When Being ‘Diplomatic’ Is Just Hiding

When “Professional” Becomes a Mask

It was one of those long, mentally taxing days. I had just wrapped up a string of back-to-back calls, navigated a series of decisions, and found myself depleted, not just physically, but emotionally. Every part of me was tired.

Later that evening, I took the dog for a walk. It wasn’t peaceful or refreshing. My thoughts were heavy, my pace slow. I was reflecting not to gain clarity, but simply to process what felt like a quiet unraveling inside me.

In that moment of stillness, I noticed something I had long ignored. When I am this drained, I do not naturally reach for rest. I reach for performance. I tell myself to keep going, stay composed, do the job, and carry the responsibilities. I remind myself to stay the course, even if my soul feels off balance.

A more confronting question has begun to surface.

What if what I have long considered “being professional” is simply a way of hiding?

What if, beneath all the structure, strategy, and leadership responsibility, I have merely been surviving instead of truly leading?

The Trauma Behind the Smile

This habit of suppression began earlier than I had realized.

My first leadership venture was a partnership with a woman at least 15 – 20 years older than I was. At the time, I believed that experience mattered most. She had it. I didn’t. So I decided to follow, to learn, and to keep my thoughts to myself.

For three years, I held back. I told myself it was out of respect. I didn’t want to create conflict or seem arrogant. I wanted to be diplomatic. Beneath the surface, I was afraid.

I deferred even when I knew something felt wrong. I remained silent even when I disagreed deeply. On the outside, it looked like maturity. But within me, something was slowly disappearing.

There was no emotional safety, only hierarchy. There was no depth, only polite civility. Conversations remained on the surface, and unspoken tensions accumulated.

Eventually, the partnership ended. Not because of one dramatic conflict, but because years of silence had made it unsustainable. We simply could not continue.

Through that ending, I discovered something I had not noticed before. I had internalized a belief: to be mature and professional, I had to suppress who I really was.

I thought I was acting wisely. In truth, I was practicing emotional self-erasure.

It was not leadership. It was survival.

The Split Identity

That early experience left a subtle but lasting imprint.

Over the years, I began to live with two distinct versions of myself. There was “Daniel at work”, measured, responsible, and composed. Then there was the private version of me more open, more tired, more vulnerable, and fully human.

I believed this division was normal. Many people I knew lived the same way. What I failed to see was the cost.

Eventually, I realized that the exhaustion I felt was not just from work. It came from living divided. From pretending. From having to suppress my true emotions in order to meet the demands of the role.

Even now, I sometimes see this pattern mirrored in my team. Relationships remain professional but shallow. Feedback is offered politely, but trust does not run deep. People agree in meetings not because of alignment, but because it feels safer than disagreement.

I saw it again during a recent conversation with my COO, Samuel. We trust each other deeply, yet that day, we could barely get beyond logistics. Both of us were tired. The space between us, usually collaborative, had become functional. Efficient. But not alive.

That moment forced a deeper reflection.

If every day becomes a cycle of firefighting, who is left to build?

If professionalism becomes the default, what happens to authenticity?

Where is the growth when everyone is just managing?

The Nintendo Table Flip and Pastor Tim’s Secret

Earlier that same day, I had been reading two very different stories of leadership.

The first was from Nintendo. Just before launching The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess, its famed creator, Shigeru Miyamoto, made a bold last-minute decision. He asked the team to rewrite a major section of the game. It disrupted timelines and required significant rework.

No one resisted.

The reason was simple. They trusted him.

At Nintendo, this kind of disruption was not foreign. In fact, they had a term for it: 撤走饭桌 (removing the dining table). It referred to revisiting and reworking something that was already considered complete, in order to pursue something better.

What stood out to me was this: the leadership was not in the decision itself. It was in the environment that allowed it. Miyamoto’s team trusted him enough to embrace the chaos because they believed in the shared goal.

The second story came from a book I was reading: On the Ground, a memoir about Pastor Timothy Loh and his philosophy of relational discipleship.

He led through presence. He built systems, but he also walked with people. He never separated structure from soul. He didn’t choose between efficiency and empathy. He embodied both.

As I reflected, the clarity became undeniable.

Leadership is not about choosing between people and productivity. It is about holding both with integrity.

It is not about positional power. It is about relational presence.

True culture is not created on a whiteboard. It is built in the space between people.

Leadership Is Not a Solo Act

Many leadership narratives celebrate the lone visionary,the one who flips the table, takes risks, and pushes toward excellence. These stories often highlight exceptional minds and bold moves.

What is often missing from those narratives is the ecosystem that surrounds the leader. The trust. The culture. The emotional glue that holds everything together during moments of disruption.

Real leadership is not about charisma or control. It is about consistency, clarity, and connection.

Especially in Asian cultures, professionalism is often mistaken for maturity. We are taught to speak well, maintain harmony, and avoid confrontation. Beneath the surface, unspoken fatigue and frustration often remain.

I have experienced it myself.

Over time, I have come to realize that I no longer want to lead from behind a mask. I no longer want to perform at the expense of presence.

Trust cannot be manufactured by policies. It must be nurtured through presence.

Culture does not grow from hierarchy. It grows from healing.

Healing always begins with truth.

From Hiding to Healing

Earlier this week, I gave a talk to our Year 11 students titled “What If Life Isn’t As Long As You Think?”

The attendance was low. Fewer than ten percent showed up. One student even told me it felt depressing.

I showed up anyway. Even one honest conversation can matter.

I shared with them that by the end of high school, they would have already spent 89 percent of their in-person time with their parents. That if they visited the beach once a year, they might only have sixty more visits in their lifetime. That most people will only read about 300 books before they die.

I also told them about joy. Not as something rare or unreachable, but as something that can be practiced. I mentioned Tim Ferriss’ “Jar of Awesome”, a daily habit of collecting moments of gratitude and delight, to help rewire our focus toward what is good.

Some of them disengaged. Others stayed quiet. One student leaned in.

That was enough.

Leadership is not about applause. It is about presence.

The Reverse That Redefines It All

We are often taught that professionalism is a sign of strength. That it reflects maturity, wisdom, and leadership.

The truth is more complex.

Professionalism without vulnerability is just performance. Performance without connection becomes a prison.

Many of us assume that leadership is about staying in control. Real leadership is about being present enough to be changed.

It is not a strategy that holds a team together. It is the safety of knowing that in this space, you are allowed to be real.

I am still learning how to rest. I still face moments of burnout. I have made the decision to stop hiding.

The next level of leadership is not about systems, slides, or KPIs. It is about showing up with truth. It is about trusting before being trusted. It is about naming pain before it explodes.

It is about leading not from perfection, but from integration.

The mask I have worn for so long may have helped me survive. It has also become too heavy.

I am ready to lay it down.