Leading While Grieving

Leadership

September 20, 2021

The year, 2013. Just two months after awakening to discover my mom’s lifeless body next to me and my brother, I stood before a class of academically hungry doctoral students. My role, Associate Professor. Each breath I took seemed insurmountable and forced in that moment. The problem? I was leading while grieving.

Before I share more about that day, let me offer a few bits of information about myself.

I’m an Enneagram 3.5, LOL. Yes, I know this isn’t a real number, but for the life of me, I can’t decipher whether I’m a 3w4 or 4w3. (P.S. If you have absolutely NO IDEA what I’m referring to, you can learn more about the personality framework and discover your type here: https://www.truity.com/test/enneagram-personality-test).

In a nutshell, I know myself to be naturally competitive, creative, achievement-oriented, driven, and sensitive.

Taken together, each of these traits has positioned me to lead. Beginning in elementary school, I spearheaded a campaign to raise money for the homeless. By the time I reached high school, I’d involved myself in over 7 sports activities, along with Band, cheer, and National Honor Society. My years at Baylor University, followed by time at two other higher learning institutions, yielded similar results.

To this day, I continue to serve in leadership roles. Leading is just how I’m wired, and I take the task seriously.

The problem, however, is what I’ve associated with leadership over the years.

See I equated leadership with perfection (like there is even such a thing!), emotional reservation, and calculated strategy towards success. This perfect trifecta would certainly point me towards higher heights in every area of my life, right?

I never considered what leading while grieving would look like … until I didn’t have any other choice.

Standing in front of that class in the Spring 2013 cracked me open to the reality that leadership wasn’t at all what I thought it was.

As I stood before my students, I felt emotionally and physically broken. My mom, who’d always served as a guide, spiritual warrior, and confidante, would no longer answer my phone calls in the middle of the night. She wouldn’t be there to talk through my fears or encourage my heart when it was worn. While my feet stood firmly planted on the ground, my mind drifted elsewhere.

On that day, as well as many days beyond that, I struggled to lead in ways I deemed leadership worthy. For instance, I found it nearly impossible to teach about death and dying within a health context. Any semblance of perfection I thought I had prior to my mom’s death quickly disappeared, leaving behind work that was just ‘good enough.’ And mentally, concentration failed me, replaced by grief-induced brain fog and challenges completing tasks I’d easily mastered in times past.

Grief had officially offered a TKO, and all I could do in that season was lay there and take the beating.

Interestingly, I learned that much can be discovered after being on the receiving end of grief’s one-two punch. (Let me clarify here that I don’t believe death solely exists to teach us lessons. However, on the heels of loss, there are many discoveries to be made).

My mindset began to shift, and I came to the realization that leading while grieving requires awareness of three fundamental truths.

First, perfection is a myth. We’ve all heard this, and some of us have even said it. But do we really believe it? Grief is inherently messy, disjointed, and imperfect. In addition, it tends to dismantle most things in its path, so trying to work contrary to its force is basically fruitless. One of the consequences I experienced in my attempt to ‘keep myself together’ (as recommended by some, unfortunately) was physical distress. Not only did grief disrupt my sleep patterns, a natural occurrence given the circumstances surrounding my mom’s death, but it also spiked the release of a stress hormone in my body. The result, inflammation, achy joints, and intermittent pain. Bottom line … the pursuit of perfection as you grieve can, on a good day, exacerbate stress associated with grief. On a not-so-good day, it can lead to emotional and physical dis-ease and increase risk for life-threatening illness.
Second, one of the best ways for others to appreciate your grief needs is to express your emotions. I’ll be honest here. This didn’t (and doesn’t) come naturally to me in situations where I’m called to lead. I never knew there was room for me to integrate who I was as a person with my professional persona. As a matter of fact, I’d worked quite hard to compartmentalize the emotional parts of myself, fearing that I might not be taken seriously as a Black career woman. Nevertheless, grief’s landscape is deep and wide, erupting much of the same emotionally. Authentic leadership requires just that — authenticity. And learning to seamlessly combine and communicate about the broken pieces of life’s mosaic after experiencing loss can help you forge connection and community.
Third, strategy … smategy — you can’t outsmart grief. And I’m pretty smart, if I must say so. I’m also a pretty fast runner. Yet even my best Brooks running shoes can’t outrun grief’s unpredictable pace. Books can’t save me. Three degrees, licensures, and multiple certifications and accolades don’t increase my immunity to the grief process. No amount of intellectualizing will take away the heartache that lingers on a daily basis. Essentially, learning to co-exist alongside grief is critical. One of my students also shared how my being ‘real’ after my mom died enabled her to more openly cope with the death of her father. This was a profound moment of leadership that I’ll never forget!

These days, as I train members of organizations, work with individual clients, and deliver presentations, I often lead with my story. I accept the personality foibles that come along with grief. Of course, I work hard and do my absolute best to cross all my Ts and dot my Is in life. At the same time, however, I rest often and take breaks throughout the day to pray, meditate, and simply check in with myself.