Never the Spotlight

Looking back at my experiences, I can now see that my pattern was never about avoiding responsibility itself. That was the story I told myself for years. The deeper concern was something else entirely. It was about avoiding the spotlight.

Every time I found myself in a position of leadership, it was never something I actively chased. There was no calculated ambition, no strategic pursuit of authority. If anything, I instinctively tried to position myself slightly to the side, close enough to contribute meaningfully, but far enough to remain unseen. I wanted to be part of the structure without becoming its visible symbol.

The fear was never impact. It was exposure. Back at the University of Khartoum, when people recommended me to be the batch representative, I withdrew. It wasn’t because I didn’t care about the role, and it wasn’t because I lacked ideas or capacity. Being the visible face of something felt heavier than the responsibility itself. Responsibility is functional. Visibility is personal.

At the time, I framed it as personality. I joked about INTPs avoiding responsibility and convinced myself that I simply preferred operating in the background. It sounded coherent. It sounded self aware. But the truth was simpler than all the theory: I did not want to be the center of attention.

SSE

At SSE , Mohammed (DePe) encouraged me to apply for the head position. I remember the interview with Zeinab AlRasheed and Ahmed Salah . There were only two nominees, which made the possibility of being selected feel very real.

When I walked out of that interview, I was hoping I wouldn’t be chosen. It wasn’t because I doubted the work or the team. It was because I could already imagine the visibility, the presentations, the expectations, the association of my name with every outcome. I imagined the weight of being identifiable.

When I was selected, my first reaction wasn’t pride. It was anxiety. A quiet internal question asking why I had put myself in that position. Then the war started, and circumstances became unstable in ways none of us anticipated. Yet in the middle of that instability, we managed to collaborate with IEEE , the FMS Student Association , and present CyberClash, a cybersecurity bootcamp for students at the university.

People appreciated what we built. The work mattered. I loved the people I worked with, and I believe they trusted me. What surprises me now is that the spotlight did not destroy me. It did not expose incompetence. It did not unravel me. It simply made me uncomfortable.

GDSC

The same pattern appeared with Google Developer Student Clubs (GDSC) . now known as Google Developer Groups I joined as a regular core member and later moved into the technical team. Over time, I became co lead. It wasn’t something I plotted. It evolved gradually, almost accidentally.

The leader at the time, Ahmed Ali , trusted me more than I trusted myself. Responsibility expanded around me naturally. When a new leadership application opened, I was already in Egypt, still trying to process days I still don’t understand . My life felt unstable enough. Adding another visible role felt overwhelming.

I actively searched for reasons not to apply. I magnified my weaknesses. I rehearsed internal arguments explaining why this wasn’t aligned with who I was. But then I thought about the students, the messages they had sent, and the impact the sessions had on them. I realized that if none of us stepped forward, the chapter might close or drift in a direction that would erase what had been built.

The spotlight wasn’t the point. Continuity was. so I applied and was accepted. That period was dynamic, chaotic, and deeply human. I cared about the core team. I cared about the volunteers. I cared about the structure we were sustaining. I don’t regret stepping in. What I regret is how much energy I spent trying not to be seen while doing it.

The Way I Hid

Looking back, I can see how deliberately I managed my visibility. I avoided appearing in course recordings. I avoided joining public groups with my personal account. I preferred operating anonymously whenever possible. It wasn’t about security. It was about discomfort with admiration.

I have written before that I’m not good with compliments . Compliments create tension inside me. They feel disproportionate, as if they construct an external image that I am then responsible for maintaining. Praise feels like a projection, and projections feel fragile. So I stayed slightly hidden.

I accepted the role, but avoided the light that came with it.

Never the Spotlight

For a long time, I thought I didn’t love leadership. But that conclusion was incomplete. What I don’t love is being observed while carrying it. I don’t mind building systems. I don’t mind organizing chaos. I don’t mind making decisions. What unsettles me is being the focal point.

There is something in me that instinctively negotiates visibility. If responsibility places me on the floor, fully exposed, part of me would rather move to the ceiling, present, but not central. Yet every time I avoided the spotlight completely, something felt unfinished. Not because I wanted applause, but because hiding diluted the impact of the work itself.

The pattern was never about running from responsibility. It was about negotiating how visible I would allow myself to be while carrying it.