I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what “seniority” really means for team leads and engineering managers.
I’ve been around long enough now that several of my mentees - people I helped grow into team leads and supported through their first rocky quarters - are now coming into their own. They’ve run enough projects, seen enough team dynamics, and navigated enough delivery cycles that they’re starting to ask: what actually separates a good team lead from someone recognized as a senior one?
Unfortunately, this is one of the last roles in most organizations to get a formal definition. It lingers longest in that vague executive gut-check realm of “I know it when I see it.” Senior engineers? Easier to codify. We expect dependability, technical depth, mentorship, and maybe some architectural insight. But “senior team lead”? That’s squishier.
So what does separate a solid team lead from a senior one?
The most obvious answer is: you’ve brought other team leads up behind you. You’ve helped close the loop, continued the cycle, left a legacy.
But let’s be honest - this is partly a game of timing and opportunity. You need to be in the right place, with the right relationships, and notice the right person at the right moment. Some of the best leads I’ve seen didn’t get the chance to mentor another into leadership because the timing never aligned.
Leadership knows that, and so usually won’t explicitly benchmark on this alone. But if you do have a track record of developing others into leads - yeah, that clears a major hurdle.
So if it’s not just that, then what else?
The good soldier
At this level, we don’t need to talk about whether you deliver. Of course you do.
The scope is vague, the client is difficult, the requirements are dreams and smoke - and yet, somehow, you ship. You get $*** done.
And your leadership knows it.
But the truth is, solo heroics aren’t the answer anymore. At this level, your impact is measured, by proxy, through the team.
And as you grow into seniority, how the team finishes matters.
A new lead might drag a project over the line by sheer force of will. A senior lead? They deliver with only a room full of interns - each begging for an opportunity to do it again.
Visibility vs volition
The mistake we all make early is conflating looking good with doing good.
Younger leaders often view opportunities through the lens of “Will this show up on my performance review?”
The smart ones? They’ve read about recency bias, so they’ll try to time their efforts for maximum exposure - “I’ll join that initiative in Q3 when I’m less busy.” (Spoiler: they won’t be.)
Here’s the truth: you’ll always be busy. There’s never a perfect time to step in.
That’s why you do it anyway.
First, because starting is the hardest part. Second, because it’s usually easier than you think. Third, and most importantly - because people notice. Few people take initiative without being told. Fewer still do it quietly, without ego.
Reputation isn’t built on story points, sprints, or even project names. Over time, they all blur together, and then fade. What lasts is your mystique - how people describe you when you’re not in the room.
And the good news? Almost no mistake is fatal.
Early in my consulting career, I called out a difficult client tech lead as either “misinformed or lying” - on a call with 25 people. Stunned silence. Nobody defended him. He didn’t even deny it. Come Friday lunchtime, I quietly had all of my project access removed. At the time, it felt career-ending.
Years later, I reminded my VP of that moment. He laughed and said, “Oh yeah, that was a good one.”
The reputation game (and why it’s fairer than you think)
At first glance, reputation feels a lot like a popularity contest - random, political, and always won by someone with better hair. But watch the game long enough, and patterns begin to emerge. It’s always the same people who rise to the top.
What initially looks like favouritism reveals itself as trust. The people who delivered when the chips were down are now on speed dial for the next disaster.
Then there are those who consistently do what’s right, and speak up when it matters - even when it’s inconvenient. Especially when it’s inconvenient. These folks don’t build reputations by chasing them. They earn them.
The game isn’t about who can shout the loudest. It’s about who shows up. Again. And again. And again.
The quiet mentor
Maybe it’s informal mentoring across org boundaries. Maybe it’s becoming a recognized authority in the hallway conversations. Maybe it’s just being that person people quote even when you’re not in the room.
In consulting, where teams churn regularly, there’s actually more opportunity for lasting relationships. I still have lunch once a month with a mid-level engineer from my second project - nearly five years ago. I’m not their “official” mentor. But if you asked them about career planning or conflict resolution, I’m fairly sure my name would come up.
Can you fake that kind of thing? You can try. But people can smell networking with an agenda. It’s inauthentic. The better approach? Be the person who stops by to ask, “How’s it going?” Drop into a DM. Buy a coffee. Offer a genuine check-in.
A new team lead finishes a project and moves on - head down, next mission.
An experienced leader? They track where their people landed. They know which transitions might be rough. Two weeks after redeployment, send a Slack message like:
“Hey, just thought of you. Hope you’re enjoying the new project.”
If they’re doing fine, great. If not? Maybe you can share a few insights - “That team lead tends to be more X, so you might try Y.” Sometimes that alone can save a rough start. Sometimes it starts a conversation. Sometimes you’ll need to quietly escalate. It happens. Twice, I had to get HR involved.
But many times? That one message - a few minutes of your time and a quick reframe - has been the difference between a thriving “I hadn’t thought of it like that” and a quiet resignation.
Soft power, real results
A senior leader isn’t the loudest voice in the room - they’re the voice everyone actually listens to. When it matters. After the meeting. Back at their desks.
At this level, influence isn’t hierarchical or mandated. In fact, it’s often so subtle you question whether they did anything at all. But that’s the art of it: they crafted the conditions for the conversation weeks ago. They were inside people’s heads, quietly seeding the ideas that would later bloom into “flashes of insight” on the call.
Nothing is more satisfying than someone verbatim quoting you, weeks later, thinking it was their idea.
I often joke that one of the first lessons I learned as a new team lead is that you have no real power. Sure, there’s some vague neo-capitalist notion that if you annoy me enough, HR might someday threaten your livelihood. But in practice? Most modern managers live and die by the relationships they build.
If you have a friendly relationship - common with juniors - then there’s a mutual quid-pro-quo. If you ask, they want to please.
With more professional relationships - common with seniors or those from hierarchy-based cultures - they might not want or need the details, but they will trust that if you’re asking, it’s for a good reason.
Invariably, asking something of a team only works if the team believes it’s best for them.
But the real secret to having someone motivated and ready to execute? Let them believe it was their idea. Sometimes that means a gentle nudge. Sometimes it means planting a seed and waiting for it to bear fruit.
When the team is aligned, moving in the same direction and thinks it was their idea? Now we’re talking senior.
Graduating from captain to coach
Early leadership is about directing the play. You call the shots. You steer the sprint. You say, “We’re going this way,” and - right or wrong - you own the outcome.
Senior leadership is about stepping back and creating space for others to shine.
Sure, I could run this architecture session. But why would I? Early on, I’d run the meeting as a Q&A, nudging junior engineers to voice their ideas. Today? I take that same junior engineer, pair them with an up-and-comer, and let the up-and-comer run the session. My role becomes meta: real-time feedback to the future leader as they perfect their own coaching.
New leaders believe everyone’s coming to them for answers.
Humble ones realize they don’t have all the answers - but stay decisive anyway. You will never have perfect information, but you can maintain momentum. Nobody is going to judge you for making the best decision with the information available - so long as you admit mistakes and pivot quickly when new information comes in.
Senior leaders certainly have more answers - but they’ve also learned to distinguish between safe, teachable moments and risks to the project. They know which small fires can burn and when to risk a controlled failure happen, if the learning is worth team development.
The finish line that moves
Here’s the part where I’m supposed to give you a checklist. Wrap it all up with a neat little call to action. Something like “mentor more, speak up, lean in.”
But we both know that’s crap.
There’s no checklist. No workshop. No clean handoff between “team lead” and “senior.”
What there is… is a pattern.
People start quoting you in rooms you’re not in. Someone quietly pings you for a second opinion. Mentees come back to you when they’re stuck mentoring someone else. Your calendar gets weirder, but your impact gets wider. You stop being the one who runs the show and start being the one people just assume was involved - probably because it actually makes sense.
And if you’re still asking how to get there, you almost are. Because the ones who aren’t growing? They’re not even asking.
So here’s the real advice:
Stop waiting for leadership to anoint you.
Stop gaming the calendar for high-visibility projects.
Stop hoping someone will notice that you’ve been “really stepping up lately.”
Just keep doing the work.
Keep noticing. Keep nudging. Keep buying the damn coffee.
Eventually someone will ask how you became so wise.
“I just tried to be the kind of mentor I wish I’d had.”
And honestly? That’s what got me here.
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