301: The Loneliness in Leadership

Hi there. You’re listening to the Leading Lady Podcast. I’m your host, Allison Loftus, and I’m a certified professional coach specializing in leadership and work life balance. I work with clients to shift their limiting beliefs, insecurities, and self-doubt. This podcast will be filled with tools and strategies to help high achieving women like you feel connected, empowered, and in the lead of your life, both personally and professionally. Let’s transform your life starting now. Lead yourself. The rest will follow.

Hi there, Leading Ladies, and welcome to today’s episode. Recently, I was asked to share some thoughts that I had as a woman in leadership, and I was actually asked to submit a chapter as a guest author in someone else’s book that’s coming out later this year. I don’t want to give too much away, but I did want to give you a little sneak peek preview about what I had to say.

So I submitted a chapter called The Loneliest Seat in the Room: A Guide to Leading with Integrity and Courage. Like I said, I’ll be sharing more details in the weeks to come because this book is being released later this year. But there are a few things that came up for me as I was writing this chapter.

Obviously the loneliest seat in the room. The title alone makes it sound quite sad, and I had to really do a lot of work on this chapter for it not to feel like a heavy or a sad chapter. Because yes, leadership can be very lonely, but I didn’t want to portray it as necessarily a negative thing or to have the voice of maybe a victim mentality.

The Moment I Realized Leadership Felt Lonely

Okay, so let me tell you how this chapter came to be. I was actually laughing at myself because I don’t want this to have a negative connotation, but a lot of the stories around it do feel very heavy and are actually a little sad.

What happened for me is I happened to be having a morning where I needed to be at a meeting in about 90 minutes. My phone was blowing up with emergencies in my email, and I sat there with a towel in my hair, in my bathrobe, pacing my kitchen. And I’m going, oh my gosh, who the heck can I call to talk about this problem with?

I realized in that moment that I really didn’t have anyone to call. I was desperately searching for advice and reassurance. I needed a safe place to vent. Instead I just kind of stood there thinking, oh my gosh, who do I call?

That was a very pivotal moment for me when I realized just how lonely I was feeling in leadership. I kind of make a little joke that in that moment of desperation I even turned to ChatGPT and I was like, I need help. Who do I call? Do I need a coach, a therapist, a best friend, a priest, a rabbi? Like, who do I need because I need help?

And no, ChatGPT did not give me any solid answer to that.

But it did feel good to just say out loud, or type, I need help. I don’t know who to go to for this. And that actually sparked the idea to write a chapter about how lonely leadership can be.

Leadership can be very isolating. It is lonely. And I don’t mean physically alone, because I’m surrounded by people all the time. I have clients and collaborators, and I run a community. The online community alone has over 7,000 people in it. My in person networking groups have dozens of women in each group. So I’m not ever really physically alone.

I’m constantly surrounded by people in person and virtually. So why in that moment did I feel so alone?

I felt like I didn’t have a single person I could call or text. It’s not because I don’t call or text people all the time, but because in that moment I didn’t know who could hold or help me hold what I was carrying.

I find myself a lot of times asking, who can I talk to about this that I don’t have to filter myself with? Who would understand all the implications at once? The financial implications, relationship implications, reputational implications.

Who can help me see the full picture instead of just one piece of it?

The most vulnerable question I ask myself is this: if I admit that I don’t know what to do next, will people still trust me to lead?

To lead my communities, my groups, my masterminds, and the business decisions that people are counting on me for.

When you’re responsible for the vision, the revenue, the outcomes, the direction, and the sustainability of your entire business, you’re operating at a different altitude. That was the realization that I had.

I see problems before other people do. I’m taking risks sooner. I’m recognizing misalignment faster. Other people might manage tasks or projects within the company, but I’m managing the trajectory.

And the higher we rise in responsibility, the fewer peers we have at that altitude.

It becomes isolating not because nobody cares, but because no one else carries what we are carrying.

I find myself constantly regulating the tone, making the final decisions, and absorbing the impact so others can keep moving.

When you hold that role long enough, you start to feel the weight of it. The struggle, the doubt, and the internal wrestling happen quietly behind the scenes. When clarity finally appears to other people, it looks simple, like you had it figured out all along.

Most people don’t see the struggle. Most people don’t understand the silent load that the leader is carrying.

So yes, it can feel quite lonely.

Seeing First Is a Responsibility

I broke this down into a few points that I want to walk through.

Number one: seeing first is a responsibility, not a privilege.

The loneliness I’m feeling is not accidental. It’s directional. It exists because I’m leading the way.

No one has gone before me in this particular path. It’s not that I’ve created something groundbreaking, but I didn’t step into a ready made structure or replicate someone else’s model.

My community and programs exist because I was once searching for something and couldn’t quite find the thing that fit. I had to step out of line a little bit and into the unknown.

Seeing first is rarely glamorous. It means recognizing the gap before it becomes obvious. It means sensing misalignment before others see it.

And we can’t ask for consensus from people who do not yet share the same clarity of vision.

When we see first, we walk first.

That requires steadiness long before validation appears.

There are days when my nervous system is like absolutely not, Allison. We’re done. I’m tired. Sometimes I question why I didn’t choose an easier path and just follow someone else’s blueprint.

Building something that doesn’t quite exist requires emotional stamina that no one really prepares you for. They don’t teach that in business school.

The mental load is real. The consequences are real.

But there is honor in carrying the vision forward.

I don’t see myself as alone in this. Yes, I’m alone in my seat, but I see other women sitting in their own seats leading their visions too.

I was at a conference recently where I was the keynote speaker talking about burnout. The incoming president of the organization pulled me aside and admitted she wasn’t sure she was cut out for the role she was about to step into.

I asked her why she was doing it.

She looked me straight in the eyes and said, “Allison, because nobody else will.”

That’s not ego or ambition. That’s responsibility.

She understood that the vision mattered more than her discomfort. If she could see the problem and the potential solutions, then it was her responsibility to carry it forward.

Not because she was special. I don’t feel special either.

I just feel willing.

Willing to push aside discomfort for the vision.

Seeing first is heavy, but it’s also sacred. I would rather carry something meaningful than stand comfortably inside something small.

Integrity Is Tested Before It’s Celebrated

The next lesson is that integrity is tested before it’s celebrated.

It’s the first week of March as I’m recording this, and this new year has already tested me in so many ways.

From the outside everything probably appears steady. New contracts are coming in. I’m onboarding people. I’ve launched new programs and welcomed new community members.

If you looked at my calendar you would assume everything is running like business as usual.

But beneath the surface there have been many moments of tension. Moments when the easier choice would have been the more profitable one.

Moments when it would have been simpler to smooth something over instead of having the difficult conversation.

There were times when I could have chosen short term comfort. Instead I wrestled with those decisions longer than I would like to admit.

Behind the scenes no one is cheering you on while you figure those things out.

When I finally decide how to move forward, I ask myself a simple question.

How do I want to feel about this five years from now?

That question pulls me back to my integrity.

Earlier this year I had a situation where something clashed and I needed to have a very difficult conversation. I had to own a misstep and speak directly to the people it affected.

It was uncomfortable. It was messy and raw.

But when I got to the other side everything was cleaner, stronger, and more aligned.

It even revealed gaps in my business where I needed to tighten contracts and improve systems.

Integrity is rarely tested in public. It shows up in quiet decisions behind closed doors.

In the emails rewritten and deleted. In the conversations that make your stomach tighten before they even begin.

Doing the right thing doesn’t always feel empowering.

Sometimes it feels like being put through a meat grinder.

Doing the right thing can cost money. It can cost approval. Sometimes it can cost relationships.

There is rarely applause for choosing alignment when comfort would have been easier.

But that five year question became my compass.

What decision will I respect in five years?

It doesn’t magically make things easier, but it steadies me more than any external validation ever could.

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Not Everyone in Your Community Is Your Inner Circle

My next realization was that not everyone in your community is part of your inner circle.

This one caught me off guard and hurt more than I expected.

My entire business is built on relationships. I believe deeply in collaboration. I love celebrating shared wins and building meaningful communities.

So when I began to recognize that for some people the relationship was simply business, it unsettled me.

It’s not necessarily wrong. People hire you to provide a service and expect it to be delivered with excellence.

But when you spend months or years walking alongside someone, hearing about their families, their fears, and their dreams, the lines can blur.

Sometimes those relationships evolve into friendship and sometimes they don’t.

Recently I had a scenario where those lines were very blurred with someone I had worked closely with for years. She had become a trusted confidante and collaborator.

We worked together, celebrated together, and I believed we had a strong personal relationship.

During a project we were working on together things unraveled.

I was hoping for grace and compassion. I expected one thing while she expected another.

The conflict itself wasn’t the problem. Conflict is part of leadership.

What unsettled me was the tone and behavior that did not reflect the understanding and care that I thought existed between us.

In that moment I felt more alone than ever.

I had to sit with that honestly. Not in a dramatic way or a way that villainized anyone, but with honesty.

I realized I had placed emotional trust in someone who, in that moment, could not hold it.

That realization forced me to reconsider how many roles I allow one person to carry in my life.

When friendship, mentorship, and business overlap, clarity becomes essential.

Not because people intend to hurt you, but because when those layers fracture the impact can run deeper than typical professional disappointment.

Protecting your inner circle is not exclusion. It’s good stewardship.

Courage Is Steady, Not Dramatic

Another realization is that courage is steady, not dramatic.

Recently someone told me I was courageous, and I was honestly surprised. That is not an adjective I typically use to describe myself.

In my mind courage looks bold and decisive.

But when I reflected on her words, I realized what she probably saw.

Even though the season felt heavy and there were moments I wanted to buckle under the weight of everything, I kept showing up.

Perhaps what looked like courage to her was simply the decision to continue leading even when I felt shaky.

Leadership doesn’t always feel brave.

Sometimes courage is simply continuing forward when everything feels stacked against you.

Courage is not the absence of doubt.

It’s the willingness to continue despite it.

The Lonely Seat Is Not Permanent

My final point is that the lonely seat is not permanent.

If you’re feeling like you’re sitting in the loneliest seat in the room, it is not a life sentence.

Often it’s just a passage.

These seasons happen when responsibility grows faster than your support system.

They sharpen your discernment, clarify your boundaries, and refine your circles.

We don’t wake up prepared to carry the weight of leadership.

We become prepared by carrying it.

Over time we learn where to seek counsel and where we must trust our own voice.

Not everyone who applauds can advise, and not everyone nearby can hold your inner world.

We have to build layered support systems and anchor ourselves more deeply in our values instead of other people’s reactions.

When we are anchored in our values we attract the right people.

But when we search for external validation or applause, things become unsettled.

The seat doesn’t necessarily become easier. We simply become steadier.

And when you stop looking around for someone else to take the seat, you understand why you are there.

My hope is that if you’re sitting in that seat right now and feeling lonely, you hear this clearly.

Loneliness is not proof that you’re failing. It may actually be evidence that you’re leading.

The weight is not weakness. It is the cost of building something that did not exist before you envisioned it.

You are not dramatic for feeling the pressure. You are not broken because responsibility stretches you.

You are carrying a vision, and vision asks for integrity and courage long before it offers applause.

Yes, the seat may feel lonely.

But you are not alone in it.

You are growing into it.

A Four Step Reflection for Leaders

Before we close, I want to leave you with four reflection questions you might journal about if the seat feels lonely.

1. Audit the weight you’re carrying.

Open a blank page and write three lists:

• What decision do you need to make?
• What are the real risks involved?
• What are you afraid of?

Be honest. Is it loss of approval? Conflict? Being misunderstood?

Try to summarize the core issue in one clear sentence.

2. Ask the five year question.

What decision will you respect five years from now?

It might not be the easiest or most comfortable option today, but it will guide you toward integrity.

3. Separate your circles.

Imagine three circles:

• Your community: the people you serve or collaborate with.
• Your advisors: mentors, peers, coaches, and professionals who offer perspective.
• Your inner circle: the few people who can hold your vulnerability with care.

Leadership becomes lonelier when these roles are unclear.

4. Practice steady courage.

Before acting ask yourself:

Am I responding thoughtfully or reacting emotionally?

Am I choosing integrity over convenience?

Can I communicate this calmly and clearly?

If the seat feels lonely, it may simply mean your responsibility has grown faster than your support.

That doesn’t mean you’re failing.

It means you’re being invited to lead with greater clarity, stronger boundaries, and deeper integrity.

If this resonated with you, please reach out to me. I do read and respond to every email.

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