"Every act of conscious learning requires the willingness to suffer an injury to one’s self-esteem."
— Dr. Thomas Szasz
Most Lean transformations don’t stall because of poor strategy, lack of tools, or technical gaps. They stall because the people expected to lead the change—often with the best of intentions—aren’t fully prepared for what it takes internally.
This is not about tools. It’s about mindset—the kind of mindset leaders must adopt to cultivate a true learning culture. And if we’re honest, this often requires enduring what Dr. Szasz described as an “injury to one’s self-esteem.”
In Lean, we talk about continuous improvement, respect for people, and building a learning culture. But here’s the hard truth: you cannot build a learning culture if your leaders cannot handle being wrong.
Leadership in a Lean organization demands the courage to be wrong in public. This is uncomfortable for most professionals, especially those who have built careers on authority, clarity, and control.
Lean leadership flips that paradigm. It asks leaders to step into the unknown, confront blind spots, and do so in full view of their teams.
Lean exposes gaps.
It humbles.
It forces us to face what we didn’t see.
Often, those unseen issues are the very problems affecting the people we are responsible for leading.
This is not failure—it is the beginning of transformation. But only if we choose to see it that way.
Dr. Szasz’s quote is not just philosophical; it gets to the heart of why Lean often stalls. Learning is uncomfortable.
When leaders engage in Lean practices—daily management, standard work observations, structured problem-solving—they are confronted with realities that challenge assumptions.
At that point, the Lean journey becomes deeply personal.
Some leaders retreat.
Some double down on authority.
A few lean in, embrace vulnerability, and grow.
This is the difference between compliance and transformation.
Let’s call it what it is: ego is the hidden barrier to stalled Lean transformations.
Not arrogance necessarily—but the self-protection instinct that arises when someone in authority is asked to become a student again. Many leaders have built their careers as the expert in the room. Lean asks them to listen, reflect, and learn instead of directing, reacting, and controlling.
That feels like a loss. Loss of status, certainty, or identity. But it isn’t. It’s a redefinition of leadership—from controlling to enabling, from dictating to elevating others.
Lean doesn’t hide problems; it celebrates them as opportunities to learn. But this celebration only happens if leaders are willing to let go of needing to be right.
Lean’s greatest gift is its ability to surface hidden gaps. Robust Lean systems make problems visible, invite frontline voices, and detect variation, overburden, and waste.
Visibility brings vulnerability.
During gemba walks or daily huddles, leaders hear things that challenge official narratives. They discover workarounds, broken processes, and misaligned behaviors. These insights can feel threatening—they expose gaps between intention and reality.
But these gaps are doorways to meaningful change.
Too often, leaders react defensively: deflecting, rationalizing, or taking action without reflection. True Lean leadership requires something more:
This is the core question for any organization wanting Lean to take hold:
No amount of tools or training can replace leaders modeling continuous learning, psychological safety, and vulnerability. Culture follows behavior. Behavior is shaped by what leaders reinforce, tolerate, or ignore.
It’s not about personality; it’s about practice.
You don’t need a charismatic leader to model learning. You need a disciplined leader—someone who understands that leadership is a daily practice of reflection, observation, and self-improvement.
Lean happens in the open: daily conversations, coaching moments, team huddles, visual management boards.
These are small acts of learning in public, and they matter.
They create space for others to do the same. They shift the culture from blame to inquiry, from perfection to progress, and redefine leadership as modeling how to find better answers rather than having all the answers.
Titles can be armor. The higher someone rises, the less feedback they receive. The more they speak, the less they are challenged. Even well-intentioned leaders can become insulated from the truth on the ground.
Lean works to break down this insulation—but only if leaders are willing to step out from behind their titles.
I’ve seen it many times: a respected executive joins a gemba walk. The team is hesitant. The leader is unsure what to observe. A frontline worker points out a broken supply process that’s caused workarounds for months. The leader is surprised, takes notes, asks follow-ups, and walks away not with answers, but with insight.
That is Lean leadership. That is transformation in motion.
How do we move forward?
Lean is not just a technical system—it’s behavioral. It requires new routines, new ways of seeing, and new definitions of success. Leaders must:
Over time, these behaviors shift the culture, creating momentum and enabling everyone to see themselves as learners.
Lean doesn’t fail because people don’t care. It fails because the emotional work of learning is hard, especially for those in authority.
But when leaders step into that discomfort—modeling humility, curiosity, and persistence—the culture begins to shift. Not overnight, but inevitably.
Ask yourself:
Because that is where real transformation begins.