19. Overcorrection: A hidden stage in the leadership journey

Aug 17

When we talk about Asian American leadership patterns, certain themes show up regularly: humility, conflict avoidance, deference to authority, and an almost invisible work ethic. But there’s one behavior I don’t hear named enough, even though I’ve lived it, witnessed it, and quietly observed it in others: The overcorrection.

That jarring swing in behavior after years of silence or self-restraint.

It doesn’t show up often in coaching conversations, not because it’s rare, but because I suspect many people are in it and don’t know how to name it. Or, they may feel fully justified in the shift. It’s that phase where someone finally says, “Enough.” They begin asserting themselves, but the expression can be intense, offbeat, or hard-edged. It’s a necessary but messy stage—one that often makes us less reflective and harder to reach.

A personal story

I’ve gone through this swing more than once.

In one chapter of my career, after years of playing the role of the “measured, rational leader,” I started letting my emotions show more. I thought I was finally being “authentic.” But in truth, I was often irritable, reactive, and—let’s be honest—kind of annoying. I’d interrupt people in meetings, push too hard for decisions, or speak with a tone sharper than I intended.

Interestingly, this pattern showed up most when I stepped into positional leadership—when I had the title, the role, the authority. Looking back, I think something unconscious kicked in: Now that I’m in charge, I can finally lead from the front—be loud, decisive, firm. Maybe it was a buried cultural image of what a leader should look like, especially coming from a traditional Asian context where authority is often equated with dominance.

But here’s the irony: while I had long admired quiet, inspirational leadership, I found myself acting out a version of leadership I didn’t actually believe in. It was a subtle but important twist in the overcorrection story—trying so hard not to be the “quiet follower” that I ended up over-identifying with the opposite extreme.

And here’s the thing: I knew it. Not always in the moment, but usually a few hours later. I’d feel a pang of guilt—sometimes embarrassment. That wasn’t really me, I’d think. Then came the late-night self-flagellation: Why did I say that? Why couldn’t I just stay calm? What’s wrong with me?

Then I’d swing again—trying to tone it all down, going back to being “cool, calm, and collected.” But even that didn’t feel quite right anymore. It was like being caught between three selves: the obedient past version, the performative assertive version, and the quiet leader I actually wanted to become.

Overcorrection across cultures

This pattern of overcorrection isn’t just personal—it plays out in cross-cultural settings all the time.

In The Culture Map, Erin Meyer shares a story about Kwang Young-Su, a Korean professional working in the Netherlands. In Korean work culture, negative feedback is delivered with care and indirectness. But Dutch workplaces prize directness and clarity.

Eager to adapt, Kwang began giving blunt feedback—assuming that’s what leadership required in this new culture. But he didn’t yet understand the subtleties: Dutch directness often includes a neutral tone, psychological safety, and a shared sense of informality. Kwang’s approach came across as rude and aggressive. His colleagues were taken aback. He had unknowingly created a new problem by oversteering.

“He had simply oversteered,” Meyer writes. “Trying to conform to a new cultural norm, he missed the nuance—and in doing so, created a new problem.”

He wasn’t trying to be rude. He was just trying not to be too Korean in a Dutch setting. But in swinging too far, too fast, and without reflection, he found himself disconnected.

Why overcorrection happens

In psychology, this swing is often tied to emotional dysregulation—moving from suppression to overexpression without the internal tools to regulate well (Gross, 1998). When our emotional bandwidth is overloaded, especially by cultural dissonance, we can go from holding back too much to expressing too much, too fast.

Overcorrection also connects to identity dissonance, the strain caused by the clash between internal values and external norms (Benet-Martínez & Haritatos, 2005). For many bicultural individuals, navigating different expectations around communication and leadership can create a sense of fragmentation or compensatory behavior.

This is where Robert Kegan’s Adult Development Theory is especially relevant. In Kegan’s terms, overcorrection reflects the messy middle between the “Socialized Mind” (shaped by external expectations) and the “Self-Authoring Mind” (shaped by internal values). In between is a volatile, often painful stretch—marked by rebellion, experimentation, and loss of identity clarity (Kegan & Lahey, 2009).

Philosopher Georg Hegel offers a similar framing through his concept of the dialectic: thesis → antithesis → synthesis. You begin with one way of being. Then comes a crisis or contradiction, which provokes a strong reaction. Ideally, that tension gives way to something more integrated. But if we stay too long in the reaction phase, without reflecting or refining, we risk trading one externally shaped identity for another. Still reactive. Still not whole.

Helping people in the swing

So how can we support people in this phase—especially when they may not even know they’re in it?

It starts with care and curiosity, not correction. If someone close to you seems unusually intense or reactive, try saying: “I’m noticing a shift. Is something going on behind the scenes?”

These questions, when asked with genuine warmth, can open up a space for reflection. Many people in the swing aren’t trying to be difficult. They’re just finally experimenting with their voice, and it’s coming out raw.

And if you’re the one in the swing? Ask yourself:

Am I reacting against something—or moving toward something?
What part of my current behavior feels real? What feels like performance?
Who can I talk to that really knows me—not just the professional version of me?
Can I stay curious about myself without rushing to fix what I don’t yet fully understand?

Final thought: Growth doesn’t look polished

Here’s the truth: I would rather overcorrect than never take the risk.

Yes, I’ve said things I regret. Yes, I’ve made people uncomfortable. Yes, I’ve hurt someone with my abruptness. But that energy came from a desire to grow and lead differently. And that, at the very least, is a better place to begin than staying stuck. It may lead to missteps or even failures, but those moments often hold the most powerful lessons. I’ve learned more about myself in those instances than I ever did during the years I spent trying to be pleasing, safe, or invisible.

We often romanticize growth as a steady climb. But it’s more like a dance: two steps forward, one loud misstep, a pause, a little laughter, and then a better groove.

For those of us navigating the complex intersections of culture, identity, and leadership, let’s not be too quick to judge the swing. Let’s see it as a moment of becoming—awkward, emotional, and deeply human.

Citations for further reference

Gross, J. J. (1998). The emerging field of emotion regulation: An integrative review. Review of General Psychology.
Kegan, R., & Lahey, L. L. (2009). Immunity to Change: How to Overcome It and Unlock the Potential in Yourself and Your Organization.
Benet-Martínez, V., & Haritatos, J. (2005). Bicultural identity integration. Journal of Personality.
Meyer, E. (2014). The Culture Map: Breaking Through the Invisible Boundaries of Global Business.

Joonki Song