For so many years, I believed strength meant always having the answer. I thought being a leader meant projecting certainty, even when the path felt more like fog than sunshine. But life has a way of showing us that some of the strongest moments come not from knowing, but from admitting what we don’t know.

When Admitting “I Don’t Know” Feels Like Failure

I can still remember a conversation I had across a worn wooden table with someone I respected deeply. The decision in front of me felt ominous and heavy, like it carried the weight of a hundred expectations. Every part of me wanted to blurt out the right words, to appear capable and unshakable. But the truth was, I didn’t have the answer.

I took a breath, felt my throat tighten, and let the words spill out: “I don’t know.”

For a moment, it felt like I had handed away all my authority, as if those three small words had stripped me of all my credibility. What I didn’t realize then was that those words were an invitation, an invitation to humility, to learning, to collaboration.

Our culture loves certainty. We celebrate those who can speak quickly and appear to have it all figured out. But in that moment, my nerve system taught me something different. As my amygdala fired with the discomfort of vulnerability, my Reticular Activating System began scanning for new possibilities, and I started noticing insights I would have never seen if I had pretended to know it all.

The Strength in Uncertainty

What I learned is that “I don’t know” doesn’t diminish your strength; it refines it. Growth doesn’t usually happen when you’re holding tightly to control. It happens when you’re willing to admit you’re not there yet and lean into curiosity instead of fear.

The leaders I admire most are the ones who can pause, who ask questions, and who invite others into the process. They are the ones who build trust by admitting they are still learning.

I’ve walked through seasons of life and business where I wished for a clear roadmap, where I longed for a sign that would tell me exactly what to do next. But more often than not, the guidance I needed didn’t come in the form of an answer. It came in the form of a question.

Questions force you to lean in, to dig deeper, to seek wisdom, and to trust that God will light the path one step at a time.

Your amygdala might still fire off a wave of discomfort. You may still experience fear of judgment or fear of failure. But all that discomfort is the birthplace of learning.

How Honesty Creates Space for Growth

In my book Two Streets Named Hard, I share stories of standing at the edge of decisions I couldn’t untangle on my own. I share moments when my instinct was to press for answers, to fill the silence with something, anything. But as a female business coach, I’ve learned that sometimes the silence is the invitation.

When you choose honesty over pretense, you open a door to growth that pretending to know keeps shut. You allow others to bring their wisdom, their experience, their perspective. You invite God to speak in ways you can’t hear when you’re too busy proving yourself.

Saying “I don’t know” is not an admission of failure. It’s a declaration of openness, of faith, of trust that you don’t have to figure it all out on your own. It’s an act of courage that keeps your soul soft enough to keep learning, even in seasons that feel hard.

So the next time the pressure to have the answer weighs on you, remember this: You weren’t called to know everything. You were called to walk in faith, to keep learning, to trust the One who knows what comes next.

Every “I don’t know” is a chance to grow. Let it be a bridge, not a wall.

Dr Barbara

Want to Go Deeper?

I write about this in Two Streets Named Hard, especially in Chapter 5. If rest has felt out of reach—or like something you have to “earn”—this chapter might help you rethink what it really means to lead from alignment.

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And if you’ve already read the book, thank you.

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