The Transformational Power of Leading in Grief

Four years ago, I quit. I was done. I walked into my boss’s office and said, “I don’t need two weeks, I can be out of here in five days.” Actually, I didn’t just quit my job; I walked away from a career of nearly 20 years in coaching. At that stage in my life I sensed that there was something else for me, something deeper that I needed to discover, and staying near the known was restricting me from exploring the pull I felt from within.

Up until that point, my life had revolved around athletics, but a significant change was coming. By simply saying “not this,” I took ownership of the trajectory of my life. I closed a door on one chapter and stepped into the vast and dark unknown. It was one-part scary, one-part brave, and 100% the right thing to do. It was my choice and, while the path forward wasn’t clear, I felt empowered to step toward whatever was next.

For me, that moment felt a lot like the story of Hernán Cortés. While the details are debated, the legend says that when he landed on the shores of Mexico in 1519, he told his Spanish soldiers to burn their ships. They were either going to conquer Mexico or die trying, but there was no going back to Spain. By burning the ships, he removed the option of retreating. My decision to make a major life change felt like I was burning my ships, and I’ll admit it felt heroic. As I walked to my car that day I half expected to glance over my shoulder and see my office going up in flames. I did not know what was next for me, but I knew the only way forward was to burn the ships.

The Spanish soldiers may have felt energized by their leader’s desire to win at all costs, but fear about what was ahead and grief over a loss of connection with the only world they had ever known may have also been present. This current moment in our collective history feels oddly similar, except it is far less triumphant and potentially much more unsettling. Palpable fear is in the air right now; businesses are closing, relationships between landlords and tenants are strained, and our health care system has been pushed to a new breaking point. It appears we are stuck in the unknown while simultaneously fearing the next unknown—a fear within a fear.

Much like the soldiers, I too have experienced a season of grief and mourning during this global pandemic. I have lost clients, business relationships that matter to me have come to end, and daily I must face the challenge of transitioning my work, which is very human and fleshy, to an online sterile platform. I feel like I am a soldier sitting on the shore, my head resting in my hands, as I watch the ships burn and sink to the ocean floor. The grief is real.

However, I learned a new term this week: Post Traumatic Growth. Apparently, I was late to the party because the research on this topic is extensive. This ancient concept does not define trauma as good nor does it suggest that people who endure traumatic events won’t suffer, but rather it explains that some people do grow after trauma. I hope I am one of those people.

I know that sometimes growth comes in the form of producing fruit and other times growth means developing a deeper root system. My desire is that this season of unknowns will eventually lead to a strengthening of my own root system, a tapping into that which matters the most to me. My short list would include a reconnection with purpose, restoration of meaningful relationships, and a renewed sense of clarity on the impact I seek to have in the world. While I may desire this growth, I am also keenly aware that this time around I did not choose my uprootedness and this has created a tension-filled experience for me. It feels like I have been suddenly uprooted, and I am longing to be planted again. Surely, I am not the only one who feels this way.

So, in this disorienting season of transition, of loss, of being uncomfortable as we watch our own ships burn to the ground, it will be important that we have leaders who understand the pain that their people may be experiencing. I imagine that Cortés had soldiers who sat stunned on the shore. This moment didn’t feel heroic to them because it was forced upon them, and maybe those we are leading now feel that way too. The moments in my life when I have chosen change for myself have felt empowering, but this pandemic induced change was not my choice.

Right now, we need leaders who will not only allow us to sit on the shore and grieve what we have lost, but leaders who will pull up a chair and grieve with us.

Sometimes leadership requires us to burn the ships and lead our people in a new direction and at other times it requires us to wait with our people as they mourn all that they have lost. The call to love and lead is still present, but it is taking on a new form and it is moving at a slower pace. There is transformational power in leaders who choose to sit on the shore with their people. In doing so we are saying, “I see you, I am with, you matter.” 

It feels like the world is on fire; the global ships are burning. We didn’t choose this, but we can choose to show up with compassion. Choose wisely, as history and our own hearts will remember those who sat with us on the shoreline of grief. 

And while thick smoke may fill the air, the invitation for leaders to show up in the mourning has never been clearer.

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