The Big Littling

By Kari Meyer

The Sneaky Word That Shrinks Us

Anxious for practical advice on building a coaching business, my Georgetown cohort gathered one afternoon to hear from two successful leadership coaches. Both had impressive stories—hard work, market-aligned rates, steady growth—but it was the last question that lodged itself in my gut:

“What’s your vision for your business?”

One panelist leaned back, arms open. “I plan to expand nationally,” he said, exuding ease and ambition. “There’s so much need. This business can take you anywhere.”

Then the second panelist—a well-known local coach, military veteran, and business leader—leaned forward. Shoulders curled inward, hand pressed to her chest, she said quietly, “My little vision is to grow and impact as many people as possible.”

I don’t remember what else she said. Her posture—shrinking, protective—drew me in, and I felt myself shrinking with her. A visceral response: my body tensed, stomach twisted. Why did that one word—little—strike so hard?

Here was a woman who had led troops, held executive roles, charged over $350 an hour for coaching—and yet she minimized her vision. Why?

And more uncomfortably: why did I recognize it so quickly?

Because I’ve done it too.

I called my work toward a Stott Pilates certification at 58—without any athletic or anatomy background as “working on a little Pilates certification.”  Friends and family (thinking it was less important than my paid career role) often referred to my leadership on the PTA as “Kari’s little PTA work”. I called it that too! The truth is that some of the events I initiated were attended by 1000+ parents and had a significant impact on community building.

When my sister-in-law, a gifted classical musician and mother of five, took up pottery, we all called it her “little pottery thing.” Her work, by the way, is stunning and selling well. More importantly, it is life-giving to her.

When I volunteered with immigrants or women recovering from addiction and homelessness, I often said I was doing “a little volunteer work.”

How often have I heard someone preface a powerful idea with: “I have a little thought…”? And how often was that “little” thought the one that changed the course of a meeting?

Why do we do this?

Because “little” is sneaky. It slips out when we’re afraid of seeming too proud, too ambitious, too serious about something that matters to us. It’s the disguise of humility—but more often it’s self-protection, self-effacement. It makes us, and our dreams, smaller.

And yet—some things we call “little” shape our lives. They are the hours, the passions, the sacrifices, the quiet commitments that forge who we are.

What would it look like to stop littling ourselves?

What if I had said, “I’m working on a demanding Pilates certification that’s deeply meaningful to me”? Or: “My sister-in-law is exploring pottery, and it lights her up.” Or: “I have a thought I’d like to contribute that might be important.”

Would it feel like too much? Or would it feel true?

Recently, I read about Saint Thérèse of Lisieux—the “Little Flower.” Her “Little Way” wasn’t about belittling her purpose; it was about doing small things with immense love. Her littleness wasn’t false modesty—it was spiritual clarity. Her humility honored the beauty of each small act done in alignment with her soul. 

There’s a difference between the true little and the shrinking little. One is sacred. The other is fear dressed as humility.

So what if we swapped little for valued, important, beautiful? 

Because sometimes, littling isn’t just modest—it’s minimizing of us and others.
What if we replaced little with words that honor the truth of what something means to us—or to someone else?

This brings integrity to how we see ourselves and others.
Nothing in us deserves to be diminished.  There are no small flowers—only blooms for great beauty and strength.