What Authentic Leadership Really Looks Like When You’re Still Figuring It Out

It was our usual weekday morning. Rushed but never without a quick kiss and an “I love you.” As he walked away to start his day, I sat at my desk in my home office with all of the hope in my heart and a little defeat in my eyes.

He must have seen a glimpse of that girl. The one who I keep showing up on stages for. The one who asks me to ask you to believe in yourself even when she’s struggling to fully do the same. The one who hides it well behind the smoky eye and stage lights. The one he knows well.

He paused. One foot on the entryway tile and one on the office carpet.

“You know… anytime you’re feeling defeated you should turn around.”

I’ve never been very good with compliments in “off stage” life, so I just nodded and whispered “thank you” under my breath.

But his words stayed with me long after he walked away.

Turn around.

I think I have spent a lot of my life looking ahead.

What’s next? What am I building? What am I supposed to be doing? Is it working? Am I getting there? How do I get to the next stage, the next opportunity, the next version of myself?

It is easy to get so focused on where you are going that you forget to notice where you have already been.

And maybe that is one of the hardest parts of being a leader.

People see the version of you that shows up.

They see the woman who walks into the room with confidence. They see the person making the decisions, carrying the vision, encouraging everyone else to believe that they can do hard things. They see the stage lights and the microphone and the polished version of you that knows what she is supposed to say.

What they don't always see is the woman sitting at her desk on a Tuesday morning wondering if she is actually doing any of it right.

I think we have somehow convinced ourselves that leadership means we have to become the person who has it all figured out.

I know I have felt that pressure.

There is something about being the person others look to that can make you feel like you have to always have an answer. You can't have a bad day because other people are watching. You can't admit you're unsure because someone might decide you aren't as capable as they thought you were.

So we learn how to hold it together.

We learn how to smile when we're tired. We learn how to walk into the room carrying whatever is heavy on our shoulders and set it down long enough to do the job.

And sometimes we get so good at it that people forget there is a human being underneath all of that.

The truth is, I'm still figuring it out.

I think most of us are.

The woman standing on the stage telling you to believe in yourself is still learning how to believe in herself on the days when the dream feels too big. The woman talking about finding her voice still has moments when she questions what she has to say. The woman encouraging other women to take up space still has days when she wonders if she belongs in the room.

And I don't think that makes me a less effective leader.

I think it makes me human.

Maybe that's the part we need more of.

Not leaders who pretend they aren't afraid. Not leaders who have somehow conquered every insecurity or figured out the perfect way to navigate life.

Just leaders who are willing to let people see that they are human, too.

There is a difference between vulnerability and falling apart in front of everyone. I'm not suggesting we turn every struggle into a public conversation. There are things that belong to us and things that belong to the people we love.

But I do think there is something powerful about being able to say, “This is hard for me, too.”

Because when we stop trying so hard to appear unshakable, something changes.

People don't necessarily lose respect for us.

Sometimes they trust us more.

They see themselves in us.

And isn't that what we really want?

Not for people to look at us and think, “She has everything figured out.”

But to look at us and think, “If she can keep going while she's figuring it out, maybe I can, too.”

Maybe leadership isn't about standing at the front of the room because you have arrived.

Maybe sometimes it's about standing there because you have been down the road long enough to turn around and say, “I've been here. I know it feels impossible. Keep going.”

And that's where his words come back to me.

Turn around.

Because when I look forward, all I can see are the things I haven't done yet.

But when I turn around, I see a life I sometimes forget to give myself credit for.

I see the businesses I built. The stages I stood on. The people I have loved. The women I have encouraged. The hard seasons I walked through when I didn't know how I was going to get to the other side.

I see the girl who started all of this without knowing where it would lead.

And maybe she didn't have it figured out either.

Maybe none of us ever really do.

Maybe we're just getting better at becoming comfortable with the uncertainty.

So if you're sitting at your desk today feeling a little defeated, I hope you do what he told me to do.

Turn around.

Not to live in the past.

Not to convince yourself that everything is perfect.

Just long enough to remember who you are.

Because sometimes the person you need to believe in isn't the woman you're still trying to become.

It's the woman who has already brought you this far.