What 20 Years in Corporate Ops Taught Me About People (That No Leadership Book Could)

Fernanda: I spent 20 years working with some of the biggest brands in the world: McDonald's, Starbucks, Chick-fil-A, Krispy Kreme, and Sears. These are companies that operate at a scale most will never see up close, with thousands of employees, operations across multiple continents, and supply chains that never sleep.

In that time, I learned a lot about operations, systems, forecasting, planning, and strategy. But the most important things I learned—the things that actually made me good at my job—had nothing to do with any of that. They had everything to do with people.

I didn't learn them from a leadership book; I learned them the hard way out in the wild. I learned them in meetings I wasn't supposed to win, across languages and cultures I didn't fully understand yet, and in rooms where I was the only woman, the only foreigner, or both.

Today, I want to share those lessons with you—not as a framework or a methodology, but simply as someone who has been in it, watched it play out, and wants to save you some of the time it took me to figure it out.

I remember being handed a planning project early in my career and thinking, "Okay, I got the data, I got the model, this is going to work." Then I walked into the room and realized the spreadsheet didn't account for the guy in the corner who had been doing his job for 15 years and felt my entire approach threatened everything he had built.

The spreadsheet didn't account for the team lead who was exhausted from the previous quarter's reorganization and had zero bandwidth for another change initiative. Most of all, it definitely didn't account for the fact that half the team didn't feel safe enough to voice any of this out loud.

That was my first real lesson: psychological safety isn't a nice-to-have, it's the actual infrastructure that everything else runs on. If your people don't feel safe enough to speak up, to say, "That's not going to work," "I don't understand," or "I'm struggling," then you are operating blind. You will get polite agreement in the meeting and quiet sabotage in the execution stage.

The teams I've watched truly thrive were ones where people could say the uncomfortable thing without losing their standing. Creating that environment isn't soft work; it's the most strategic thing a good leader can do.

There is a version of management that is very transactional: Person A holds Role B, Role B requires Output C, and your job is simply to ensure C happens. At scale, that thinking is seductive because it's clean and efficient, but it doesn't hold up in real life because people are not functions.

I've managed people going through divorces, people sending money home to sick parents, people quietly dealing with burnout they didn't know how to name, and people who were brilliant at their jobs yet desperately unhappy in their lives. The leaders who got the most sustainable, high-quality output out of their teams weren't the ones who ignored all of that. They were the ones who saw it and recognized the whole person behind the role.

That doesn't mean playing therapist in the office; it means basic human decency. It means asking, "How are you actually doing?" and waiting for the real answer, being flexible during difficult seasons, and treating people as full human beings. When someone feels seen, their capacity expands; when they feel like a cog, it contracts.

Here is something that took me longer than I'd like to admit to internalize: different people are motivated by entirely different things. While that sounds obvious, leaders mess it up constantly because they tend to lead the way they prefer to be led.

If you thrive on public recognition, you might assume everyone does, giving shout-outs in an all-hands meeting while wondering why your most introverted team member wants to sink into the floor. If you love autonomy, you might grant wide latitude and miss that someone on your team is quietly drowning without structured check-ins.

Some people are driven by impact, others by mastery, security, flexibility, advancement, or belonging. The most effective leaders remain genuinely curious about their people's motivations and tailor their approach around what they discover.

That requires real conversations where you ask what energizes them, what drains them, and what success looks like for them right now—not just in the role, but in their lives. And then, crucially, it requires actually doing something with the answers.

Having worked across the US, Europe, and Asia, I've observed one constant across every culture and industry: when you don't actively create space for quieter voices, the loudest voices fill it. Those loudest voices are almost never the most representative ones.

Inclusion isn't just a values statement; it's a data quality issue. If the only people speaking in meetings are the most confident, senior, or culturally comfortable with debate, you are missing critical information. I've watched decisions fall apart in execution because the people closest to the work never had an opening to point out the flaws.

Ensuring all voices are heard is how you truly know what's happening. In practice, that means providing structured time for input, pre-meeting write-ups, one-on-ones where quieter team members can think out loud without competition, cross-functional roundtables, and anonymous feedback channels when necessary.

When I was building a planning center in Poland—standing up processes, culture, and a team from scratch—I quickly had to confront an uncomfortable truth: every initial assumption I had was either wrong or incomplete. I assumed people would communicate conflict directly, but they didn't, at least not in the way I was used to; I assumed what worked in Chicago would translate to Poland, but it mostly didn't.

The moment I let go of what I thought I knew and started listening with genuine curiosity, everything improved. Making assumptions about a team or operation almost always backfires. Listening to understand—asking yourself, "What am I missing right now?"—is how you uncover what is actually true.

The leaders who succeed are the ones who remain in discovery mode, even when they've been around long enough to feel like they already have all the answers.

Consider what story you tell yourself when someone on your team misses a deadline, drops the ball, or pushes back on your direction. For many leaders, the default reaction is skepticism: Are they slacking? Do they not care? Are they undermining me?

What if you started from the assumption that they are doing the best they can with what they have, and asked what might be getting in their way? Assuming positive intent isn't about being naive; it's about giving people the dignity of a real conversation before deciding what happened.

Most people aren't trying to fail or make your life harder; they are usually navigating competing demands, unclear expectations, personal struggles, or unaddressed skill gaps. When you lead with curiosity instead of suspicion, you resolve the root issue faster and build genuine trust.

Compassion—both for yourself and for the people around you—is not weak or touchy-feely, nor is it a detour from performance. It is what makes sustainable results possible in the long run.

Having experienced seasons of self-doubt myself, and having coached others through them, I've learned that the harshest inner critics produce the most brittle outer performance. When you practice self-compassion, you recover faster, make clearer decisions, and expand your capacity for others.

Extending that same compassion to your team normalizes learning, struggle, and being human at work. That builds a rare culture where problems aren't hidden, which is worth more than any performance management system you could ever design.

Investing in others also carries a powerful compounding effect. Every time I invested in someone on my team—helping them gain visibility, advocating for their promotion, or mentoring a new skill—it returned in time, even if not immediately or directly.

The best leaders are generous with their knowledge, networks, and time rather than hoarding them or protecting territory. They create environments where people want to work hard because they know their efforts and growth are seen as core to the mission. Committing to people's development builds a culture that outlasts any specific strategy, reorg, or departing executive.

Over 20 years, I watched major corporations shift strategies midstride, leaders arrive to overhaul systems only to leave shortly after, and valuable projects get canceled for reasons unrelated to their merit. That is simply the nature of corporate life, and it isn't personal, even when it feels that way.

What stays with you from company to company and role to role is your reputation for integrity, humanity, and how you treated people. Colleagues remember how you showed up during crises, whether you protected them or threw them under the bus, and whether you kept your word when it cost you something.

Your career is built on competence, but your legacy is built on character. I would far rather leave a room, company, or industry known for fighting for my people and standing in integrity than leave with the shiniest title or largest budget.

If you've spent time in corporate spaces—whether navigating them now or charting a path forward—I hope these reflections offer value. If any of these lessons resonated with what you are facing, drop a comment below to share which one hit home, or reach out to connect. Thank you for being here, and I will see you in the next one.

Fernanda Brasileiro

People Development Consultant & Strategist

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