Don't Forget The Dish Pit

There’s a quiet power in humility that too many leaders underestimate.

It’s not glamorous. It doesn’t earn you flashy headlines. But humility - the ability to admit what you don’t know, to listen more than you speak, and to remember where you came from - is what earns respect that endures.

No great leader starts at the top. Ask any executive chef, and they’ll tell you before they were plating signature dishes or leading a Michelin-starred kitchen, they were probably scrubbing dishes in the pit. Before they barked out orders, they learned the language of the line. The rhythm, the hustle, the teamwork. They earned their stripes. That’s what gives them credibility. It’s not the title, it’s the work. Too many people get the promotion and forget the grind. They forget the dish pit.

I forgot too.

Six Seconds to Destruction: A Lesson in Humility

I was 23. Fresh off 18 months at the crown jewel property in my company’s portfolio. The shining star, the place where policies were born, standards were gospel, and the company's vision and mission were our core beliefs. I didn’t just drink the Kool-Aid, I drowned in it. And now, I stood at the doorstep of my first manager role in a new city, suitcases in hand and a head full of arrogance.

I was sharp. I was fast. I knew how to do the job better than anyone… and I made sure everyone knew it. If you made a mistake, I didn’t just correct you, I reminded you why I was right, and how I knew I was right. I weaponized my resume and forgot to carry any grace. I relentlessly lived in the disillusion that my intentions were for the greater good. That I was trying to help make everyone better. Everyone loves a cocky, 23 year old, correcting them, right?

It didn’t take long for the team to resent me. And they were right.

One day, my boss called me into his office. He was tall, intimidating, and had no time for ego. I sat across from him in a dimly lit room, still thinking I might be the misunderstood hero in this story.

Then he dropped a truth bomb I’ve carried with me ever since.

“It took you six seconds to destroy every relationship on this property. And it’s going to take you six months to fix them. Get out of my office and get started.”

He gave me an opportunity.

I could’ve dismissed his words, blamed him, claimed I was just holding people to higher standards. But deep down I knew I was struggling to hold it all together. I don’t remember everything we said, but I remember how I felt walking out that door: gutted, exposed, embarrassed, alone.

Careers are made up of forks in the road. That moment was my first major junction.

I chose to stay. I chose to change. It didn’t take six months. It took longer. Much longer. Humility doesn’t work on a clock, and burned bridges aren’t rebuilt overnight - especially when you’re building alone. But the lessons came, one heavy step at a time.

I remember one day vividly. A bride was arriving for a site visit. I walked into the ballroom and saw… nothing. No tables set. No linens. No chairs.

I turned to the banquet manager and asked what was going on. He handed me the paperwork and with a smirk said, “I’d probably just set it up wrong anyway.”

My past behavior had stripped me of trust and teamwork. In my dress and heels, I started hauling tables. Unstacking chairs. Pulling linens in 85-degree heat. No tantrum. No excuses.

Then he came over.

“We can do it together,” he said. “But when we’re done, let’s try thank you.”

It was in his team's job description to set this site visit up, but it was my responsibility, my reputation, that is was ready for the client. I hadn't earned his support or his help. He didn’t have to help me, but he did.

That day wasn’t about setting a ballroom. It was about setting humility into motion.

Why Humility Matters

Humility isn’t weakness. It’s not soft. It’s not stepping back, it’s stepping up to lead with empathy.

It’s choosing to listen instead of lecture.

It’s asking questions when you don’t know the answer, and knowing that not knowing doesn’t make you less of a leader, it makes you more trustworthy.

It’s jumping in to help - not to do someone’s job for them, but to show you’re in it with them.

Most importantly, it’s about how you make people feel. People may forget your title. They’ll remember if you rolled up your sleeves, if you treated them with respect, and if you saw them - not just their role, but their worth.

You earn your team’s loyalty in the dish pit, not the boardroom.

The day I got that gut-punch from my boss, I started becoming a better leader. Not because I became softer, but because I became humbler. The damage I had caused taught me something that no handbook, no SOP, no training could ever teach:

The best leaders never forget how to wash the damn pot.

To honest leadership, 

Natalie

Chris's Comments:

I’ve scrubbed pots until my fingers pruned and my pride peeled off with the grease. And I’ve also been the leader who forgot what a pot even looked like. Let me be clear, humility doesn’t mean doing the job for your team. But it sure as hell means you never forget how.  When your team doubts you, questions your decisions, or quietly rolls their eyes behind your back, it’s tempting to step in, show off, fix it all. Leadership isn’t about rescuing people from the mess. It’s about showing up, scars and all, and helping them grow through it.

Here’s how I try to lead now - not from a podium, but from the proverbial dish pit:

1. Ask Before You Act

• What it means: Don’t be a know-it-all. You might’ve done the job ten times before, but ask anyway. Say, “What am I missing?” or “What would you do?” Not because you’re clueless, but because you respect the people in the trenches.

• Why it matters: People don’t want a puppet master. They want a partner. When you ask their opinion, you show that you see them - not just as workers, but as wise, worthy contributors.

2. Jump In, But Don’t Steal the Lesson

• What it means: Roll up your sleeves, but don’t steal the chance for someone else to learn. Say, “I’m here if you need a hand,” not “Step aside, let me show you how it’s done.”

• Why it matters: You can’t build trust by playing hero. You build it by sweating side-by-side, without needing the credit. And sometimes, stepping back is the most generous form of leadership there is. It whispers, “I believe in you.”

3. Own the Screw-Ups (Out Loud)

• What it means: When you mess up (and you will) don’t sugarcoat it. Say it with your chest: “That one’s on me.” Then say what you’ll do to make it right.

• Why it matters: Leaders aren’t remembered for perfection. They’re remembered for owning the aftermath. Vulnerability isn’t weakness, it’s leadership with the mask ripped off. It’s saying, “I’m not here because I’m flawless. I’m here because I care enough to grow in public.”

 Humility doesn’t mean thinking less of yourself, it means remembering you're not above the work. The strongest leaders don’t shout from the top; they whisper respect from the bottom.