Leading Through Uncertainty

I was seven months pregnant with my son, Logan, sitting in the quiet of an early morning airport terminal, waiting for my flight to board. Muzak played faintly overhead, blending with the soft hiss of the espresso machine down the hall. Footsteps echoed — business travelers rushing toward their gates as the day slowly came alive.

Across the aisle, an elderly woman caught my eye. She leaned to one side, her eyes drifting closed. At first, I thought she was dozing — until her lean became a collapse. In an instant, she crumpled to the floor right in front of me.

Instinct took over. I was on the ground before I had time to think, one hand on her wrist searching for a pulse, the other at her face listening for breath. She was breathing — faintly — but incoherent. I turned her gently onto her back, propped her head on her bag, and lifted her knees.

Around us, the terminal erupted. Voices rose, people froze, chaos swelled. I held her hand tightly and looked up at the strangers gathering around us.

“You in the red jacket — call 911!”

“You in the blue hat — get apple juice!”

My voice stayed calm — steady, deliberate — the one thing I could control.

A few minutes later, EMTs arrived. I told them everything I’d learned: her name was June; she’d started a new medication that morning; she hadn’t eaten; she was on her way to her grandson’s graduation at UConn. They thanked me and began their work.

When I stood, the EMTs’ eyes widened as they noticed my large pregnant belly (Logan was a nearly 10 lb baby — that’s a story for another day). One EMT asked, almost incredulously,

“Are you a nurse?”

“No,” I said with a small smile. “I’ve just always been calm in chaos.”

When chaos hits, your calm becomes someone else’s courage.

After my last article, Only the Strong Survive, several leaders, managers, and friends reached out with the same question:

“How do I put emotional endurance into practice?”

It’s a great question — and one that sits at the heart of leadership. Emotional endurance is an internal state; leadership is the expression of that state through action.

So how do we move from the internal to the external?

These seven practices are not all encompassing, but they are ones I’ve seen distinguish steady leadership from reactive leadership — both in my own experience and in the organizations I support.

When tension rises, people don’t just hear your words — they read your nervous system.

If your tone, pacing, or posture signal anxiety, that unease spreads faster than any workplace rumor. Before you address your team, center yourself: breathe deeply, set an intention, and steady your body.

When I was a leader at CVS Health during the pandemic, a colleague of mine had a simple ritual — he paused outside the Zoom room for 30 seconds before each crisis meeting, just to breathe. His team never knew it, but that pause was the reason he entered calm every time. His steadiness became theirs.

You can’t bring calm to a room you haven’t found within yourself first.

Leadership presence begins with physiological regulation, not performance.

Ask yourself:
• Have I paused long enough to settle my own reaction?
• Am I leading from fear or from clarity?

The team is watching you. What do you want them to learn?

Uncertainty doesn’t require polished optimism — it requires grounded honesty.

Your team doesn’t need every answer; they need to know you see what’s happening and won’t disappear. As I used to remind leaders, “Our people can handle bad news. What they can’t handle is silence.”

Try language like:

“Here’s what we know, here’s what we don’t, and here’s what we’re doing next.”

Simple truth-telling stabilizes trust. When leaders pretend everything’s fine, people feel the dissonance immediately. When leaders name what’s hard — and stay present anyway — confidence returns.

Early in the divorce process, when my son had a lot of anxiety about all the change, I used to tell him “I know this is a lot for you, but here’s what’s going to stay the same…”

Don’t forget to focus also on what’s not changing to ground your people in stability.

When the future feels slippery, purpose stays steady. Don’t promise outcomes you can’t control. Instead, anchor your team to what is controllable — your values, mission, and how you’ll treat each other along the way.

“We may not know what next quarter looks like, but we do know who we want to be as we navigate it.”

That statement grounds people in shared identity, not false certainty.

During the early days of my medical recovery, uncertainty was a daily companion. I couldn’t control much — but I could control how I showed up, breathed, and kept my promises to my son. That practice informs my philosophy as a leader: stability isn’t about knowing the future; it’s about staying centered when you don’t.

Calm doesn’t mean detached. The best leaders show emotion in ways that connect, not collapse.

Saying,

“This is tough — I feel it too,” signals humanity.

Following with,

“And we’ll get through this together,”signals leadership.

It’s the balance of empathy and containment that builds trust.

Emotional contagion — the unconscious spread of emotion — is real. A sigh, a tightened jaw, a raised voice — these subtle cues ripple through a room. Neuroscientists call this limbic resonance: our nervous systems mirror those around us. When a leader’s stress leaks, it shifts focus from solutions to safety.

That’s why emotional regulation isn’t just self-care — it’s collective care. Your tone, pace, and composure set the emotional temperature for the group.

Model emotional range by showing it’s okay to feel, but that feelings don’t have to steer the ship:

“I know this change is uncomfortable. It’s okay to be frustrated. Let’s talk about what we can control.”

People don’t follow you because you’re unshakable — they follow you because your steadiness gives them permission to stay grounded, too.

When uncertainty rises, people don’t just need answers — they need to be witnessed. Let them talk. Let them process. Let them vent — even when it’s messy, even when it’s directed at you.

One of the fastest ways to rebuild confidence is to make people feel seen. Most leaders listen just long enough to respond. Exceptional leaders listen long enough to understand.

Years ago, during a failing project, one of my high performers lost her composure in a meeting. She was angry and unfair in her words. My instinct was to defend myself. Instead, I paused — and let her finish. When she stopped, I simply said,

“Thank you for trusting me enough to be that honest.”

The tension broke. Within a week, she’d become one of the most committed problem-solvers on the team.

People rarely remember your immediate solution — but they always remember how you made them feel when they were most vulnerable.

Listening with curiosity instead of defensiveness communicates: Your voice matters — even now. Especially now.

And here’s the paradox: listening doesn’t slow you down; it speeds up trust. And trust is what keeps people following when the path ahead isn’t clear.

Resilient leaders aren’t flawless — they’re self-aware enough to recognize when they’ve slipped and to model recovery.

It’s easy to preach composure when things are calm. It’s harder after you’ve lost your patience or shut someone down. But what separates seasoned leaders is not whether they make mistakes — it’s how they repair them.

A simple statement can shift the room:

“I realized I was reacting from stress earlier. I took a step back, got grounded, and want to reframe that conversation.”

That kind of humility builds more credibility than a thousand perfectly managed moments.

I once watched a senior executive open a meeting with those exact words. The day before, he’d snapped under pressure. Instead of pretending it didn’t happen, he owned it. The room transformed — from guarded to open, from compliance to trust.

Research from the Center for Creative Leadership confirms this: leaders who admit mistakes and demonstrate learning are rated significantly higher in trust and effectiveness. Vulnerability, it turns out, signals confidence, not weakness.

Recovering out loud teaches everyone watching that grace and growth can coexist. You don’t need to be flawless to be trusted — only accountable.

Your calm is a resource — and like all resources, it’s finite.

Leaders often treat emotional steadiness like a bottomless well. It’s not. Composure takes energy — and energy requires protection. You can’t lead from depletion and expect others to feel safe or inspired.

Setting boundaries isn’t selfish; it’s stewardship. It’s how you sustain the emotional capacity to show up well for others.

Here’s what that looks like:

• Time Boundaries
  Block recovery time on your calendar and honor it as sacred. Decline the “quick sync” that derails your reset. Try saying, “I’m stepping away for 30 minutes to recharge — I’ll circle back after lunch.”

• Emotional Boundaries
  Don’t absorb others’ anxiety as your own. Anchor yourself before responding. Remember: “Their stress isn’t mine to carry, but I can help them navigate it.”

• Relational Boundaries
  Clarify when and how you’re available. Setting norms around Slack or after-hours messages isn’t a lack of dedication — it’s how you stay sustainable.

• Cognitive Boundaries
  This is the hardest one for me — resist the urge to solve everything immediately. Allow silence. Reflection breeds wiser decisions.

• Energetic Boundaries
  Notice what drains or restores you. Protect the people, spaces, and habits that refill you — walking the dog, reading, exercising, or simply sitting in stillness.

One leader I coached began taking a 15-minute “transition walk” between meetings. She called it her reset lap. At first, her team thought it quirky — until they noticed the difference. She came back calmer, clearer, kinder. Soon, half her department adopted the ritual.

Boundaries like that don’t just protect your energy — they elevate everyone else’s.

Sustainable leadership starts with self-care that’s not performative, but essential.
Because if your calm sets the tone for others, your depletion does too.

Leadership isn’t about eliminating uncertainty — it’s about leading within it. Your calm, your clarity, and your consistency become emotional anchors for those around you. When others are scanning for safety, they don’t need you to have all the answers.

They just need to know you’re not leaving the room.

I think often about my son watching me during that season when life felt so fragile. He didn’t see chaos — he saw calm. And it reminded me that leadership, in any form, is this simple act: helping others borrow your steadiness until they find their own.

Because in every moment of chaos, your calm becomes someone else’s courage.

✨ Try This With Your Team

• Start your next meeting with a grounding pause or gratitude check-in.

• Ask: “What feels uncertain right now?” and “What’s still within our control?”

• End by naming one shared value or objective you’ll lean on this week.

Small rituals like these turn emotional endurance into visible leadership — the kind people feel long after the meeting ends.