Talent Development Leader

When Authenticity Backfires

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I thought I was nailing leadership—and then my team called my bluff.

Tue Nov 18 2025

A woman in white holds a plain, white mask beside her face, symbolizing identity or revealing one's true self.

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Have you ever been convinced you’re showing up as your best authentic leader self, only to have someone on your team question your motives?

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Yeah. Same.

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This is the story of how I learned (the hard way) that being authentic isn’t about saying you believe in authenticity—it’s about living it, even when it’s messy, uncomfortable, and wildly inconvenient.

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I was working at Verizon in my early 30s when I received a promotion to my first executive HR role. Exciting, right? Except it was also smack in the middle of a massive merger. So, everything was new—my manager, executive stakeholders, and half the team. Oh, and let’s toss in a divorce, a new house, and single motherhood for good measure.

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Although it’s illegal to factor someone’s personal situation into how you evaluate them at work, the whisper network in my head was loud.

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They’re probably thinking:

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How is she going to juggle this level of travel with a toddler at home?
How is she going to juggle this level of travel with a toddler at home?
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How in the world is she going to be able to manage this big leap of scope and scale with all the stress she’s under?
How in the world is she going to be able to manage this big leap of scope and scale with all the stress she’s under?
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She’s so young. Let’s hold off and see how this all plays out before giving her anything too visible.-
She’s so young. Let’s hold off and see how this all plays out before giving her anything too visible.-

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So, I did what many people do when they’re under a microscope: I stayed buttoned-up, polished, professional—and silent about my real life. I didn’t even tell my best friend at work what was going on.

My first big assignment

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Soon after my promotion, I had the task of developing a diversity strategy for the newly merged organization. I reached out to all the business units I supported and assembled a diversity council comprised of individuals from both legacy companies, representing a diverse mix of roles, backgrounds, and identities.

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The idea was simple: Listen to their stories and let those stories shape what we build next. And those stories? Powerful doesn’t even begin to cover it.

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There was Juan, whom a senior executive mistook for a valet worker at a leadership off-site meeting—someone he’d met three times. Sherika shared how her peers routinely ignored her ideas in meetings until she heard them repeated by a White male colleague. And Susan, a single mom trying to hold onto a job in a 24/7 contact center, noted how she had a rotating schedule and no stable childcare.

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As those stories poured out, I watched the group bond. Empathy, insight, and strategy, all flowing together. That was the work. That was impact.

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And then, the record scratch.

“You’re a fraud”

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Three weeks before our big presentation, Sherika stormed into my office. She didn’t sit. She didn’t smile. She picked up a photo of me and my son, locked eyes with me, and calmly said: “Karin, you are a fraud.”

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She went on: “I came into your office last week—your assistant let me in. Your desk is full of pictures of you and your little boy. No man in sight. You’re a single mom.”

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Then came the gut-punch line: “All this time, you’ve had us share our hardest stories. And you never once shared your own. You think your story doesn’t belong in this room? Executives like you are afraid to be who you are at work. And if you’re afraid, we’re all afraid.”

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She wasn’t yelling. She didn’t need to. Her words cut clean. And she was right.

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I was asking my team to show up vulnerably while I played it safe. I was building a strategy around authenticity while hiding a massive part of who I was.

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So, the next day, I called an emergency meeting—the whole council on a conference call. I took a deep breath and confessed: “I have something to share. I’m a single mom.”

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Silence. And then laughter.

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“We know,” someone said. “Sherika told us.” Of course she did.

What changed next

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That one moment of truth changed everything. We went back and updated the strategy. We built in space for executive visits to our contact centers, dispatch centers, and business offices. Executives shared vulnerable experiences of challenging conversations, juggling work and family, and lessons learned along the way. And they actively listened to employees’ experiences and concerns. Authenticity and vulnerability became part of the plan.

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Because here’s the thing: When leaders show up with a bit of courage and humanity, employees see themselves in that mirror.

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“She looks like me.”
“She looks like me.”
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“She’s been where I am.”
“She’s been where I am.”
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“If she can do it, maybe I can too.”
“If she can do it, maybe I can too.”

Fast-forward one year later

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The company invited us to New York for a fancy celebration—our diversity strategy had earned the Verizon Excellence Award for significantly boosting employee engagement as measured by our engagement surveys.

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I looked across the table. Sherika smiled at me. She knew I wasn’t hiding anymore. I was no longer a fraud.

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I’m forever grateful for Sherika. For her clarity. Her courage. Her willingness to risk discomfort to call me out and help me become the leader I needed to be.

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If you had asked me back then, “Do you believe in authentic leadership?” I would have said “of course.” Our whole strategy was based on it. But belief is cheap. Practice is the real test.

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And under stress, I folded. I thought no one would want to follow the real me. I lost confidence in my strengths and lacked the humility to put the mission ahead of my own fear.

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But Sherika gave me a gift. She gave me the mirror—and the choice.

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Now? I lead differently. I grow leaders differently. I learned:

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People want to work for human beings—vulnerability builds connection.
People want to work for human beings—vulnerability builds connection.
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My team cares much more about what I do than what I say.
My team cares much more about what I do than what I say.
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To never ask my team to do something I’m unwilling to do.
To never ask my team to do something I’m unwilling to do.
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Vision and strategy (the thing I’m best at) only work when people trust me.
Vision and strategy (the thing I’m best at) only work when people trust me.
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When I screw up, I admit it and try my best to fix it.
When I screw up, I admit it and try my best to fix it.

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Your team doesn’t need a flawless leader. It needs a real one—someone who shows up with courage, compassion, and just enough imperfection to be relatable.

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I’m no longer a fraud because I’m not afraid. And maybe that’s the bravest thing any of us can be at work.