By Joe Byerly
One of the toughest challenges for leaders—especially as they rise to senior levels—is learning when to shut up.
I don’t say that flippantly. Okay, maybe a little. But what I really mean is that a single question, offhand comment, or stream-of-consciousness can create absolute chaos for the people beneath them. At senior levels, words become action.
Let me explain.
After World War II, General Dwight D. Eisenhower was at his SHAEF Headquarters in Europe when he saw his son John standing there unexpectedly. As recounted by his granddaughter Susan Eisenhower:
“One day, General Ike said wistfully, ‘I wonder how John is doing,’ and said no more than that. The next day John was at Supreme Headquarters—and both were angry.
‘What the hell are you doing here?!’ Ike barked.
‘Why in the hell was I given orders to come?!’ John exclaimed.
They both paused and realized a well-meaning subordinate, overhearing the general’s remark, had taken it as a directive. Wanting to please the boss, he ordered John to SHAEF Headquarters.”
As leaders climb the ranks, the number of people eager to “make the boss happy” grows. Unfortunately, many find themselves in Ike’s shoes—with an initiative launched, someone fired, or a person summoned—all because of a throwaway comment or a moment of thinking out loud.
Even a simple request for information can create disruption. What seems like a harmless ask can pull staff officers away from more critical tasks. For example, if a senior leader casually requests an update on a project Tuesday evening for a Wednesday brief, the entire staff may have to drop what they’re doing—conduct the analysis, build the slide, and prep the talking points. All of this diverts focus from a competing priority that may have a far greater impact on the organization’s success.
A recent example of words creating chaos is the Department of Defense’s DEI “purge.” A single memorandum from the Secretary triggered a flurry of activity across the force. Staffs spent countless hours scrubbing social media feeds, preparing updates, and briefing commanders—who then briefed their commanders—all the way up the chain.
What seemed like a simple directive created a ripple effect of confusion, fear, and frantic attempts to comply. Instead of focusing on mission-critical work, leaders were burdened with an added cognitive load—trying to interpret intent, ensure compliance, and avoid missteps. In many cases, despite best efforts, it still wasn’t done correctly.
Before leaders speak, they need to recognize that their words generate action. General (Ret.) Scott Miller understood this. Whenever he asked for an update, he made it clear: he didn’t want another brief, and he didn’t need a white paper—just one line in an email or a text message (if classification allowed).
He knew that even a simple question from him could set off hours of work, so he was intentional about limiting the fallout.
In a past interview for the podcast, General (Ret.) Joe Votel shared a practice he used while in command: scheduling dedicated “thinking sessions” with his staff. These sessions gave him space to explore ideas, ask questions, and learn—without the pressure to issue guidance or make decisions. He said it allowed for open dialogue while reducing the risk that his curiosity would be mistaken for a directive.
So yes, leaders need to learn to shut up.
They need to pause before they speak or fire off an email and think through the second- and third-order effects of their words. Because more often than not, there’s a tradeoff. Actually—there’s always a tradeoff.
When leaders speak, people move out. Tasks shift. Priorities realign. Energy gets spent. And if they’re not intentional—if they’re not mitigating risk or clarifying that they’re simply thinking out loud—they could inadvertently cause John Eisenhower to show up at SHAEF Headquarters, the Tuskegee Airmen to be erased from official photos, or entire staffs to scramble for days over a passing thought.
This is one of the toughest lessons I had to learn as a commander. My words and questions were no longer just words or questions—they were seen as directives. Not because I intended them to be, but because of the position I was in. I wasn’t Joe anymore. I was Lieutenant Colonel Byerly. I was the commander.
So, I did my best (not always perfectly) to slow down. To clarify when I was just thinking out loud. To ask if a quick update could wait until the team had the bandwidth. To make it clear I didn’t need an answer first thing in the morning—or for staff officers to work late into the evening. To be intentional with my words—because I’d seen what could happen when I wasn’t.
Here’s the thing nobody really tells you when you become the person in charge: Yes, you now have to make decisions—often the hard ones no one else has the authority to make. But more importantly, you need to understand the weight your words carry once you have the authority to speak them.
Joe Byerly is a retired U.S. Army Lieutenant Colonel with 20 years of service, including tours in Iraq and Afghanistan, and command of a cavalry squadron in Europe. He earned numerous awards, including multiple Legion of Merits, Bronze Stars, the Purple Heart, and General Douglas MacArthur Leadership Award. In 2013, Joe founded From the Green Notebook.
A passionate advocate for self-knowledge through reading and reflection, he authored The Leader’s 90-Day Notebook and co-authored My Green Notebook: “Know Thyself” Before Changing Jobs, a resource for leaders seeking greater self-awareness. If this post resonated with you or sparked any questions, feel free to reach out to him at Joe@fromthegreennotebook.com.
