The Peter Principle and the Power of Self-Awareness
Are you incompetent? It is a provocative question—unsettling enough to make anyone feel uneasy. Yet sometimes the most uncomfortable questions are the ones we most need to ask ourselves. In my sincerity focused keynote talk "The S Word," I share that self-awareness is the foundation of building trust. A significant part of self-awareness is honestly assessing our own competence. The "honestly" piece can be difficult but is vital. Without honesty, we risk stumbling into the Peter Principle—the idea that "in a hierarchy, every employee tends to rise to their level of incompetence."
The Peter Principle, first described by Laurence J. Peter in 1969, observes that people often get promoted based on success in their current role until they land in a position for which they lack the required skills.
We have all witnessed it happen. A brilliant engineer becomes a poor manager; a star salesperson is promoted to lead a team and falters. Often, floundering leaders are victims of a system that promotes them based on their past performance instead of actual leadership potential or skill.
In other words, they were great at the old job—so great that someone assumed those talents would translate, magically, to the new job. It does not always work out that way. I know this from personal experience because at nineteen years old I lived my own Peter Principle promotion and learned the hard way how energy and enthusiasm are not the same as leadership skill.
Promoted at Nineteen: A Personal Lesson in Incompetence
Let me take you back a few years. I was nineteen, brimming with energy, confidence, and big ideas. I had been working for a carnival in the spring through fall since I was fifteen. I loved the travel and getting out on the events. I was the teenager who never ran out of steam. Need someone to pick up an extra gig? I was your guy. Need someone to work overnight and load trucks? Put on the coffee. In short, I stood out as enthusiastic and diligent, and management took notice.
Winter was the off-season, and occasionally the crew would get work in the warehouse fixing equipment, cleaning out tubs, restocking gear, etc. When the warehouse manager quit, the higher-ups thought they had found the right warm body to fit the bill: me. In what felt like an overnight transformation, I went from being an earnest team member to the youngest supervisor in the room. At first, I was thrilled. A promotion at nineteen made me feel triumphant—proof (I thought) that I had "leadership" written in my DNA. I committed wholeheartedly, determined to justify the faith my bosses had placed in me. But very quickly, that confidence met cold reality. My new role was not merely more of the same work I had been good at; it required completely different skills. Suddenly I was managing people twice my age, making scheduling decisions, and mediating team conflicts.
I remember one of my first team meetings—I strutted in thinking my enthusiasm would be enough to carry the day. It was not. I talked at the crew, laid out grand plans, and expected everyone to be as pumped as I was. Instead, I got blank stares and awkward silence. One brave older employee pulled me aside afterward and, with a mix of kindness and exasperation, told me I was coming off as oblivious to "how things really work around here." In that moment, I felt my stomach drop. I was failing, and worse—I had not even seen it coming. It turned out that all my energy and big ideas could not compensate for my lack of actual leadership skills. The truth was, I had no idea what I was doing. I knew how to work hard myself, but I did not know how to lead others. I did not know how to listen to the crew's concerns, how to delegate effectively, or how to earn respect rather than try to demand it. I made numerous mistakes in a short time. I tried to implement a bunch of new "improvements" without understanding the long-term impact. I gave feedback that was more like harsh assessment (because that was the only way I had ever been managed).
Rebellion and frustration mounted, and soon I reached the point where I was doing everything because, "No one else was going to get it done." That one bit me. Hard.
One of my bosses informed me that we needed a truck brought back from the mechanic. I had one of the crew drop me off at the shop, and as he pulled away, I realized which truck I was picking up. We called her Bertha. She was a massive box truck with a manual transmission. I did not have a CDL, nor did I really know much (or anything) about driving a manual transmission. Swelling with overconfidence, I took the keys from the mechanic and hopped in. After a few false starts, I was able to get her into first gear, and then second and so on up to fifth. But I could not figure out why she would not go any faster than fifteen miles an hour. It was a miracle that I had gotten her into fifth gear. I had no idea (because I did not have a CDL) that to drive a large manual transmission truck after fifth gear, you had to flip the range selector to have access to the higher gears. Rather than ask for help, I just puttered along back to the warehouse in fifth gear at fifteen miles an hour. When my boss learned what I had done, I was fired.
How could my promotion have gone so wrong so quickly? The answer, in hindsight, was simple: I was not ready. I had been elevated to the level of my incompetence—my very own Peter Principle plateau at age nineteen. The promotion had been based on my success as an individual contributor, not on any proven ability to lead. My youthful enthusiasm had been mistaken for leadership potential. And I learned that enthusiasm is not a substitute for experience. In fact, that experience taught me a humbling lesson: you can have all the drive in the world and still stumble if you do not have the skills and maturity a position requires. It was a painful setback, to be sure. My pride took a hit that day (and many days after). But it was also the beginning of something important—the beginning of my understanding of self-awareness and why acknowledging my limitations was not just important but absolutely necessary.
Enthusiasm vs. Skill: When Passion Is Not Enough
Looking back, I can empathize with my nineteen-year-old self. He meant well; he had the passion and the work ethic. Those qualities got me noticed and promoted. But passion without skill is like being on a galloping horse with no bridle—you have lots of momentum and no control. I had mistakenly equated my eagerness with competence. I thought wanting to be a good leader would automatically make me one. Spoiler: it does not. High energy and great ideas cannot replace communication skills, emotional intelligence, and experience—the true pillars of effective leadership. This distinction between energy and ability is something many rising professionals struggle with.
Companies often promote their star performers into management under the assumption that success will simply continue at the next level. It is the classic pitfall of the Peter Principle. The result? New managers (often young, like I was) suddenly find themselves floundering. They go from being star players to sitting on the bench, unsure of the rules of this new game. My mistake was not realizing that leadership is its own skill set—one that I had not yet developed. As Laurence J. Peter himself noted, "skills in one job do not necessarily translate to another."
I had plenty of skill at doing the work myself but zero skill at leading others to do it. I also had not yet learned the value of humility in leadership. At nineteen, I was eager to prove myself but too proud (or maybe too insecure) to admit what I did not know. I was afraid that if I showed any uncertainty, I would lose the respect that got me promoted in the first place. In reality, my lack of humility became a lack of credibility. The crew could see I was beyond my capabilities before I could. It brings to mind the old line, "When you do not know what you do not know, it is obvious to everyone but you." Dr. Peter observed that once people reach their level of incompetence, they often "lack insight into their situation."
That was me. I was blind to my own weaknesses. Only after grinding my gears (and Bertha's) did I start to see the edges of my limitations.
Learning and Growing (The Hard Way)
Failure, as crushing as it felt, became my greatest teacher. In the aftermath of my failed first foray into leadership, I had a choice to make. I could either blame the circumstances—"I was set up to fail! The crew was impossible! My bosses did not support me!"—or I could own my part and learn from it. After licking my wounds, I chose the latter. I decided to treat my incompetence not as a fixed trait but as a temporary condition. In other words, I gave myself permission to be incompetent for a while, with the understanding that I was not going to stay that way forever. Over the next few years, I consciously sought out growth. I stepped back from leadership roles and became a sponge for learning. I was fortunate to find patient mentors—people who had no obligation to help me but did so anyway.
I started reading books on leadership and communication, realizing there was a whole world of knowledge I had barely tapped into. And of course, I kept working, sometimes taking on leadership tasks but with a newfound self-awareness. Bit by bit, through experience, mentorship, and time, I built the skills I was missing. It is important to highlight that incompetence can be remedied—but only with the right attitude. In my case, that meant staying humble and hungry to improve. I had to be brutally honest with myself about what I lacked. I had to ask for feedback—the real, hard kind—and listen without becoming defensive.
Over time, what was once my level of incompetence turned into a new level of competence. I earned other shots at leadership, and I thrived. The difference was night and day. I was able to inspire instead of intimidate. I knew how to build trust—by being transparent about what I knew and what I did not and by proving that I was committed to learning. By then I had learned that a leader is not expected to have all the answers, but they are expected to own their development. Looking back now, I am actually grateful I was promoted (and failed) at nineteen. It taught me more about myself than any smooth sailing ever could. It taught me that competence is not a static label—you can grow into a role if you are willing to put in the work. Research backs this up: some individuals, when promoted beyond their skillset, take initiative and work hard over time to develop the requisite skills to succeed, effectively overcoming the Peter Principle in their case.
I became determined to be one of those people. The key was honesty (acknowledging my starting point), humility (accepting help and critique), and drive (actively closing the gap through effort).
When Promotion Outpaces Merit (The Perils of Nepotism and Comfort)
Not everyone who finds themselves outmatched by a role reacts with a growth mindset. Some double down, deny the problem, and cling to the position for dear life. And let us be honest, not everyone sitting in a high chair got there through hard-earned promotions. In the real world, nepotism and organizational inertia can hoist people into roles they are not qualified for.
Consider the software company where the founder's nephew with only six months of coding experience was suddenly appointed as development team leader, despite the presence of several senior developers with years of expertise. Within months, project deadlines were missed, code quality deteriorated, and three top developers resigned.
Maybe it is the CEO's relative who gets a leadership title without the chops, or the long-time employee who has been shuffled upward simply because "well, he has been here forever." These scenarios create leaders who often lack both competence and self-awareness—a dangerous duo. They might feel they deserve the spot, so why bother growing into it? The damage caused by unqualified, unwilling-to-grow leaders is hard to overstate. Team performance suffers under a leader who cannot lead. Innovation stalls when a supervisor is more interested in protecting their ego than addressing their weaknesses.
Trust erodes as well. After all, how much faith can you place in a boss who clearly is not capable yet pretends everything is fine? Promotions based on favoritism rather than competence actively undermine organizational effectiveness, as leadership experts warn. By favoring loyalty and familiarity, nepotism diminishes innovation and destroys trust within an organization.
A leader who never acknowledges their incompetence breeds cynicism: their team learns that the system is rigged or that honest feedback will fall on deaf ears. In such environments, people do not just lose respect for one person; they tend to disengage from the organization's mission as a whole. Self-awareness is the antidote here. The difference between an incompetent leader who becomes effective and one who stays inept often boils down to honesty and humility. I have seen leaders turn things around brilliantly when they finally say, "You know what? I am struggling in this aspect, and I need to get better." That kind of vulnerability can actually increase a team's respect for a leader because it shows integrity and a commitment to growth. On the flip side, I have also seen leaders who double down, refuse to admit their shortcomings, and never improve. They might shield themselves with excuses or surround themselves with yes-men to keep the illusion alive. But as the saying goes, "You cannot heal what you will not admit is broken."
Living Your Values (A Critical Examination)
By now we have talked a lot about honesty with oneself. Here is a quick test: think about the values you claim to hold, and then look at your actions. Do they line up? True self-awareness is not just about recognizing skill gaps; it is also about recognizing value gaps—the inconsistencies between what we say and what we do. For example, I once knew someone who insisted that birthdays are very important. She loved to talk about how everyone deserves to feel special on their birthday. A lovely sentiment. Except in practice, she only cared about her own birthday. She would make a huge deal of reminding everyone when her big day was coming up but never lifted a finger for anyone else's. If you forgot to wish her a happy birthday, there was drama. But did she remember yours? Highly doubtful. The takeaway: she did not truly value birthdays; she valued HER birthday. Her actions revealed her real values, regardless of what came out of her mouth.
We are all guilty of little disconnects like that at times. Leaders are especially prone to it if they are not careful. A manager might preach "work-life balance" but then reward only the employees who burn the midnight oil. Or an executive might say they value input from the front lines yet never actually listen to feedback. These disconnects erode trust just as surely as incompetence does. If I say one thing and do another, my team learns that I either lack self-awareness or lack honesty—possibly both. Part of being a competent leader (and a trustworthy human) is making sure your stated values align with your lived behaviors. It is doing the internal audit to catch yourself in those contradictions. We all have blind spots, and it takes conscious effort to shine a light on them. When you do, you might cringe (I certainly have), but you also gain the power to change.
Reflection: Are You Rising or Falling?
So, are you incompetent? It is not a static label or an insult. It can be a temporary diagnosis on the way to improvement. The only truly "hopeless" incompetence is the kind that is never examined. The cure begins with candid self-reflection. Ask yourself: Am I truly qualified for the role I am in, or have I drifted into my own Peter Principle moment? If it is the latter, take heart. Incompetence is curable if you are willing to do what it takes.
Are you actively learning and adapting to meet the demands of your position? Are you seeking feedback from those around you—and genuinely listening, even if it stings? Growth starts with humility. It is okay not to know everything; it is not okay to pretend that you do. Next, consider whether you are living up to your own values. Take that personal inventory: the things you say you care about—do your actions back it up? If not, that is a red flag that self-awareness needs some work.
It might help to ask a trusted colleague or friend if they see any gaps between your talk and your walk. (Warning: you must be truly open to what you hear in response. Do not get defensive; get curious.)
Finally, identify what support or resources could help you grow into your role (or the next role you aspire to). Maybe it is finding a mentor who has walked the path before. Maybe it is investing in a leadership training program or even stepping back to master a specific skill you are missing. It could be as simple as reading a book on management or as involved as seeking a professional coach. There is no shame in any of it. The best leaders I know are constant learners. They do not coast on yesterday's knowledge; they continuously expand their capacity. That is how you future-proof your career against the Peter Principle.
In the end, the Peter Principle is not fate. It is a cautionary tale. Yes, each of us can find ourselves outmatched by new responsibilities at times. The question is what we do next.
Will you acknowledge your limitations and commit to growth? Face your reflection, flaws and all. The path forward requires courage, self-reflection, and persistent effort. With these qualities, you will not merely reach your level of competence—you will exceed it and, upon achieving your full potential, earn the kind of trust that only sincere leaders inspire.
