Writer Maya Angelou once said: “The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.”

For me, loneliness often feels like that: not the absence of people, but the absence of a safe place, right when you need it most. And it’s real.
In my early years at work, I didn’t recognize loneliness. The pace of growth, the excitement of projects, the constant collaboration made me believe leadership was always about shared spaces.

Over time, I discovered another side: conversations end, rooms empty out, and what remains is the decision no one else can carry. It isn’t visible to others, but it weighs on you. Leadership has quiet hours—intense, difficult, and lonely.

Loneliness in leadership is not being alone. It’s being surrounded by people and still feeling the weight of questions you can’t share. Fears that don’t fit in a meeting. Dilemmas that stay in your head long after everyone else has left. Eyes waiting for your answer. Only yours.

I remember my time in Argentina and Mexico, leading critical projects. Those were high-energy experiences: new cultures, new challenges, new perspectives. But I was also far from my personal network, navigating expectations in unfamiliar territory. Every day, I showed confidence to the team while silently wrestling with the possibility of failure. That’s the paradox: we’re expected to project certainty while living with uncertainty. Our own uncertainty.

I’ve felt this as a partner, too. The higher you climb in your career, the more the work changes—it’s less about operations and more about choices that shape the company’s future. Sometimes that brings clarity. Other times, distance. I recall a strategic decision that would define our direction for years. It felt like the full weight was on me. Until I realized it wasn’t. Teams were gathering data, colleagues were questioning, leaders were debating scenarios. I might hold the pen at the end, but the ink came from many. The weight wasn’t only mine.

But at the same time, it was. Loneliness.

Loneliness has value. It cuts through the noise. It forces you to hear your own voice. To separate the urgent from the important. To balance reason and intuition. It invites you to face reality and to reflect more deeply.
It also made me more intentional about connection. I started seeking mentors and peers with whom I could be fully myself, without filters. I began cultivating relationships beyond business, because those are the ones that hold everything together. I learned the importance of circulating, asking real questions, and listening without rushing. Not just as a leader, but as a colleague. Not just as a professional, but as a person.

For me, loneliness is about empathy. Feeling alone at the top made me more aware of who else might feel the same at other levels. That’s why I work to create spaces of trust, where people can talk about difficulties without fear of judgment. Culture isn’t built only in victories, but especially in those silences when someone discovers: I am not alone.

And there’s something liberating about naming loneliness. The moment you acknowledge it, it loses some of its destructive power. I’ve lived this: an honest conversation is enough to bring clarity, support, even relief. It reminds you that while you may sign the decision, you never sign the journey alone. You sign with the whole, with experience, with collaboration. But of course, in the end, the signature is yours.

As CI&T celebrates 30 years, I hold on to this truth: leadership will always have its moments of loneliness. And that’s a good thing. They sharpen vision, expand empathy, and strengthen determination.

And when we look back, the greatest satisfaction is not in having won alone—but in realizing how many walked with us, even in the stretches where we believed we were alone, when we weren’t after all.