Humility Is a Strength—Until It Silences Us
Have you ever noticed how, especially here in Finland, believing in yourself often feels like something that needs careful packaging?
We value humility. We admire people who don’t make a big deal out of themselves, who let results speak, who stay grounded no matter what they achieve. That humility is real, and to be honest, I feel it’s one of our strengths. But when humility becomes the default response to every internal signal, whether it’s ambition, frustration, or confidence, it can slowly turn into something else: a habit of questioning ourselves even when there’s no real reason to.
Finnish Sisu
The idea of sisu is deeply woven into how Finland understands itself: resilience, toughness, the ability to endure when things get hard. Popular culture has recently amplified this image through the Sisu movies, where the Finnish protagonist is almost mythic. Silent, unstoppable, unbreakable. He doesn’t explain himself. He doesn’t justify his emotions. He simply keeps going.
It’s a powerful ideal. But it also sets a tone: strength should be quiet, controlled, and unquestioned.
The Quiet Expectations of Working Life
But real life, especially working life, often feels different.
Sometimes I feel that this is exactly what’s expected from us at work: to embody sisu quietly, without making ourselves too visible. To be competent but not outspoken, ambitious but not demanding, confident but never too sure of ourselves. We’re expected to deliver, endure, and adapt. And at the same time, downplay our own contributions and keep our heads low.
And when what we feel inside doesn’t match that script? When we care deeply, want more, or believe we could do better. That creates friction. Not because the feeling is wrong, but because it doesn’t quite fit what’s socially comfortable.
Emotions Under Review
This same dynamic is clear in sports.
Consider Petteri Rimpinen, a young Finnish Ice hockey goalie, after an emotional game against Sweden. When asked about his visible reaction, breaking his stick, he said that if he didn’t have that fire, if he didn’t feel that intensity, then maybe he shouldn’t be playing at all. Not to draw attention to himself. Just an admirable and honest statement of commitment.
What’s striking is that, for example, athletes themselves rarely seem unsure about their right to feel this way. Instead, emotion and ambition are often framed externally as something that needs explaining, contextualizing, or toning down. The same pattern is seen often in the workplace.
Before You Call It Self-Doubt
What if that friction isn’t self-doubt at all?
Psychological research on the impostor phenomenon shows that feelings of inadequacy are only weakly connected to actual ability or performance. High performers experience them frequently. That means the feeling itself isn’t reliable evidence of not belonging.
Often, what we interpret as self-doubt is something else entirely.
Sometimes it’s admiration, just honestly recognizing excellence in others because it aligns with what you value.
Sometimes it’s jealousy, but the useful kind: a signal pointing toward what you want to develop next.
Sometimes it’s friction, noticing your standards, ambition, or emotional honesty rubbing against norms that prefer things quieter and smoother.
High Standards Can Feel Like Doubt
Disappointment is rarely about failing others’ expectations. More often, it’s about falling short of your own. And having standards isn’t a flaw, but it’s a form of responsibility.
Wanting to be better doesn’t mean rejecting where you are. It means you can see further.
When we mislabel this as impostor syndrome, we risk silencing the very drive that helps us grow.
Quiet Sisu, Without Shrinking
Maybe the issue isn’t that we lack confidence.
Maybe it’s that we’ve learned to aim Sisu outward, straight toward endurance, while directing doubt inward.
We admire perseverance, but apologize for ambition.
We respect humility, but hesitate with self-belief.
We celebrate restraint in everyday life, while glorifying intensity in stories.
What if we didn’t have to choose between humility and confidence?
Because sometimes, the feeling we’re so quick to question isn’t telling us we don’t belong. It’s telling us we’re committed.
And that, too, is Sisu.
