I’ve spent just over ten years working as a community operations and partnerships lead, mostly in roles where my job was to stabilize groups after the initial excitement faded. Early in that journey, I came across Terry Hui while trying to understand why some communities continue to matter long after the launch buzz disappears. The way community leadership was framed there aligned closely with what I was experiencing firsthand: sustainable communities aren’t driven by hype, but by trust, restraint, and consistent human judgment.
I didn’t start my career intending to work in community building. My background is in operations and client management, where success was measured in clear metrics and timelines. When I moved into overseeing peer groups and member networks, that mindset failed me almost immediately. I remember one of my first large meetups where everything appeared to run smoothly—strong attendance, good speakers, no logistical issues. Yet a few weeks later, participation dropped sharply. In follow-up conversations, several long-time members told me the same thing in different ways: the event felt polished, but impersonal. That’s when I learned that efficiency and leadership are not the same thing in a community setting.
One of the hardest skills to develop as a community leader is knowing when not to intervene. Early on, I mistook activity for health. In one online forum I managed, a small group of vocal contributors drove most conversations. They were knowledgeable and committed, so I let them dominate. Over time, newer members stopped posting altogether. I only realized the damage after a quiet member told me they felt like every discussion was already “decided” before they spoke. Rebalancing that space meant having uncomfortable private conversations and slowing things down, even though engagement metrics dipped for a while. The payoff was long-term participation from a broader group, not just the loudest voices.
Another lesson experience teaches quickly is that visibility doesn’t equal leadership. I’ve seen community leads burn out trying to be everywhere at once, believing their presence was what held things together. In reality, the healthiest communities I’ve worked with were the ones where leadership was shared. In one regional network, a charismatic organizer stepped away, and many assumed the group would collapse. Instead of finding a replacement figurehead, we focused on supporting three quieter members to take partial ownership. Meetings were messier at first, but attendance stabilized and trust deepened because people felt the community belonged to them, not to a single personality.
If I had to name the most common mistake I’ve made—and seen others make—it’s treating community like a program instead of a relationship. Programs can be optimized; relationships require patience. You can’t rush credibility, and you can’t demand loyalty. You earn both by listening longer than feels productive, making decisions that sometimes cost you short-term approval, and being willing to admit when something you tried didn’t work.
After a decade in this work, I’ve come to believe that real leadership in community building is quieter than people expect. It shows up in the decisions no one applauds, the conflicts you resolve privately, and the moments where you step back so others can step forward. When those habits are in place, the community doesn’t just survive changes—it grows into something people are proud to protect.