Clara had always been confident in her decisions. At sixty, a retired executive turned life coach, she’d spent years helping others understand the importance of taking charge—of leading in their own lives, setting boundaries, and navigating relationships on their own terms. She understood that leadership wasn’t about domination or control; it was about awareness, understanding, and allowing others to step up when it mattered.
But when Thomas entered her life, everything shifted.
Thomas, sixty-four, a quiet and somewhat reserved former writer, was someone Clara hadn’t expected to encounter in her social circle. He didn’t seek attention. He didn’t push for dominance or compete for the spotlight. In fact, Thomas was often content to sit back and observe, rarely offering his thoughts unless directly asked. At first, Clara thought little of it. She had dealt with all sorts of personalities in her career, and she could easily adapt. But something began to nag at her—a small, persistent feeling that something wasn’t quite right.
One evening, during a small dinner gathering, they ended up seated next to each other. The conversation shifted from light-hearted banter to a more personal topic about relationships. Clara, always one to take charge of discussions, gently steered the topic toward leadership in partnerships—about the balance of giving and taking, of knowing when to lead and when to follow.
She noticed that as she spoke, Thomas became increasingly quiet. His responses were short, cautious, and always seemed to circle back to her thoughts rather than offering any of his own. At first, she dismissed it as him being shy or introverted, but as the evening progressed, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was deliberately holding back. When the conversation naturally turned to a more intimate topic—about power dynamics and trust in relationships—Clara leaned in, subtly nudging him to share his perspective. He shifted in his chair, visibly uncomfortable, and answered quickly, but only after a long pause.
Most men would have felt the pull to engage, to offer their opinions, or to step forward when invited to. But Thomas didn’t. In fact, he actively avoided it. And that was when Clara realized: If he avoids letting you lead, there’s a reason.
It wasn’t that Thomas didn’t have thoughts or ideas of his own—it was that he didn’t want to give up control. It was subtle at first, the way he kept his responses short, the way he avoided taking the conversational lead, but Clara recognized the pattern. Thomas wasn’t afraid to lead; he was afraid of being led.
Over the following weeks, Clara paid close attention. There were other moments: when she suggested making plans for the weekend, he hesitated, as if waiting for her to take the reins; when they decided on a movie to watch, he deferred to her every time, even when he clearly had preferences of his own.
Most people assume that avoiding leadership in a relationship is about submission, or lack of interest. But in reality, it can be a sign of something deeper. In Thomas’s case, it was about control—not of the relationship, but of himself. He avoided letting Clara take the lead because he feared losing his own autonomy. He was afraid that if he let go, if he allowed her to guide the conversation or make decisions, he would lose his sense of self in the process.
Clara understood this. She had seen it before—men who feared being vulnerable enough to follow, to trust. They thought that by avoiding being led, they kept themselves safe. But in truth, it created a distance. Leadership in a relationship isn’t about control. It’s about trust—trust to let go when needed, and trust to follow when the time is right.
One evening, after a particularly tense exchange where Thomas had avoided taking any initiative, Clara decided to test the waters. She offered him a choice in a decision they had been discussing for a while—something simple, like which restaurant to go to for dinner. Instead of her usual decisive approach, she allowed him to take the lead, without pressuring him, letting the space sit with just him for a moment.
He hesitated at first, then made a suggestion. And it wasn’t until Clara let go of her natural urge to step in that something changed. Thomas began to open up more, letting her in on his thoughts with less fear of being “wrong” or “controlled.” That shift wasn’t about making a decision—it was about allowing space for vulnerability.
If he avoids letting you lead, it’s often because he’s holding on to something—his sense of self, his fear of being vulnerable, or his need to protect his autonomy. But the real question is: Can you create a space where both can lead and follow in harmony? Can you allow him to feel safe enough to trust you with the guidance, without him fearing he’ll lose himself in the process?
Clara had learned over time that control wasn’t just about steering the ship—it was about knowing when to let the other person take the wheel, and knowing when to trust the journey, wherever it might lead.
