Being a Unicorn Shouldn’t Mean Working Alone
There’s a certain kind of compliment that doesn’t always feel like a compliment.
“You’re a unicorn.”
“You’re amazing — you just get things done.”
“We’d be lost without you.”
I’ve heard them all. And I used to take pride in them — after all, who doesn’t want to be the one who can juggle project plans, technical diagrams, and human chaos, all while keeping a smile on?
But here’s the part no one says out loud:
Being a unicorn often means being the only one holding everything together.
Not just the glue — the architect, the interpreter, the janitor, the safety net, and the decision-maker. You’re not filling one role. You’re filling the vacuum left by five.
The quiet cost of Competence
In my latest project, I’m coordinating the build of a complex fintech product. I’m not the developer. I’m not the technical architect. I’m not the designer.
But I’m the one:
Mapping user flows that no one else will touch
Chasing backend integration details across three vendors
Filling in API assumptions just to keep momentum going
Trying to make sure users will actually understand the thing we’re building
Not because it’s my job.
But because if I don’t, nothing moves.
What People Don’t See
They don’t see the post-call headaches.
They don’t see the hours spent reverse-engineering requirements that should have come clear.
They don’t see the internal argument: “This isn’t my job, but it’s going to fall apart if I don’t step in.”
That’s the part that grinds you down.
The part where competence becomes expectation.
Where being the unicorn starts to feel a lot like being alone.
So What Now?
Here’s what I’m learning:
Being indispensable doesn’t mean doing everything.
It means knowing what matters, pushing others to step up, and refusing to absorb the silence.
Every “unicorn” needs a team.
If you’re building products, tech flows, or anything that touches users — build support or document the absence of it. Don't carry it quietly.
Say it clearly: “This is not my role, but here’s what I’ve done to keep things moving.”
Name the gap. Let the accountability sit where it belongs.
And above all: unicorns deserve boundaries.
You’re not failing when you push back. You’re leading.
I’m still that unicorn. I’ll still bridge gaps and keep momentum when others stall.
But I’m no longer carrying the weight without naming it.
And if you’re reading this, tired from holding things together too long — I see you.
You’re not alone.