Growing Out of the Broken Pot

Growing Out of the Broken Pot

Tuesday had been one of those leadership days.

The kind that leaves you emotionally tired long before the workday is actually over.

The kind of day where decisions feel heavy because they affect people you genuinely care about.
Where problems arrive faster than solutions.
Where everyone seems to need something from you at the same time.
Where leadership feels less like a title and more like carrying emotional weight for an entire organization.

By the time I got home, I needed air.
I needed dirt under my fingernails.
I needed something alive and uncomplicated.

So Duke and I went into the backyard to work in the garden.

I planted tomato plants.
Checked the irrigation.
Watered flowers.
Took in the smell of freshly cut grass and warm summer air.

There is something grounding about gardens.

They remind you that growth is slow.
That roots matter.
That living things require consistency, patience, nourishment, and time.

As I walked through the yard, I noticed an old upside-down flower pot sitting forgotten in a quiet corner of the garden.

It had probably been there for years.

Discarded.
Unused.
Overlooked.

And growing out of one of the tiny drainage holes in the bottom of the pot was a small elm tree.

I stopped and stared at it.

The hole was nearly three feet off the ground.
The tree had somehow found enough dirt, enough moisture, and enough determination to survive inside that overturned pot.

But what struck me most was the way the little tree had grown.

It had stretched itself toward the only source of sunlight available to it.
Bent toward the light.
Reached with everything it had.
Twisted and adapted simply to survive.

And standing there in my backyard, I suddenly thought:

That is leadership.

At least real leadership.

Because leadership rarely happens under perfect conditions.

Most leaders are not growing in wide open fields with unlimited sunlight, unlimited resources, unlimited energy, unlimited support, and unlimited emotional reserves.

Most leaders are trying to grow while carrying pressure nobody else fully sees.

Trying to lead through:
financial strain,
staffing shortages,
organizational growth,
family responsibilities,
health challenges,
unexpected crises,
disappointment,
grief,
fear,
and exhaustion.

And yet every morning, they stretch themselves back toward the light anyway.

Not because it is easy.

Because people depend on them.

I think sometimes people misunderstand resilience.

They imagine resilience looks strong and polished and fearless.

But often resilience looks more like a tiny tree growing out of a broken pot nobody even notices.

Quiet.
Persistent.
Adaptable.

Still reaching.

Leadership often feels exactly like that.

You bend without breaking.
You adapt without quitting.
You continue searching for light even when circumstances are far from ideal.

And over time, something extraordinary happens.

The struggle itself creates strength.

Trees that grow against resistance develop deeper roots.
People do too.

Some of the strongest, wisest, most compassionate leaders I know were not developed during easy seasons of life.

They were developed while navigating hardship.

Not despite hardship.
Because of it.

I think that is especially true in healthcare leadership.

In home health and hospice care, there are days when the emotional weight feels enormous.

You carry the realities of:
dying patients,
overwhelmed caregivers,
frightened families,
exhausted clinicians,
financial pressure,
staffing challenges,
regulatory demands,
and the constant awareness that what you do profoundly affects human lives.

There are moments where it would be easier emotionally to stop reaching.

To become cynical.
Detached.
Transactional.

But the best leaders keep stretching toward the light anyway.

They keep choosing compassion.
Consistency.
Calm.
Hope.
Accountability.
Humanity.

Not because leadership is glamorous.

But because vulnerable people deserve steady hands.

That little elm tree also reminded me of something else:

Growth does not require perfect conditions.

Sometimes growth happens in forgotten places.

Sometimes strength develops in isolation.

Sometimes life emerges through the smallest available opening.

And sometimes the very thing trying to contain you becomes the thing that teaches you how strong you actually are.

I think many people feel like that upside-down pot right now.

Trapped by circumstances.
Limited by pressure.
Exhausted by life.

But maybe growth is still happening even there.

Maybe the reaching itself matters.

Maybe resilience is not about avoiding hardship at all.

Maybe resilience is the decision to continue growing despite it.

Duke eventually wandered over beside the little tree, curiously sniffing it like he understood the significance of the moment too.

And honestly, standing there in the garden beside my dog and a tiny tree growing out of impossible circumstances, I felt something shift in me.

Perspective returned.

The problems were still real.
The pressures were still waiting for me.
Leadership was still heavy.

But so was the reminder:

Even in difficult environments, living things still reach for light.

And maybe that is what leadership really is.

Not perfection.
Not control.
Not always having answers.

Just continuing to reach toward the light strongly enough that others remember where the light is too.