Thin Skin, Strong Spine

I saw a comment this week that stuck with me.

Someone was talking about protecting their time and boundaries when people don’t show up after committing to an online coffee chat. The usual conversation about respect, capacity, and energy. And someone replied:

“You just need to develop a thicker skin.”

I’ve been thinking about that a lot.

Because. Well. I really I don’t have thick skin. Never have.

I feel things deeply. Disappointment, dissatisfaction, the sense that I’ve let someone down. I don’t just register it cognitively, I feel it viscerally. If someone is unhappy with something I’ve done, or feels I’ve missed the mark, there’s a fast, familiar shame response that kicks in. I’m very aware of it. I’ve done a lot of work around it. And still,  it can hit hard.

And for a long time, that did stop me.

Earlier in my life and career, those moments created huge internal roadblocks. I’d retreat, overthink, abandon ideas, or quietly decide that maybe I just wasn’t cut out for this type of work.

What’s changed isn’t that I feel less.

What’s changed is what happens after.

Many of us do feel deeply, and that can be a real asset in leadership. But it becomes problematic when we use it as an excuse to stop showing up. When that depth of feeling tips into shame, and shame starts driving our behaviour, it stops serving us or the people around us.

The compass of shame is helpful here. It shows us the difference between noticing a reaction and being led by it. Feeling disappointed, judged, or exposed isn’t the issue. The issue is what we do next - withdraw, over-explain, people-please, go quiet, or abandon something altogether. That’s the moment where responsibility matters.

These days, I still feel it. I mean really feel it. Sick to the pit of my stomach feel it. But I don’t let it shut me down. At least not for long. 

I still put things out into the world. I still create spaces, events, and opportunities that matter to people. And when you do that, you invite feedback - all of it. Some of it lands beautifully. Some of it doesn’t. Especially when something is new.

That’s the risk of building something for the first time. It’s never going to be perfect.

What I find hardest, and I suspect many of you will recognise this - is how quick we can be to judge and dismiss.
“That didn’t work.”
“That was rubbish.”
Full stop.

We’re much less practiced at saying:
Here’s what worked. Here’s what didn’t. And here’s what might make it better.

Last year, I ran an event that received overwhelmingly positive feedback. And yet, my attention kept gravitating toward the people it didn’t serve. That instinct comes from care and an overwhelming desire to serve, but it becomes unhelpful when feedback stops being information and starts feeling like a verdict.

This is where the spiral starts.

One comment becomes:

• Everything I do is bad

• I’m not good at this

• I shouldn’t be doing this at all

It’s quick. And convincing.

I was listening to Shane Leaning’s podcast on ‘How to Tackle Self Doubt’ where he spoke candidly about his relationship with shame, and it beautifully articulated something I’ve felt for years: the goal isn’t to stop feeling. The goal is to recover more quickly.

He was kind enough to refer to one of our recent conversations in the episode and managed to tie together a number of thought leaders on this very topic. Shane has a magical way of finding the connective tissue between ideas, research and mental models. It’s a brilliant listen. Save it. 

I also follow someone on Instagram who swears A LOT. Unapologetically. Someone commented once, “You’ll look back in 10 or 20 years and cringe.”

Her response?
“Good. I should.”

Because if we’re not looking back and cringing occasionally, we probably haven’t grown. We haven’t learned. We haven’t changed.

That stayed with me.

Yesterday, I’ll be honest, I had a solid hour or two of:
Maybe I can’t do this. Maybe I’m not cut out for receiving this kind of feedback. Maybe everything I do is shit. Maybe those harshest comments are telling me something I need to listen to. 

And then - slowly - the questions shifted.
What is this actually telling me?
What’s subjective? What’s useful?
What can I learn from this without making it mean something about who I am?

And that’s where I’ve landed.

We’re often told, explicitly or implicitly, that leadership requires thicker skin. Armour up. Toughen up. Don’t take it so personally.

But armour has a cost. It dulls feedback, disconnects us from others, and eventually from ourselves.

What we actually need is permeability with recovery, not armour.

Some things will seep straight through to your bones. That’s part of caring. Part of being invested. Part of doing work that matters. The distinction isn’t whether you feel it,  it’s how long it stays lodged in your system.

Leadership isn’t about becoming impermeable.
It’s about building the capacity to let information wash through you, take what’s useful, and come back to centre without carrying the rest.

And when the emotional response hits, logic isn’t available yet. That’s normal i think, and it’s where, for me at least, a lot of the theory lets us down. It assumes that we can think and ‘tool’ our way out of emotion. Tools, habits, practices are all helpful once you’re nervous system is not on fire. If you try to boil an egg on high heat, it will simply crack.

In my view, the first job isn’t to make sense of it. It’s to let yourself feel it without turning it into a verdict about who you are.

When feedback hits and your body reacts first:

• Let yourself feel it, without commentary.
  Tight chest, heat, heaviness - notice it. You don’t need to fix it yet.

• Give the feeling somewhere to go.
  Write it out. Walk it off. Say it out loud to someone safe. Don’t trap it in your head. Brene Brown says that shame thrives in silence and secrecy. Let that shiz out. 

• Stay with it until it shifts.
  Most emotional responses peak and pass if we don’t fight them or fuel them.

• Only then decide what’s useful.
  Once the charge softens, ask: What, if anything here, helps me do this better next time?

Feeling deeply isn’t the problem.
Letting shame drive the bus is.

So you don’t need thicker skin.
You need enough safety, internally and externally, to feel, recover, and stay in the work.