Leadership looks different when your heart is breaking behind closed doors.
There’s a certain kind of strength no title can prepare you for, the kind that shows up when you’re balancing spreadsheets with heartbreak, or board meetings with sleepless nights. It’s the version of leadership that doesn’t make the highlight reels, but it’s the most real of them all.
Lately, life has felt heavy. Between leading an organization, holding down a household, and walking through one of the hardest seasons with my family, I’ve found myself stretched thin emotionally, mentally, spiritually. I haven’t always been my best for my job or my children. As a perfectionist, that truth cuts deep. I’ve gone to bed exhausted, doom scrolling just to quiet my thoughts. Dinners went uncooked. My smile sometimes felt forced. The pressure sat on my chest like an elephant… constant, suffocating, unrelenting.
And yet, I showed up.
Because I had to. Because God didn’t give me this life to quit when it got hard.
I am the soul provider for my family, the only one holding the pieces together. If I don’t show up professionally, my family suffers. If I don’t show up at work, the organization that trusts me falters. My life doesn’t allow for pause but my faith allows for grace.
The Balance Between Chaos and Composure
The shift from home chaos to professional composure is not easy. Some mornings I take a deep breath in the car before walking into a meeting, whispering, “Lord, help me focus.”
After thirteen years in the same organization, I’ve built genuine relationships… the kind where people can take one look at me and know I’m not okay. I try to leave home at home, but when the heavy stuff hits, the life-changing kind, it’s impossible to fully separate the two.
Some see me as the steady hand. Others, the strong leader. But a few, the ones who really know me, simply see me.
When Leadership Meets Vulnerability
There are days when someone walks into my office, looks me in the eyes, and quietly asks, “Do you need a hug?”
That’s when I break.
Because in leadership, you’re expected to be composed, controlled, professional — all the time. But there’s something profoundly healing about human compassion. Vulnerability and leadership aren’t opposites; they’re partners. Vulnerability gives others permission to be human too. When people see a leader cry, hurt, or question, they don’t lose respect they gain connection.
The world might glorify stoicism… the “Royal Family” kind of strength that hides emotion behind perfect posture but I’ve learned that connection grows in honesty, not perfection.
The Relief and the Risk
When I let my guard down, sometimes I feel relief like I can finally breathe. It feels good to be understood, to be cared for as a person, not just a leader. But then, the guilt creeps in. The second-guessing starts. Leadership comes with invisible rules: how to speak, how to dress, how to behave. Break one, and the judgment comes fast.
You have to be careful who you open up to. Not everyone has your best interests at heart. Some just want to know your pain so they can use it as ammunition later. Evil exists in subtle forms, which is why discernment is vital. I’ve learned to guard my peace more fiercely than ever not from fear, but from wisdom.
Seeing the Grey
This season has taught me that leadership, and life, are full of grey. It’s easy to judge from a distance, to label people as “bad” without knowing their full story. But nothing is ever that simple. There’s always context, pain, history… the things people don’t see.
So I still lead by example. I still care deeply for my team. I still check in.
But my boundaries are stronger, my discernment sharper, and my empathy deeper.
To the Leader Who’s Hurting Right Now
Close your eyes and breathe.
You are only one person. You can only do so much. Those who truly believe in you will give you grace as you figure it out. Those who see you as human both leading and hurting will offer mercy.
You are not a robot.
You are allowed to feel. You are allowed to break. You are allowed to scream.
Just know who you can do it with. Not everyone is your “friend.”
Keep your head on a swivel and remember: you deserve the moments you need. Your “break,” your silence, your stillness… none of it makes you less of a leader. It makes you real.
What This Journey Has Taught Me
I’ve learned that no matter how much I want to be in control, I’m not. God is.
And letting Him truly see me; broken, scared, uncertain is where I find peace.
The unknown used to terrify me, but faith has reminded me that preparation can’t always protect you from life’s curveballs. Sometimes, you just have to trust.
I’ve learned to pause, to breathe, to remember that the small frustrations don’t matter in the grand scheme.
At the end of the day it’s God, family, and love that matter most. You can’t take anything else with you anyway.
A Gentle Reminder
To anyone reading this who feels the pressure to keep it all together you’re not alone.
Be kind to yourself. Offer grace to others.
You never know what someone else is carrying, and you never know when your compassion might be the thing that helps them keep going.