“True humility is not thinking less of yourself; it is thinking of yourself less.”
– C.S Lewis
THIS past month has been quietly instructive.
If there is one lesson that kept returning through conversations, observations and moments that linger longer than expected – it is this: being humble.
It is a word we use often. Simple, familiar, almost automatic. Yet the more I reflect on it, the more I realise how easily it is misunderstood and how rarely it is truly practised.
We speak of humility as a value to uphold, but words alone rarely capture its meaning. In reality, humility is not declared; it is demonstrated. And often, there is a gap between what we say and how we act.
Perhaps that is why this season feels like the right time to reflect. With the Raya celebration, there is a quiet invitation to slow down, reconnect, and meet others with a little more grace. Words like patience, forgiveness, and humility surface more often; not just as ideals, but as expectations we try, however briefly, to live by.
Yet humility is rarely tested in festive moments. It is tested in the ordinary, and for many of us, nowhere more so than in the workplace.
The workplace brings together all kinds of people. Some are genuine, while others are less so. There are moments of collaboration, but also tension. There are those who uplift us, and those who challenge us in ways we did not ask for. In such an environment, communication becomes more than just what we say, but it is also how we say it, and why.
I have found myself asking: what does it really mean to communicate with humility?
Is it about holding back? Choosing silence? Letting things pass?
A recent conversation brought this question into sharper focus. We were discussing patience – how much is enough, and whether there comes a point when it becomes too much.
“How much patience is patience?” I asked.
The reply came quickly.
“You just have to internalise everything,” the person said. “Numb your feelings. That’s how you stay patient.”
There was a pause before they added, almost lightly, “But it might eat you up inside.”
And that stayed with me.
There is a certain logic to that view. In many situations, especially at work, we are expected to manage our emotions, stay composed, and not let frustration show. But the idea of becoming numb in the process feels like a quiet cost we do not often acknowledge.
Is humility really about silencing ourselves until nothing is left to say? Is patience simply endurance without expression? Or is there a more balanced way to practise these virtues without losing ourselves?
True humility, I believe, is not about becoming numb. It is not about suppressing our thoughts or accepting every situation without question. Nor is it about pretending we are unaffected.
Instead, it begins with awareness by recognising our emotions, yet choosing how we respond. It is learning to pause, even when our instinct is to react. It is choosing to listen, even when we feel unheard.
In communication, humility often appears in subtle ways. It is in the tone we take when we disagree. It is in the willingness to admit we might be wrong. It is in choosing understanding over the need to be right.
At the same time, humility does not mean disappearing.
There is strength in knowing when to speak, when to set boundaries, and when to step away. Being humble does not require us to endure everything or make ourselves smaller for the comfort of others. It calls us to be intentional and to respond with clarity rather than impulse.
Perhaps that is the balance we are all and should be learning.
In a world that often rewards volume over thoughtfulness and certainty over reflection, humility can feel almost invisible. It does not demand attention or seek validation. Yet it quietly shapes every interaction, every conversation, every relationship.
And perhaps that is its greatest strength.
Because in the end, people may not remember every word we say, but they will remember how we made them feel.
The views expressed here are those of the writer and do not necessarily represent the views of Sarawak Tribune. The writer can be reached at Shirley.suat@gmail.com.
