January 28 marks two years since my husband, Jim, passed away.
Time has marched on. But I will always grieve him. It just looks a little different now. I coexist with grief. I’m not over it.
I share that not for sympathy, but because losing him changed how I understand leadership. Not leadership as a role or a title, but leadership as something that shows up when life interrupts your plans.
Grief is one kind of loss. And ultimately, a kind of a gift. But it is not the only one.
Loss shows up in many forms. A role you expected disappears. A career path changes without your consent. A deal you worked toward falls apart. A mistake becomes public. A relationship you counted on ends. Sometimes the loss is behind you. Sometimes it is unfolding in real time. Sometimes it has not happened yet, but you sense it is coming.
No matter who you are or where you are in your journey, loss is part of life. It doesn’t end or resolve itself. It changes how you move through the world. And that, too, is part of leadership. It has a way of revealing how we carry ourselves when certainty is gone and when the version of the future we assumed we had no longer exists.
For people who are used to being capable, composed, and dependable, these moments can be quietly destabilizing. You may still be showing up. Still delivering. Still being counted on. But something underneath has shifted.
Confidence does not disappear.
It often just fades.
What loss taught me about leadership
One of the most important things I have learned, personally and through my work with senior leaders, is that there is no single right way to move through loss.
We all experience it differently. Process it differently. Recover differently.
What matters is not following a prescribed path but recognizing where you are and allowing yourself to be there. That’s often easier when you have someone who can help you make sense of it — without judgment or pressure.
Over time, I began to notice a pattern that many leaders recognize once it is named. Not a formula or a timeline. Just a way of understanding the terrain.
Phase one: Survival
Survival comes before growth or clarity.
You may still be leading meetings, making decisions, and supporting others. From the outside, you look fine. Inside, you are conserving energy and doing what is necessary to stay upright.
That is not weakness. It is self-preservation.
In leadership, survival often means narrowing your focus — letting go of what truly does not matter and protecting trust and credibility even when certainty feels fragile. Some leaders push through this phase quickly. Others instinctively slow down. Neither approach is wrong. What matters is honoring what you need, not what you think you should need.
Phase two: Existing
At some point, survival gives way.
You are no longer in crisis, but not fully yourself either. You’re doing the work. Meeting expectations. And yet there is a muted quality to how you feel. Your confidence. Your energy. Your sense of momentum.
This is often when leaders start to question themselves. You might hear an inner voice saying, “I should be further along by now.”
But this phase is not about acceleration. It is about stabilization. Rebuilding routines. Testing confidence in smaller ways. Learning who you are now, not who you were before the loss.
Existing is not stagnation. It is a necessary bridge. And how long you stay is deeply personal.
What comes next
I wish I had a crystal ball, as I am only beginning to see where the road leads next. As I am not quite sure. I’m not there yet myself. And I think that matters.
What I know is that true transition does not happen until something has been rebuilt. Until you have redefined what matters to you now. Until you have made sense of how the experience has changed you.
That work deserves time. It deserves reflection. And it deserves honesty.
What I am clear about is: leadership is defined not by the absence of loss, but by how we engage with that loss. Whether we rush past it, get stuck in it, or allow it to shape us with intention.
In a sense, perhaps the dullness sharpens us.
Why this matters at work
The experiences we try hardest to outrun often carry our greatest leadership lessons.
When leaders are willing to learn from life events rather than hide them, they lead with greater authenticity. They build trust through honesty. They model resilience that feels real, not performative.
People are watching how you handle disappointment, failure, and change. Not just your supporters, but your skeptics too. These moments quietly shape culture.
A question to sit with
If you are facing a loss, or sense one on the horizon, you might ask yourself:
Am I surviving?
Am I simply existing?
Or am I beginning to rebuild?
There is no correct answer. Only awareness.
Life truly is your best masterclass. Especially the lessons you never asked for. But can choose to learn from them.
A gentle invitation
Helping leaders navigate moments like these, translating lived experience into clarity, confidence, and renewed impact, is at the heart of my coaching and speaking work.
If this reflection resonates with you, your team, or your organization, I welcome the opportunity to continue the conversation and learn from each other.