When we think of a leader, we often imagine a flawless figure — with a straight back, a firm voice, and a clear sense of direction. But in reality, the leaders we meet are different — alive, vulnerable to doubt, mistakes, and fatigue. And, surprisingly, it is these “imperfect” leaders who most often create the kind of space where we can finally breathe.
I’ve seen managers who tried to be “perfect.” They exhausted themselves and drained those around them. Perfection hardened into rigidity: “this is how it must be, this is the right way.”
In conversations with such people, I always picture plastic. They seem to be made of synthetic material: smooth, impeccable, yet cold. No cracks, no hint of weakness or life. Sometimes it feels as if you’re facing not a human being, but a robot — a superhuman with no right to fail. I’ve often wanted to shake them and shout: “Are you even alive?”
With a “plastic” leader, the impulse is to hide. Many start striving to match, to adjust themselves, to squeeze into an invisible mold of perfection. But the longer we play this game of flawlessness, the more we lose touch with the living — with our real selves and with others. And behind that perfection, there often hides fragility, the inability to admit: “I can be wrong too. I’m not all-powerful.” (On the trap of perfectionism, you can read more here.)
I recall when I first encountered the term “good enough leader” during my first semester of study. Inside me, something sighed in relief: so I don’t have to aim for perfection? Can I be alive, authentic, and still remain in the position of leading?
The term “good enough leader” grew out of Donald Winnicott’s concept of the “good enough mother.” Not the one who always anticipates her child’s needs, but the one who sometimes misses, yet stays close — who can bear the child’s tears, anger, and frustration. It is precisely through these “non-ideal” moments that a child learns how to live in the world.
A leader capable of being “good enough” does something similar. They can hold the team’s anxiety, acknowledge the limits of their own knowledge, and say: “I don’t know, but we can look for answers together.” They create an atmosphere of trust where there’s room not only for results, but also for mistakes, questions, and exploration.
In one project, I saw a manager openly admit in a meeting: “It’s difficult for me to decide right now because we don’t have enough information. I’ll suggest a temporary solution, but we may have to revise it later.” The room grew noticeably quieter. At first, people tensed — after all, the leader had admitted uncertainty. But then someone exhaled, and the conversation came alive: suddenly, it became possible to share ideas, even the rawest ones. That is the kind of space where you can be human, not perfect.
The “good enough” leader is not afraid to be a person. They might show up late, make a mistake in their calculations, tell a clumsy joke. But what they do know is how to stay in contact: with themselves, with the task, with their people. Their strength is not in perfection but in the capacity to hold imperfection — their own and others’.
And there is a particular beauty in that. Because next to a “good enough” leader, we can finally allow the same: to be a “good enough” employee, partner, human being.