My biggest strength is knowing my weaknesses. And my biggest

Mark Schlereth’s words, “My biggest strength is knowing my weaknesses. And my biggest weakness used to be time off,” reflect a wisdom forged in the crucible of struggle, discipline, and humility. He reminds us that true power does not come from denying our flaws, but from recognizing them, naming them, and using them as stepping stones toward mastery. To know one’s weaknesses is to be free from the illusion of perfection; it is to fight with open eyes, aware of where the armor is thin and where vigilance must be greatest.

The origin of this insight comes from Schlereth’s career as a professional football player in the NFL, where survival itself demanded self-awareness. Countless athletes possessed talent, but only those who could recognize their limitations and adapt endured through the brutal seasons of pain, injury, and pressure. For Schlereth, even something as simple as “time off” became a battle. Rest felt like a weakness, for warriors are trained to fight, not to pause. Yet over time, he learned that strength does not mean endless exertion, but balance—knowing when to push and when to heal.

History offers us striking parallels. Consider Julius Caesar, who, despite being one of Rome’s greatest generals, knew his own weaknesses well. He recognized his susceptibility to epilepsy, his political enemies, and even the dangers of overextending his armies. By understanding these vulnerabilities, he was able to maneuver with caution where others might have blundered, and to transform what seemed disadvantageous into a strategy of resilience. His greatness was not in being flawless, but in knowing where he was flawed and guarding against it.

We may also recall the wisdom of Socrates, who declared that the beginning of wisdom is to know that one does not know. This is the same spirit that Schlereth invokes. To know one’s weaknesses is to shatter the pride that blinds men and to open the door to growth. Those who deny their weaknesses stumble blindly into ruin, while those who confront them can transform them into strengths. For Schlereth, recognizing his need for rest transformed what once held him back into a source of greater endurance and longevity.

This teaching speaks to the nature of strength itself. Strength is not the absence of weakness, but the mastery of it. A strong man is not one who never tires, but one who knows when he is tired and acts wisely. A strong leader is not one without fault, but one who acknowledges his faults and surrounds himself with those who can cover them. To know one’s limits is not cowardice; it is courage of the highest order.

For those who listen today, the lesson is plain: do not flee from your weaknesses, nor deny them. Study them, name them, and learn how to work with them. Ask yourself: where do I falter? What do I avoid? What blinds me or distracts me? In that knowledge lies your path to wisdom. And know, too, that some weaknesses, like Schlereth’s need for rest, may in time become the very tools of your strength.

The practical action is this: conduct an honest reflection of your life. Write down your strengths, but also your weaknesses, and see them not as shameful scars but as guides. Where you are weak, prepare. Where you are blind, seek counsel. Where you fall, build discipline. In this way, your greatest strength will not be what you boast of, but your willingness to see yourself truly and to grow.

Thus let Schlereth’s wisdom endure: that the warrior who knows his weaknesses will endure longer than the one who denies them, and the man who accepts his limits may, in time, surpass them. To know yourself is to master yourself, and to master yourself is to walk in true and lasting strength.