It’s interesting how certain experiences shape you. Not because they were easy, but because they showed you something you can’t ignore once you’ve seen it. 

Back in 2018, I connected with a leadership training company at a career fair. It started as a simple interaction, the kind you don’t think much of at the time, but it turned into a conversation that quietly redirected me. Their HR representative asked me a question that sounded simple but carried more weight than I realized in that moment. “If you did not have to worry about money, what would you do?” Without hesitation, I said, “I want to teach.” She paused, then asked, “What have you done to prepare yourself to teach?” I laughed and said, “Nothing.”

It was a light exchange, but it forced me to face something honestly. I had the desire, but I hadn’t done anything to move toward it. Instead of shutting the idea down, she offered me a path. She explained that I could start as a Client Relationship Manager, learn the programs, work closely with clients, and eventually grow into a trainer role. It made sense. The best teachers understand people first.

The company’s work centered around communication, relationships, and personal growth. That is why the book found its way back to me.

When my husband and I first started dating, he gave me How to Win Friends and Influence People. He told me anyone in business should read it. I looked at the title, handed it back, and said, “I don’t need friends, I’ve got plenty.” After that conversation at the career fair, I went home and asked him for the book. He looked at me and said, “Now someone else tells you, and you want to read it.” I read it in three days. Something about it clicked. It felt like it was describing the person I was trying to become. I could see myself not just learning it, but living it and eventually teaching it.

I got the job, and I meant it when I said I couldn’t fake my passion.

As I settled into the role, I worked closely with the owner of the company, who was also the face of the business. I went in with a clear goal. Learn the programs. Understand people. Grow into a trainer. That was it. Simple and focused.

But the environment made that path harder than I expected.

I remember a moment clearly when she told me she didn’t think I had what it takes to be a trainer. It was direct. I took it in, but I didn’t let it shift where I was going.

There was a precertification event coming up, and I was included. We started with six people, including her and me. By the end, only two of us remained. More than half had dropped out, including her. That alone showed me how demanding the process really was.

After the event, I was honest. I told her I wasn’t ready for certification yet and needed more time to prepare. I knew if I rushed, I would likely fail. Instead of seeing that as awareness, she called another candidate, Freddy, and asked if he was ready. He said yes, and she decided to move forward with him immediately.

Then she turned back to me and questioned whether people would take me seriously because I looked young, because I was Asian, and because I was a woman. She compared me to him and said people would rather listen to him.

I didn’t respond. Not because I agreed, but because I understood something in that moment. This wasn’t about ability.

What happened next made that clear. During the preparation process, Freddy realized it was too much and dropped out. The certification had to be postponed. When the time finally came, both of us who remained passed.

She wasn’t happy.

When I ran my first program, she invited people close to her to attend. It felt like a test. The participants leaned in. They shared openly. Some became emotional as things started to click for them. It was one of the most meaningful experiences I had ever been part of.

They loved it.

She didn’t.

She gave me a very low score, even though everyone else recommended the program. When she was questioned, her response was that it was her birthday, as if my success had taken something away from her.

I remember her saying to me one day, “You’re one of those, huh? If people think you can’t do it, you’ll prove them wrong.”

That caught me off guard, because that’s not what drove me.

I didn’t do any of this to prove anyone wrong. I had a goal when I joined the company, and I followed through on it with purpose and passion. That was it.

At some point, I had to make a decision. Not because I didn’t love the work, but because I loved it too much to stay in an environment that was holding me back. It was the most rewarding work I had ever done, and at the same time, the most draining.

That contrast taught me something I carry with me now.

Leadership isn’t about being right. It isn’t about protecting your position. It isn’t about making sure you’re the one people admire the most. Leadership is about developing people, even when it stretches you. It’s about creating space for others to grow.

Some people say they want to teach, but what they really want is to be seen as the one who knows. Those are not the same thing. Teaching requires you to step back and allow someone else to rise. It asks for humility and trust.

There’s a reason this is hard. When someone around us grows, it can feel like we’re losing something. It can feel like our value is being replaced. That reaction is human. But when a leader acts from that place, it limits everyone around them.

If you’re in a position to develop people, your role isn’t to compete with them. Your role is to help them become more than they were before.

People don’t leave work they love.

They leave environments where growth is blocked.

So it’s worth asking yourself this.

When someone around you begins to rise, do you support them, or do you quietly hold them back?

-Loann Capra