Sometimes Leadership Feels Small

Sometimes Leadership Looks Small

Yesterday, I found myself staring at something most people would probably walk right past without noticing.

A tiny elm tree.

Not growing in rich soil.
Not planted intentionally.
Not protected inside some carefully maintained garden bed.

It was growing out of a forgotten, upside-down flower pot sitting in the corner of my yard.

And somehow, the image has stayed with me ever since.

Especially the third picture.

Duke sitting nearby.
The little tree stretching upward.
The soft evening light.
The contrast between strength and fragility existing together in the same moment.

The entire scene felt strangely familiar.

Because sometimes leadership looks exactly like that.

Small from the outside.

But carrying extraordinary determination underneath the surface.

I think one of the greatest misconceptions about leadership is that it always looks powerful.

People imagine confidence.
Certainty.
Control.
Clear answers.
Strong personalities.

But real leadership often looks much quieter than that.

Sometimes leadership looks like showing up exhausted and choosing kindness anyway.

Sometimes leadership looks like absorbing pressure without transferring it to everyone around you.

Sometimes leadership looks like continuing to encourage others while privately wondering if you have enough strength left yourself.

And sometimes leadership simply looks like continuing to grow in conditions that were never designed to help you thrive.

That little tree should not have been alive.

The pot was upside down.
The opening was tiny.
The sunlight was limited.
The conditions were all wrong.

And yet somehow it adapted.

It leaned.
Reached.
Adjusted.
Persisted.

Not because the environment was ideal.

Because life still wanted to grow.

I think many leaders live there emotionally for long periods of time.

Trying to keep growing while feeling:
restricted,
overextended,
emotionally tired,
under pressure,
or unseen.

Especially in healthcare.

In home health and hospice care, leadership is rarely glamorous.

Some days leadership looks like difficult financial conversations.
Some days it looks like helping a frightened family understand what comes next.
Some days it looks like carrying the emotional exhaustion of your team while trying not to collapse under the weight of your own responsibilities.

And yet people still need you to remain steady.

That steadiness matters more than most leaders realize.

Because people borrow emotional stability from one another.

Families do it.
Teams do it.
Organizations do it.

One calm person can change the emotional direction of an entire room.

That is why leadership is not really about control.

It is about emotional stewardship.

It is about protecting hope when people are struggling to hold onto their own.

That little tree also reminded me that growth is often invisible for a long time.

Nobody notices roots developing underground.

Nobody applauds persistence happening quietly.

Most growth happens long before visible results appear.

And honestly, I think many people underestimate themselves during those hidden seasons.

They think:
“I’m stuck.”
“I’m failing.”
“I’m behind.”
“Nothing is changing.”

Meanwhile, roots are forming.

Strength is developing.

Character is deepening.

Perspective is growing.

Sometimes the hardest seasons of leadership are actually root-building seasons.

Not punishment seasons.

Preparation seasons.

The older I get, the more I realize that resilience is usually built privately before it is ever displayed publicly.

And maybe that is why the image of Duke beside that tiny tree affected me so deeply.

The scene was quiet.
Unimpressive by most standards.
Easy to overlook.

But underneath it was a profound truth:

Living things still reach for light.

Even after difficult seasons.
Even inside limitations.
Even while bent by pressure.
Even when conditions are imperfect.

They still reach.

Maybe leadership is not about never struggling.

Maybe leadership is simply refusing to stop growing.

Refusing to stop reaching toward what is good.
Toward hope.
Toward compassion.
Toward steadiness.
Toward light.

Not only for yourself.

But so others remember where the light is too.

And perhaps that is enough.

Perhaps that is more than enough.