#5: From Chaos to Steadiness: A Different Kind of Leadership
Less 'disruption', more homeostasis.
I've been grappling with a tension between my current career — coaching women in product within the tech industry — and my long-term goal: becoming a space psychologist. This dissonance has sparked a cascade of reflection and recalibration. Ideal customer, positioning, messaging, philosophy — everything has been up for scrutiny. You might wonder why it matters, or assume it will resolve itself in time. But something didn’t feel right, and it kept me stuck. I wasn’t showing up in my business with full authenticity. I’m moving in a new direction, but I don’t want to abandon the people I’ve been serving. It’s a delicate line to walk.
After a lot of soul-searching, self-coaching, and hours spent thinking out loud with ChatGPT, I think I’ve finally cracked it — or at least, made peace with where I’m heading next. In this essay, I want to share the direction I’m moving in, and the thinking that got me there.
I’ve repositioned my work to focus on courageous product leaders — people navigating chaos, ambiguity, and pressure while trying to lead in a way that still feels grounded and human. While my work is rooted in product for now, I see it expanding in time to include leaders across tech, space, and science — fields where the stakes are high and the systems complex. My inspiration comes from space crews, where leadership is shared and dynamic: whilst there may be a mission commander, it’s the person best equipped for the situation who steps up. Good leadership depends on good followership — on mutual trust, humility, and clarity of purpose. Astronauts, almost without exception, are calm, disciplined, and collaborative — not interested in manufacturing crises to serve their egos, but focused on the mission, the crew, and the bigger picture.
That’s the kind of leadership I want to cultivate (and believe it’s just what the world needs right now!).
A different model: leadership as homeostasis
When I look at many leaders on the world stage today, one word comes to mind: chaos. Whether they’re ‘disrupting’ public institutions, ‘innovating’ through new technologies, or offering ‘common sense’ solutions to complex issues like mass immigration, the pattern is the same: chaos is being deliberately cultivated — and often created — to serve their own ends. Look closely, and you’ll see manipulation of the narrative. Problems are framed in ways that amplify fear, urgency, and instability, often making things appear worse than they are.
But chaos throws systems into disarray. It creates imbalance. In natural systems, like the human body, there are built-in mechanisms to restore equilibrium. This is known as homeostasis. For instance, when your core temperature rises, your body automatically responds by increasing blood flow to the skin and producing sweat. That sweat evaporates and cools the blood, gradually bringing your temperature back down. No drama, no panic — just a quiet, effective return to balance.
I believe great leadership is a lot like that. It’s not performative. It doesn’t demand attention. It stabilises. It responds. It restores a steady state.
But in many parts of our society — especially in politics and tech — we’ve moved away from this kind of steady, responsive leadership. Instead, we’ve come to valorise chaos. We reward - and indeed, seek comfort from - those who stir things up, dominate the narrative, and claim to have the boldest answers. The result isn’t progress but rather instability dressed up as ‘innovation’.
This is the false promise of chaos.
The Chaos-to-Power playbook
We love a good hero within Western culture. Heck, we even love an anti-hero sometimes! The ones who thrive in the chaos, rise above it, and save the day. From Mars to Marvel to Middle-Earth, we’re drawn to the figure who appears when everything’s falling apart — to conquer evil, restore order, or redeem us from ourselves. Bonus points if they’ve got a cool weapon, a mysterious past, or look great in leather. More often than not, they’re tall, strong, and male — fulfilling the hegemonic fantasy of the white saviour. Little boys grow up believing they, too, could be superheroes: destined to lead, rescue, and win. Those little boys grow up to be adult men, who never quite manage to let their fantasies be just fantasies.
These wannabe superheroes need a crisis to prove their power as a leader. And while there are no shortage of real ones — poverty, inequality, climate collapse — those aren’t the kinds of problems that reward quick fixes or make anyone look heroic. They’re complex, long-term, and far beyond the reach of a single saviour. So instead, the leader creates a more manageable villain: a broken system, a bloated institution, a supposed threat to freedom or progress.
“The system is broken.”
“The system is ripe for disruption.”
“The system needs an innovative solution.”
(All refrains I have heard working in the UK technology industry, many a time).
And — conveniently — they are the ones best placed to fix it.
What happens after framing the crisis, is undermining public trust in the systems and institutions already in place: government, media, public services, academia, science. Anything that might slow the disruptor down or hold them accountable becomes a target. And perhaps the most effective tool in this process is fear. Fear is primal, fast-moving, and deeply contagious. It bypasses critical thought and turns complexity into threat. A frightened public is easier to sway, easier to divide, and much more willing to place their trust in someone who promises certainty.
Common tactics include:
Casting institutions as incompetent, corrupt or outdated (“they’ve failed you”).
Undermining expert consensus, and elevating personal vision or ‘common sense’ (“people want solutions, not theories”).
Framing bureaucracy and regulation as enemies of innovation (“we could fix this tomorrow, if we didn’t have to jump through so many hoops”).
Equating systemic resistance with elitism or cowardice (“they’re scared of change”).
Positioning themselves as the bold outsider with no vested interest (“I don’t come from the system, I’m here to fix what they broke”).
And here is where they step in as the saviour — the outsider-hero with all the answers:
“Only I can fix this.”
To back this up, they claim to possess a unique insight or vision. Ironically, so-called “visionary” leadership often sounds less like a plan and more like a tantrum: “Let’s smash this up and see what happens.” Still, they present themselves as the only person who truly understands the problem. And perhaps most importantly, this certainty is deeply comforting to those paralysed by fear.
These leaders bolster their credentials by insisting they are above politics, not part of the establishment — that tired, compromised way of thinking. What they offer instead is “common sense” and “courage”, often lionised to mythical proportions. They will transform the crisis through sheer force of will — doing what others only feared to do (often for good reason). And if you question them, you’ll be branded disloyal, obstructive, or part of the problem. Because once they’ve assumed the role of saviour, dissent becomes betrayal.
Once the leader has convinced their followers that they alone can fix the crisis, the next step is to consolidate power — quickly. Speed becomes the justification for everything. Checks and balances? Too slow. Consultation? A luxury. Transparency? A drag on progress. Opposition? Just another blocker to be removed. The crisis they’ve amplified now demands “decisive action,” and any resistance is framed as dangerous hesitation. This is where the glorification of speed kicks in — not just as a means of efficiency, but as a performance of control. The faster they move, the more competent they appear. Speed rewards visibility over wisdom, disruption over deliberation, dominance over collaboration. They favour direct, tightly controlled channels — tweets, press stunts, internal memos — all designed to show they’re “cutting through the noise” and “getting things done.” In time, they restructure systems so that momentum depends entirely on them. And the longer they hold power, the more speed itself becomes a virtue — a signal of boldness, brilliance, inevitability. If things break? That’s all part of the story. And in a world running at full tilt, few have the time - or the nerve - to ask what’s really being built.
But the story doesn’t end there — because the crisis is never really over. Before the dust settles, a new threat emerges. A new villain. A new problem that demands urgent action. And so the cycle continues. The previous crisis - unresolved, unfinished - fades from public focus as attention is redirected elsewhere. The leader, of course, is already positioned at the centre of this next chapter, once again stepping in with certainty and speed. This constant churn creates the illusion of momentum while leaving behind an ever-growing trail of broken systems, disillusioned followers, and half-fixed messes. Over time, nothing truly gets resolved — but the myth of heroic leadership stays intact. And that, for them, is what matters most.
Real-world examples in practice
We don’t have to look far to see this leadership pattern playing out. Across politics and tech, a familiar cast of characters has mastered the art of manufacturing chaos, undermining institutions, and positioning themselves as the only solution. Here are just a few examples of the chaos-to-saviour playbook in action:
Donald Trump
Frames the U.S. political system as corrupt and broken (“drain the swamp”), discredits the media, and governs through spectacle and disruption. Constantly generating new crises — immigration, election fraud, inflation — to maintain control and claim relevance. Let’s not forget, he is a Very Stable Genius.
UK Conservative Government (Tories)
Cameron, May and Johnson all cycled through crisis narratives — Brexit, immigration, the NHS — while undermining civil service, judiciary, and regulators, mostly through introducing and reinforcing drastic austerity measures. They glorified speed (“get Brexit done”) and framed resistance as unpatriotic or elitist.
Viktor Orbán
Positioned Hungary as under siege — by migrants, liberal elites, or the EU — to justify centralised power, curtailed freedoms, and democratic backsliding. Plays the national saviour while quietly dismantling pluralism.
Elon Musk
Regularly declares systems broken — from public transport to Twitter/X to AI safety — and casts himself as the lone innovator capable of fixing them. Undermines regulators, media, and internal governance in favour of personal control and “moving fast.”
Mark Zuckerberg
Rebranded Facebook as a tool for global good, then again as the future of connection via the Metaverse — all while consolidating power, resisting oversight, and downplaying the real-world consequences of his platforms (thanks to Careless People we are reminded of the central role Facebook played in the Myanmar genocide).
Adam Neumann (WeWork)
Promised to “elevate the world’s consciousness” through co-working, while creating chaos through reckless expansion and opaque finances. Positioned himself as a visionary, then re-emerged post-collapse with a new company and the same saviour narrative.
Elizabeth Holmes (Theranos)
Claimed the healthcare system was broken and positioned herself as the innovator to fix it. Suppressed dissent, sidestepped regulation, and sold a myth of progress — even when the tech didn’t work.
What unites them isn’t just ambition — it’s a pattern often laced with borderline (if not outright) criminality. A reliance on chaos to claim power, and a refusal to build anything that lasts beyond their own influence. It’s leadership as performance, not stewardship. And it leaves behind a trail of instability, disillusionment, and systems more fragile (if not broken!) than before.
What it sounds like on the inside
If you’ve ever worked in a company led by a chaos-driven, hero-complex founder or exec, the signs are rarely subtle. You’ll hear it in the language — both from the leader themselves and echoed across the organisation:
“We’re not here to play small — we’re here to change the world.”
“The system is broken. We’re building something better.”
“You just need to trust the founder’s vision.”
“I need people who move fast and don’t ask permission.”
“We value pace here, speed is a competitive advantage!”
“There’s no such thing as ‘not my job’ — you just have to roll your sleeves up and get stuck in.”
“Process kills innovation.”
“Regulators don’t understand what we’re doing.”
“There’s no point having a roadmap, it changes too often.”
“This place isn’t for everyone.”
This kind of leadership creates a constant atmosphere of urgency and instability. There’s little room for reflection, dissent, or recovery. You’re always chasing the next big shift — and slowly, you stop asking whether any of it is actually working. That is, if you don’t burn out or get kicked out first.
It’s time to talk about a different way to lead.
Part 2 of this article is coming soon!