Lately, I’ve been feeling tired. Not the kind of tired that sleep fixes, but the kind that settles into your bones when you’re working on something bigger than yourself. It’s the kind of tired that comes from caring deeply, dreaming boldly, and holding space for others while trying to hold space for yourself.

And still, I wouldn’t trade it.

We’re building something that matters. Something that’s changing lives. And yet, even in the midst of that purpose, I’ve found myself sitting quietly with shame.

Shame that whispers I should be doing more, being more, handling everything better. Shame that tells me I shouldn’t feel overwhelmed, because I created this. Shame that creeps in when I catch myself snapping, assuming, or miscommunicating – especially with a team I deeply admire.

But I’m learning to meet that shame with empathy. To breathe through it. To ask myself not “Why can’t you do more?” but “What do you need right now?”

I’m trying to be gentler with myself. To listen to the voice inside me that says, “You’re doing your best. And that’s enough.”

I want to say it gets easier. It doesn’t. The goals just get bigger. And the challenges that come with fighting for them grow too. The next goals? Huge. But I believe in them. I believe in this mission. And most of all, I believe in this team. We’ve got this!

Leadership has a way of magnifying our inner critics. But it also offers an invitation to be the kind of leader who leads with compassion, not perfection. Who recognizes that desirable difficulty is part of growth, that clarity of values doesn’t mean clarity of answers and that we are all figuring it out as we go.

Sometimes, I catch myself expecting too much from the people around me. They’re passionate, brilliant, and committed, but that doesn’t mean they should have to fight so hard, that’s on me, and I’m so deeply grateful for the way they show up and for the grace they extend when I forget to – you know who you are.

I haven’t been practicing what we preach lately. I still make it to the gym in the mornings, that ritual helps me hold it together, but after work, I crash. I haven’t had the energy to check in on friends, to reply to messages, to show up for the people I love the way I want to – my social battery is just flat. While the guilt tries to creep in, I’m reminding myself: I’m human. And that has to be okay.

With this, I’ve been reflecting a lot on how I speak to myself, in those quiet, in-between moments and I’m realizing that the way I speak internally sets the tone for everything else. I want that voice to be one of love, not judgment. Of truth, not pressure. Of compassion, not critique.

Because if I can’t offer myself grace, how can I offer it to others?

This work, this mission, it’s sacred. Even when it’s messy. Even when I’m knee-deep in emails and strategy and spreadsheets. The sacred is camouflaged in the profane. And every so often, it reveals itself in a moment of stillness. A deep exhale. A kind message from someone we’ve helped. A hug from someone who needed it.

I don’t have all the answers. But I do know this: the more I lead with empathy, toward others and myself, the more sustainable this journey becomes.

That’s the kind of leader I want to be.

With love,

Leya