At a company retreat early in my engineering career, a personality test exercise left me standing alone—literally and metaphorically—highlighting how easily tools meant for ‘team-building’ can reinforce exclusion. What I learned from that moment shaped my entire approach to inclusion, leadership, and the true meaning of self-awareness.
When I worked for Texas Instruments, fresh out of grad school, I was full of optimism and ambition. It was 2008, and the DLP business group was planning an overnight offsite retreat for all employees. Picture a group of engineers bused out to a wooded area with rows of tiny cabins. Sounds like summer camp, right? Only this time, it was supposedly for “team-building.”
I’d only been with the group for a few months and didn’t know many people yet. I was nervous. What were the rules for something like this? It felt less like business and more like a social experiment. And it turns out—it kind of was.
The Personality Test Setup
Before the retreat, we were asked to take the ever-popular Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI), a personality test with four dichotomies that generate a four-letter type:
| Dichotomy | Options | What It Describes |
|---|---|---|
| Energy Source | Extraversion vs. Introversion | Where you get your energy—from people or solitude |
| Information | Sensing vs. Intuition | How you take in information—facts or patterns |
| Decisions | Thinking vs. Feeling | How you make decisions—logic or values |
| Structure | Judging vs. Perceiving | How you engage with the world—planned or flexible |
We arrived at the retreat and were handed folders with our MBTI results—those horoscope-like narratives that claim to tell us how we think, feel, and operate. The atmosphere was oddly quiet, punctuated by hushed commentary and nervous glances. I already knew I was different from most of my peers—after all, I was one of the only women in the group—but something about that day hit different.
The Big Reveal (and Even Bigger Isolation)
The facilitators had created a massive personality mural, with labeled sections for each of the 16 MBTI types. At first, these areas were hidden behind paper. Eventually, with a dramatic flourish, the covers were lifted to reveal everyone’s names beneath their type.
Most of the engineers were clustered on one end, especially around ISTJ—statistically the most common type among engineers. As the types continued along the wall, the crowd thinned. And there I was, all alone at the far end under ENFP.
Just me. My name. No one else.
That display was burned into my brain.
So there I stood—a new engineer, one of the few women, brought in by a Women in Engineering program designed to recruit more diversity—and the system I’d worked hard to join quite literally posted proof that I didn’t belong.
They didn’t debrief it. They didn’t explain what it meant. They just took off the paper and let the room absorb the visual. It was a gut punch.
Looking for Meaning in the Margins
After the session, I approached the facilitators. I pointed to the lonely “ENFP” square on the wall and said, “That’s me. I’m the one that’s different.” I was looking for acknowledgment—maybe some reassurance or at least a thoughtful response.
Instead, they laughed and said, “Being an ENFP is a good thing!” with no further explanation.
It didn’t feel like a good thing.
Back at work, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I studied my results, talked to colleagues, and tried to explore how being an ENFP could be valuable in an engineering environment. But most of my peers shrugged it off—they were already part of the majority. I was left to carry the emotional labor of figuring out why I felt so alone.
Eventually, I asked for a meeting with the HR leader for our business group. I expressed my discomfort and confusion. I don’t remember his name, but I do remember two things:
He paused for what felt like five minutes before responding.
He finally said, “Many great leaders are ENFPs.”
That moment shifted something in me.
Reframing the Narrative
I started to view my difference as a potential strength. I told myself I could be a great leader too—Barack Obama, Sheryl Sandberg, and Richard Branson are all rumored ENFPs, after all. Only 7–8% of the population shares this personality type, so maybe that uniqueness was a superpower.
But a few months later, I was laid off—on what became known as “Bloody Tuesday.”
So much for that.
What I’ve Learned Since Then
After leaving TI, I pursued my PhD and trained to become a professional facilitator, focusing on building inclusive environments in STEM. Looking back, I can see so clearly what went wrong at that retreat—and how it could have been a powerful experience instead of a harmful one. Here are three takeaways:
1. Don’t Turn Personality Tests into Public Murals
Human-sized distribution charts are a terrible idea, especially in fields like engineering where marginalized groups are already underrepresented. Without thoughtful interpretation, these visuals reinforce exclusion rather than build connection.
2. Debrief the Intervention
If you use a tool like MBTI, you must debrief it. Help people understand what the results mean (and what they don’t). Emphasize that personality types are tools for insight—not tombstones or cages. Without guidance, people are left to make meaning on their own—and that meaning isn’t always helpful.
3. Celebrate Difference as a Strength
Diversity of thought, personality, background, and identity should be celebrated. A truly inclusive team-building retreat would use personality data to help teams understand each other better, not separate them into labeled boxes. What if that retreat had focused on dismantling power structures, fostering empathy, and teaching us how to work together?
Self-Awareness Is More Than a Mirror
Self-awareness isn’t just introspection—it’s situational. It’s not only about understanding your wiring, but about reading the room, noticing who’s not at the table, and understanding the conditions around you.
Learning to drive offers a perfect analogy:
Phase 1: You master the mechanics—steering, braking, signaling.
Phase 2: You learn the environment—other drivers, road conditions, unexpected detours.
The same goes for self-awareness. Knowing yourself is important, but unless you can navigate the context you’re in—and how others experience it—it’s incomplete.
That’s exactly what I explore in my book, Magic Mirror. It’s a modern fable about seeing yourself, others, and the world with more clarity. Not through labels, but through practice. The companion workbook helps you reflect, grow, and connect the dots between insight and action.
Because at the end of the day, the MBTI isn’t the villain. The problem was how it was used—without context, compassion, or curiosity. When we turn tools into identity traps, we miss the point.
The goal isn’t to fit in.
It’s to belong—and to help others do the same.
What About You?
Have you ever felt boxed in by a label?
Maybe you’ve been the only one like you in the room. Maybe a “team-building” activity left you feeling more isolated than included. I’d love to hear your story—drop a comment or send me a message. Let’s rethink how we build belonging, together.
Read Magic Mirror
If you’re ready to go deeper into the work of self-awareness, my modern fable Magic Mirror is a great place to start.
It’s not about putting yourself in a box—it’s about understanding how to navigate the world with clarity and compassion.
👉 Explore Magic Mirror and the companion workbook.
Let’s work together
And if you’re an organization ready to do this work at scale—to create spaces where people feel seen, valued, and included—I’d love to help. Schedule a no-cost and no-pressure consultation today.
