The Kind of Leader I Needed (So I Became Her)
How I Learned That Real Leadership Means Advocating for Others While Protecting Yourself
I didn’t become a leader because I wanted a title. I became a leader because life taught me - over and over - that if you don’t learn how to advocate for yourself, you can get lost in systems that move too fast, speak in policies, and forget there’s a human being on the other end of the decision.
I’ve been through many medical instances in my life. The kind that change you. The kind that make you realize that “someone should” doesn’t mean “someone will.” In those moments, you learn quickly what it feels like to be vulnerable - and what it takes to be heard. You learn how to ask better questions. You learn what it means to push when you’re dismissed. You learn to hold steady when you’re scared, tired, and overwhelmed, because the alternative is letting the moment happen to you.
That’s where my voice started.
At first, advocacy was survival. It was necessity. It was me doing what I had to do to protect myself when I didn’t have the energy to fight, yet I had no choice. But somewhere along the way, something shifted. I noticed how many people don’t have that tenacity. Not because they’re weak, but because they’re exhausted. Or afraid. Or they don’t have the experience to know what to ask for. Or they’ve spent their whole lives being trained to “not make a fuss.”
And I realized something about myself: I like helping people. I’m good at it. I care - deeply.
That realization wasn’t just personal. It became professional. It shaped the kind of work I was drawn to and the kind of impact I wanted to have. Because advocacy isn’t just a personality trait. It’s a skill. It’s discipline. It’s strategy. It’s knowing how to stay human while also staying firm.
And that’s what leadership means to me now: advocacy with backbone.
Leadership isn’t volume. It’s steadiness.
The kind of leader I needed wasn’t the loudest person in the room. It wasn’t the person who looked impressive on paper. It was the person who paid attention to what wasn’t being said. The one who noticed fear hiding behind polite answers. The one who didn’t treat people like a task to complete.
It was the leader who could be direct without being cruel, and compassionate without being passive.
I didn’t always have that kind of leader.
So I decided to become her.
In my work, I’ve learned that people don’t need perfect leaders. They need consistent ones - leaders who tell the truth, follow through, and don’t disappear when things get complicated. Leaders who can handle hard conversations without turning cold. Leaders who can set boundaries without losing their empathy.
That’s not soft leadership. That’s strong leadership.
Because it’s easy to be kind when everything is going well. It’s harder when you’re under pressure, when timelines are tight, when emotions are high, and when the “right” thing requires effort. In those moments, leadership becomes a choice, not a personality.
And I choose to lead the way I once needed someone to lead me.
I had to learn the hard way: burnout isn’t a badge.
One of my biggest challenges has been burnout.
Not the trendy kind people joke about, but the kind that happens when you care so much you start believing it’s your job to carry everything. The kind that builds slowly until one day you realize you’re running on fumes and calling it dedication.
I tend to get lost in my work. When I’m in it, I’m in it. I’ll keep going because I feel responsible. I’ll keep pushing because I don’t want anyone else to suffer, wait, or be let down. I’ve always been that person who will give it 100% - even if I might fail, I’m still going to give it 100%.
That work ethic has helped me accomplish a lot. But it also taught me a lesson: just because you can keep going doesn’t mean you should.
I had to learn to “walk away.”
Not permanently. Not in a quitting way.
In a self-respect way.
In a way that says: I’m allowed to have self time. I’m allowed to breathe. I’m allowed to be with my family. I’m allowed to be more than my job.
That was extremely hard for me - because when you’re built like me, rest can feel like failure. It can feel like you’re letting someone down. It can feel like you’re not doing enough.
But rest isn’t failure. Rest is strategy.
Rest is maintenance. Rest is what keeps you from becoming resentful. Rest is how you stay clear-headed enough to make good decisions. Rest is what keeps your empathy intact.
And ultimately, rest is how you stay in the fight long enough to win.
Empathy and boundaries aren’t opposites. They’re partners.
I used to think empathy meant I had to absorb everything. Carry everything. Fix everything.
I don’t believe that anymore.
Empathy isn’t saying “yes” to everything. It’s not tolerating disrespect. It’s not overextending yourself until you’re depleted. Empathy is being able to hold the line and still stay human.
Boundaries are part of compassion. Sometimes holding the line is the most compassionate thing you can do - for the person in front of you and for yourself.
That lesson changed my leadership.
It made me more direct. More decisive. More honest. But it didn’t make me less caring. If anything, it made my caring more sustainable.
Because you can’t lead from burnout. You can’t advocate well when you’re running on adrenaline and guilt. You can’t be a steady presence for others if you’re silently falling apart yourself.
The values that guide me are simple, but they’re not negotiable.
My values don’t come from a textbook. They come from lived experience.
I have strong family values, and I also believe people can be family even when they’re not blood. I believe you take care of people the way you would want to be taken care of. I believe you treat your animals the way you would want to be treated - because care is care, no matter who is receiving it.
I believe people aren’t perfect. Mistakes happen. What matters is what you do next: learn, adjust, and get up the next day with the decision to try again.
And I believe empathy is essential. Not performative empathy. Real empathy. The kind that shows up when it’s inconvenient.
But if I’m honest, there’s one value I’ve added over time - one I had to earn the hard way:
Make sure to take time for yourself and your family.
Because your life is allowed to be full. Your love is allowed to be protected. Your energy is allowed to be preserved. Your success is not meant to cost you your peace.
What I want other women to hear
If you found your voice later than expected, you didn’t miss your moment. You were becoming.
If you’re the strong one - the dependable one, the one everyone leans on - listen closely: you’re allowed to take care of yourself, too.
You’re allowed to advocate for your needs without guilt.
You’re allowed to set boundaries without explaining yourself to death.
You’re allowed to be excellent and rested.
You’re allowed to have ambition and softness in the same body.
And if you’ve made mistakes, welcome to being human. What matters is what you do next.
The world doesn’t just need more women in leadership.
It needs more women who lead with courage, compassion, and conviction - women who tell the truth, follow through, and refuse to shrink. Women who protect people and protect themselves. Women who understand that influence isn’t about being impressive.
It’s about being trustworthy.
And if you’re still becoming that woman - good.
So am I.
