The Cost of Hiding
Sometimes people don’t need a speech. They just need proof that something is possible.
Some leadership lessons don’t come from boardrooms, business books, or conferences.
They come from quiet conversations that stay with you for years.
One of the most important leadership lessons of my career didn’t come from a strategy meeting. It came from people trusting Alan and me with their stories.
Growing up, I never imagined that simply living authentically would one day influence the way I lead, or the lives of people I would eventually serve.
I certainly never imagined it would change someone else’s life.
When Alan and I moved to Panama, we were simply trying to build something meaningful together.
We weren’t trying to become role models.
We were trying to build a successful company where people could grow, train great people, serve our clients well, and create opportunities for others.
But leadership has a way of teaching lessons you never expected to learn.
For years, Alan and I hosted graduation parties at our home in Santiago de Veraguas, Panama for every training class that completed our medical billing program. It became one of my favorite traditions. What surprised me wasn’t the celebration. It was the conversations.
The parties lasted a few hours. The conversations have lasted a lifetime.
Over the years, employees would quietly pull one or both of us aside.
Sometimes it happened inside the house. Sometimes on the patio. Sometimes while everyone else was laughing, eating, and celebrating nearby.
Sometimes they wanted career advice. Sometimes they simply wanted to thank us for the opportunity they had been given.
And sometimes they wanted to tell us something deeply personal. For some, that moment meant sharing something they had never felt comfortable saying at work before.
Several chose that moment to share with Alan and me that they were gay.
Time and again, they told us that seeing two openly gay business owners building a successful company gave them the courage to believe they didn’t have to choose between being themselves and building a successful career.
At the time, coming out in Panama was not something many people did openly. With its strong family traditions and deeply held religious and cultural values, many LGBTQ+ people faced real uncertainty about how family, friends, coworkers, or employers might respond. For some, that uncertainty still exists today.
That context mattered.
Many of those conversations happened because our workplace had become something more than a place to earn a paycheck. For some people, it had become one of the few places where they felt safe enough to be themselves.
Not because we had delivered a speech.
Not because we had launched an initiative.
Not because we were trying to make a statement.
Often, it was simply about seeing two business owners living authentically and realizing that a successful career and an authentic life did not have to be mutually exclusive.
It took me years to understand what those conversations were really about.
As leaders, we think people are paying attention to our presentations. Our strategies. Our business decisions. Sometimes they are. But often they’re watching something much more personal.
They’re watching whether people like them belong. And whether there might be room for them too. They’re watching whether a future they can imagine for themselves exists. They’re watching for proof that what feels impossible today might actually be possible tomorrow.
One of the first times I truly understood that happened after a medical billing training class.
A trainee stopped by my office. He told me he had two moms. Then he told me something I’ve never forgotten.
Seeing Alan and me openly living our lives was the first time he had seen a leader whose life looked familiar to his own family.
I thanked him for sharing his story. At the time, I thought it was simply a meaningful conversation. I didn’t realize it was the beginning of a lesson I’d continue learning for years.
Years later, another employee called me during one of the most difficult moments of his life. He had recently come out to his family. The response had been devastating.
During our conversation, he shared words that no child should ever hear.
“I would much rather have a dead son than a gay son,” his father told him.
I remember sitting there in silence.
There wasn’t a leadership book that could tell me what to say.
There wasn’t a management seminar that prepared me for that moment.
There was only a young man who needed to know he wasn’t alone.
He wanted to move to Panama City. He wanted the chance to build a life where he could be himself. Alan and I helped him make that transition.
One of his biggest concerns was leaving his job without giving notice. I remember thinking that, considering everything else he was carrying, that was the least of our worries.
Life has a way of moving forward. Years passed.
Then COVID changed the world.
The company where he worked closed its doors. By then, we had transitioned to a remote work model. He came back to work with us.
Today, when I think about him, I don’t remember the fear in his voice that night anymore.
I remember the confidence in the man he became.
Confident.
Open.
Successful.
Living authentically.
Yesterday, as I chaired my first meeting as Chair of the RBMA Belonging and Growth Committee, I found myself thinking about those same lessons again.
Looking around the room, I saw leaders from different backgrounds, experiences, and perspectives. As we introduced ourselves, I was struck by how many people shared personal stories about why this work mattered to them.
It wasn’t about checking a box. It wasn’t about politics.
It was about helping create workplaces where people can contribute fully, lead authentically, and make it easier for those who come after us to do the same.
As I listened, I found myself thinking back to those graduation parties in Panama.
Different country.
Different organization.
Different stage of my career.
Same lesson.
That’s why I’ve come to believe that the cost of hiding is far greater than most organizations realize. When people spend their energy concealing who they are, they have less energy available to build, create, contribute, and grow.
Some people hide their identity.
Others hide their ideas, their ambitions, their concerns, or their perspectives.
Whatever the reason, there is always a cost. As leaders, we cannot solve every challenge people face. But we can create environments where people know they belong.
Where they know they are valued. Where they know they don’t have to hide.
The names have changed over the years. The lesson never has.
Looking back, I realize the most meaningful moments of my career haven’t always been tied to promotions, awards, or business milestones.
They’ve often come from the quiet moments when someone trusted me with their story.
As leaders, we rarely know who is watching. We rarely know who is quietly wondering whether they belong. Or who simply needs to see that a different future is possible.
As Pride Month comes to a close, that’s the leadership lesson I’ve been reflecting on.
The most powerful thing leaders often provide isn’t a policy.
It isn’t a speech.
It isn’t even the answer.
It’s permission.
Permission to believe.
Permission to grow.
Permission to contribute without hiding.
Leadership isn’t measured only by the organizations we build. It’s measured by the lives we make possible.
And perhaps the greatest legacy we leave is creating a world where the next generation no longer feels they have to choose between authenticity and opportunity.
Because no one should ever have to hide in order to become who they’re capable of being.