Product leadership is lonely. While you may be surrounded by other people, it often feels like there’s no one to turn to who really gets what you’re up against. You don’t have other product peers to commiserate with anymore, like you had earlier in your career (and lower down the ladder). You might have great relationships with your fellow executives, but product leaders feel a heavier weight of responsibility. Product’s unique identity in the C-suite—at the intersection of everything—often comes at the expense of belonging to anything.

You start to wonder if you’re the only one who’s ever had to navigate a situation this weird, this ambiguous, or this personally rattling. It can feel like your specific struggle is unique to you. You look around and think, “Other leaders must know how to handle this.”

I hear this all the time from my coaching clients. These are the best product leaders in the world. They’re incredibly smart and successful, and from the outside, they seem to have it all together. They’ll say, almost sheepishly, things like, “Every other Chief Product Officer must have figured this out already,” or “This feels like something I should know how to do by now.”

When you’re isolated and afraid, your inner critic fills the void. And when your inner critic is the only voice in the room, it starts to sound like the truth. The problem is, although it’s trying to protect you, your inner critic is powered by fear. And fear? Fear gives bad advice.

“Is it just me?” (Nope.)

There’s immense relief in simply hearing someone say, “You’re not the only one.” When I tell clients that many others have faced the same issue, I often see their shoulders drop. Something unclenches. Just learning that other leaders are wrestling with the same stuff can be liberating. It doesn’t make the challenge disappear, but it removes that extra layer of self-judgment. So let me provide some relief—almost everyone experiences loneliness in this job. A recent survey showed that nearly two-thirds of Chief Product Officers report regularly feeling lonely.

The stories we tell ourselves (and why they matter)

Loneliness is an inherited biological adaptation signal that puts us into a state of threat. It prompted our ancestors to make social connections, which were critical to our survival. Loneliness is an alarm bell signaling us to restore connection with other human beings. Staying connected to a tribe increased our chances of survival and, ultimately, passing along our genes. We wouldn’t be here otherwise.

In the modern workplace, what was once adaptive can become maladaptive, leading to a vicious cycle of further social withdrawal. The threat is rarely to our physical safety. The true threat is often to our egos, but we respond similarly, and our highly evolved brains interpret these signals and spin narratives to try to explain them. This allows our inner critics to manufacture and recycle old stories.

• “If I were actually good at this, it wouldn’t feel this confusing.”
• “Everyone else knows what they’re doing. I’m the only one faking it.”
• “I can’t ask for help or admit I don’t know, that will just confirm I don’t belong in this role.”

These stories aren’t facts. The storyteller isn’t really you, it’s just a part of you. One of the most powerful shifts you can make is to begin to identify less with the storyteller and identify more with the listener. Because listeners can choose whether or not to believe the stories.

Look closely at the story and ask: “How is this story trying to keep me safe? What’s it protecting me from?” That little bit of awareness opens the door to choice. You don’t have to keep listening to the same old recording.

Sourcing approval from within

Part of breaking the cycle of leadership loneliness is learning how to generate your own sense of approval. When we’re always waiting for the board, our CEO, our team, or our peers to validate us, we’ll be waiting a long time. Because what they say will never be good enough, and we’ll be riding an endless rollercoaster of praise and panic.

Instead, ask: “What would it look like to have my own back here?” I’m not lacking anything I need from anyone else. I have enough right here. I can be the source of my own approval.

Fear will tell you that you need to prove yourself constantly. Presence reminds you that you’re already enough.

A few ways to work with the loneliness

Here are some simple, actionable ways to start shifting your perspective:

• Start with acceptance. Admit that you’re feeling disconnected or alone. Ask yourself: Am I willing to allow myself to feel this way? Without judgment or resistance? Can I accept myself for just being human?
• Interrogate the inner stories. Write them down. Say them out loud. Look for how the opposite of your story might be as true or even more true.
• Learn to recognize fear’s voice. When that inner voice starts giving orders, ask: “Would I hire this voice as a strategic advisor?” (You would not.)
• What is here for my learning? Our natural perspective when we’re in a state of threat is that all of this is happening to me, and I’m somehow to blame. What if instead you choose to see everything as here for your learning? What lesson is here for you right now?
• Support your peers. If you’re lonely, your fellow executives probably are too. Remember that your CEO, CTO, and VP of Marketing are scared human beings as well. Be compassionate and supportive. Not only will it support them, it will help build the connection you crave.
• Find (or create) a community. A while back, a few of my Seattle-based product exec clients decided to stop comparing themselves to fictional, perfect versions of each other and start talking for real. They formed a monthly product leadership peer group. Peer connections can help remind us that we’re not alone in our struggles (and victories).

You’re not alone

If leadership feels isolating, you’re not broken. You’re not failing. You’re just leading. And it’s hard. But it gets easier when we name the loneliness and stop believing the stories it tells. You’re not the only one wondering if you’re the only one. You’re not. You’re human.