feel led to share, do it gently and briefly.

> If not, trust the silence to do its work.

And, when you choose not to speak, notice the peace that follows. Notice that the world didn’t fall apart without your contribution. Notice how much energy you save by letting things be unresolved for a while.

That’s not disengagement. That’s maturity.

Because leadership isn’t about having the right words. It’s about creating the kind of space where truth can surface, with or without you.

And, sometimes the most powerful thing you can say in a room is nothing. Just bearing witness by being fully present and aware.

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Steve Knox | Carmel, CA

\\\ Hope this hits you in the right moment. I know it’s something I am paying attention to more in more in the new season of life I’m in. Please forward and share it with your circle of influence. Until next week. Be honest. Be you.