Issue 17: Why we struggle to own our strengths

A question we often pose in coaching:
“Can you give an example of a moment where your contribution had an impact on others?”

Written by Rebecca Irving

A simple enough request.

When it’s met with confusion, we rephrase: “What is it that you offer - your skills, your input?”

If a tumbleweed rolls ominously by, we try again: “In what situations would people look specifically to you?”

And when that still doesn’t land, we go broader: “When was the last time you had a win? Personally, professionally, anything. What was your role in it?”

And still… the question is difficult to answer. It becomes uncomfortable. At times, it can stall the momentum, and quietly shift the mood of the session.

At my heart, I’m a cheerleader.
Not the slim, athletic, flexible, popular kind, with rhythm and skill…
(that is so far from my reality I have vivid memories of attempting a high kick in a pencil skirt, only for the momentum to take my standing leg with it and land me squarely on my bum. A truly dignified moment.)

No, I’m a cheerleader in the sense that I’m an advocate for people. For helping them see their own worth.

So when someone struggles to articulate what they offer, the tension that settles in the space has an almost Pavlovian effect on me. (And just to clarify, I don’t start dribbling. That would be awkward.)

But I do feel the urge to jump in.
To bolster.
To reach for the metaphorical pom-poms and start calling it out for them:
Give me a P - you’re pragmatic.
Give me a W - you’re wise.

You get the idea.

And in those moments, I have to actively hold myself back.

Because my role as a coach isn’t to tell people what they offer. It’s to help them unpick it for themselves.

And when they can’t… it presents a genuine difficulty, a missed opportunity that will, in all likelihood, hold them back.

So what’s stopping people from identifying and owning the positives for themselves?

Like an intrepid reporter, (think Lois Lane at the Daily Planet), I found myself wanting to dig a little deeper.

So many clients can talk in detail about the issues they’re striving to overcome.
They’re animated when describing the qualities of others - building teams, spotting strengths, driving progress.

And yet… when asked to give examples of their own contribution, they stumble.

One pattern shows up again and again.

Many of us operate with an unspoken rule: If something is going well, that’s as it should be. So what needs solving?

It sounds productive. Sensible, even. But the consequence is subtle.

The negative gets our attention, because it needs action. The positive gets dismissed because it’s already “working.”

Over time, this creates a biased dataset about who we are.
We become highly attuned to what’s missing…
and far less practised at noticing what’s already there - what’s working, what’s meaningful, where we are contributing.

Daniel Kahneman describes this as our negativity bias - our brains are wired to prioritise problems over positives.

But when someone does point out something positive - when they offer praise - it doesn’t always land.

Instead, it creates friction. A collision between two stories:

What someone else can see “You did something valuable.”

And the story we already hold -
“That doesn’t count.”
“That was just luck.”
“That’s not really me.”

When those don’t match, we don’t absorb the praise. We minimise it. Or reject it entirely.

Research from William Swann and Leon Festinger suggests we’re wired to protect our existing self-view, even if it’s limiting.

We’re often more comfortable being consistent than being accurate.

And neuroscience adds another layer: our brains respond more positively to feedback that confirms what we already believe about ourselves, and can register mismatch as a threat. So if praise doesn’t align with our self-view, we’re more likely to reject it than integrate it.

Which means the real barrier here isn’t modesty. It’s vulnerability.

We tend to think of vulnerability as talking about what’s hard. But there’s another kind that’s often even more exposing:

being the source of something good.

Because if we accept it, (really accept it), we become visible.
There’s expectation.
And a quiet shift in identity.

As Brené Brown puts it, vulnerability is exposure to uncertainty, risk and emotional exposure.

You can also understand this through two well-established ideas in psychology.

Jonathan Haidt describes the mind as a Rider and an Elephant: the Rider is our rational, articulate voice, while the Elephant is our emotional, instinctive system that ultimately drives behaviour.

Alongside this, Tasha Eurich found that while 95% of people believe they are self-aware, only around 10–15% actually are.

So in structured situations, like interviews or writing a CV, the Rider can perform.

But in a more vulnerable, relational conversation, something shifts.

The Rider is still saying, “I know I contribute…” yet when asked for real examples, the mind goes blank.

This isn’t a lack of ability. It’s the Elephant prioritising safety over accuracy.

It minimises (“it was nothing”), reframes (“anyone would have done that”), or attributes success to circumstance, while the Rider calls it modesty.

Underneath, there’s often a quieter tension:
that naming a strength might turn it into a standard you feel you must live up to.

So the system protects itself, not by denying contribution entirely, but by keeping it just out of reach when it matters most.

So it makes sense that my cheerleading efforts can fall on deaf ears.

If hearing our strengths creates a mismatch with what we already believe, it won’t feel like affirmation.

It will feel… off.

And when something feels off, we don’t absorb it. We minimise it. Or reject it.

So this explains why it happens.

But it also matters.

Because if purpose sits at the intersection of: what is meaningful to the self, and a contribution beyond the self, then an inability to accurately name our contribution creates a problem.

If you can’t see what you contribute, you can’t see where you matter.

It becomes difficult to define your purpose. And even harder to recognise where you’re already living it.

Which means:

• You miss evidence of alignment

• overlook moments that could build clarity

• struggle to learn from where you’re not aligned

• and never quite experience the satisfaction of meaningful contribution

You keep moving.
Keep striving.
Keep fixing.

But without ever quite landing in it.

Because if we only define ourselves by what needs improving, we build a life where our value depends on things going wrong.

And purpose was never meant to live there.

So our invitation to you is this:

Start noticing where you leave an impact.

Mark it down.
The words that shifted a conversation.
The actions, however small, that created a ripple.

When someone comes to you for support, ask:
What is required of me here?
And how am I going about it?

Is this something you offer consistently?

Where have you:

• defused a problem?

• set something in motion?

• brought clarity, energy, direction?

What is getting you buzzed?

Notice it in the moment - so when you’re asked retrospectively, you’re drawing on experience, not trying to override a well-practised habit of minimising yourself.

Because this isn’t about becoming someone new.

It’s about becoming more accurate about who you already are.

And just for fun… try a high kick.

Because not all cheerleading needs to be metaphorical.