The Call To Lead

The first time I heard the call, I tried to ignore it. I told myself I wasn’t ready, that someone stronger, wiser, louder should be the one to speak. But silence has weight—and eventually, it pressed so hard against my chest that I had to answer. That was the day I stopped waiting for permission to be powerful.

Leadership didn’t arrive with applause. It came disguised as exhaustion. It whispered in the aftermath of heartbreak, when I had nothing left to prove except that I could still rise. The call to lead is not a crown; it’s a cross you choose to carry because you remember what it felt like to be alone in the dark.

I am not perfect, but I am present. I am not fearless, but I am faithful. Every time I speak my truth, I feel the trembling in my voice steady—because leadership after trauma is not about knowing the way; it’s about being the light that makes the way visible.

There’s power in saying, “Follow me—I’ve been there.” The cracks in my story don’t disqualify me; they authenticate me. And when I stand before others who still shake, I see my old reflection, reaching through time to tell me: you made it. Now help them make it too.

So I’ll keep showing up. I’ll keep speaking. I’ll keep leading with love and righteous anger, with tenderness and truth. Because someone out there is waiting to hear a voice that sounds like their own—and today, that voice is mine.

Stay powerful.