“I knew my actions were wrong, but I convinced myself that normal rules didn’t apply.”
Those words appeared in Tiger Woods’ public apology after the personal scandal that brought an extraordinary fall from grace. Two other admissions were equally revealing. He spoke about thinking only of himself and developing a sense that, after working hard all his life, he was entitled to enjoy the temptations around him.
The circumstances were personal, but there is something in those words that leaders should pay attention to. Success can quietly change our relationship with the rules. Not necessarily the formal rules of an organisation, but the everyday rules we expect others to follow: listening to people, sharing credit, accepting challenge, admitting mistakes and recognising that authority does not automatically make our judgement better.
I have come across successful leaders who gradually begin to feel unbeatable. They dominate conversations, take disproportionate credit when things go well and find someone else to blame when they do not. People around them become increasingly careful about what they say. Even anonymous 360-degree feedback may make little difference because uncomfortable feedback can be dismissed as jealousy, politics or someone else’s inability to understand the pressures of the job.
What makes these situations particularly difficult is that many of these leaders continue to perform. They are intelligent, charismatic and convincing. They deliver numbers, win important clients or turn around difficult businesses. Senior management values them precisely because they produce results, so their behaviour is tolerated, explained away or treated as the price the organisation must pay for exceptional performance. Sometimes that can continue for years.
When Strengths Begin to Create Risk
Success naturally builds confidence, and leaders need confidence. The problem begins when confidence gradually turns into certainty about oneself. A leader who has repeatedly been proved right may become less interested in dissent. Someone whose judgement has produced outstanding results may continue trusting instinct even when circumstances have changed. A charismatic leader accustomed to admiration may gradually begin to need it.
These behaviours are often described as derailers. I prefer to think of them as performance risks because the term captures something important: the risk can be growing even while performance remains strong. By the time results begin to deteriorate, the behaviour may have been present for a long time.
This creates an interesting trap. Success itself becomes evidence that nothing needs to change. The leader looks at the numbers and sees validation. The organisation looks at the same numbers and becomes reluctant to intervene. Meanwhile, people closest to the leader may already be seeing something quite different.
Who Can Still Tell You That You Are Wrong?
As leaders become more senior, they need people who can disagree with them without worrying about the consequences. It may be a colleague, mentor, coach or someone outside the organisation who knows them well enough to recognise when confidence is beginning to become something else.
But having such people around is not enough. The real test is what happens when they say something we do not want to hear. A leader can ask for candour and still make candour costly. People learn remarkably quickly whether disagreement is genuinely welcome or merely something the leader claims to value.
There are a few questions worth returning to occasionally. Do people around me disagree openly, or have they learnt to read the room first? When something succeeds, how naturally do I recognise other people’s contribution? When I receive uncomfortable feedback, is my first instinct curiosity or explanation? Are there behaviours I excuse in myself that I would challenge immediately in someone else?
These are uncomfortable questions, particularly when things are going well. That is precisely when they may be most useful. There are no flawless leaders, and pretending otherwise is probably the beginning of the problem. The greater danger is reaching a point where success persuades us that our flaws no longer matter.
Thin ice rarely announces itself. For a while, it holds.
