Humility Isn’t Diminishing Yourself

My therapist hit me with a truth today: being humble doesn’t mean pretending your accomplishments don’t matter. It simply means you don’t let them define your worth or inflate your ego. But I’ve always been quick to downplay anything I’ve done, so when she asked me to recall a moment I was genuinely proud of, I froze. School accolades? Nothing worth mentioning came to mind.  Sports accolades?  Not that I could easily recall, though I had always been a standout athlete.  Not even my art that I could remember.

But oddly enough, what surfaced was the first time I had to issue an Article 15.

I had just finished explaining the standards to my Soldiers, sharing how important our mission was, laid everything out clearly. Later that same day, two E-3s did exactly what I had just told everyone would result in an automatic Article 15. I felt as lousy writing it as they did receiving it, but my hands were tied. While doing the paperwork, I told them straight: this didn’t have to define them. I’d suspend the punishment if they owned it and showed us who they could become.

One Soldier stayed quiet and simply said, “Yes, sir.”

The other had excuses lined up like sandbags — why it wasn’t their fault, why the rules shouldn’t apply, why someone else should take the hit.

Fast-forward a couple years. I was deployed again, different unit, different mission. Out of nowhere, I heard someone calling my name. It was the same two Soldiers.

The quiet one was now a Staff Sergeant.

The excuse-maker was still an E-3.

The SSG told me he was grateful for that day — that I hadn’t been lenient, but I had been fair, and I had believed they could do better. He had taken that chance and ran with it. The other Soldier admitted it took them longer to accept responsibility, but with the SSG pushing them, they too were finally stepping up and were on track for E-4.

Hearing that meant more to me than any award or medal ever could. It reminded me that humility, much like leadership, doesn’t always fix everyone in the moment — but when it lands, it can ripple forward for years.

My therapist wants me to keep looking for moments like this. Not to brag, but to stop pretending they’re “nothing.” Thirty-plus years in uniform taught me a lot about carrying other people’s stories. Tattooing has become my way to capture those moments now — to honor experiences, lessons, scars, and growth in a way that lives on long after the moment passes.

The photo here is me in my Army service dress uniform. I’ve always been uncomfortable with how many medals are on it. But I’m learning to see it differently. I didn’t earn them for attention. I earned them by giving everything I had, every single day, as part of a team for over three decades. That’s not arrogance. That’s ownership.  I want to remember all of my team mates still here, and gone, that helped me earn each one.

And if you’ve got a story, a memory, or a moment you want to carry forward in ink, reach out to Honor and Ink™. I’d be honored to help you turn it into something that lasts.