Why I Wrote Leading Bravely

On February 23, I posted a short reel expressing gratitude that I wasn’t spending my birthday in the hospital—for the third year in a row. Instead, I was home with my family, enjoying an almond flour cake topped with coconut frosting.

Life, however, had other plans.

In March, I spent ten days in the hospital. In April, another ten. In May, four more.

I found myself wondering what was happening. I thought things might be getting better. Each hospitalization felt like a setback, another issue emerging just as the previous one had been addressed. Although each stay was necessary and helped stabilize me, I struggled to catch my breath. At times, it affected my sense of hope.

Still, I kept taking the next step.

One of the hardest parts of those hospitalizations was being unable to create. I couldn’t paint. I couldn’t write. Cognitive fatigue made even simple tasks difficult. I had to practice patience and remind myself that healing is rarely linear.

Today, I am writing this from home, recovering in a recliner using voice dictation software because I am unable to type with my hands. During those long days in the hospital, I kept lists of things I wanted to think about and eventually write about. This essay is one of them.

As I move closer to publishing Leading Bravely, I wanted to share why I wrote this book and who I hope it might serve.

Painting is intuitive, spiritual, and personal. I paint primarily for myself.

Writing feels different. Even when I begin with my own experience, I am aware of the possibility that someone else may be listening.

Writing this book has been an act of love, vulnerability, reflection, and meaning-making.

One of the hardest decisions I have ever made was resigning from my position as Head of School after my medical leave. I loved the work, but I no longer had the physical or cognitive capacity to lead in the way I believed the role required.

To make that pivot, I had to let many things go. My income changed dramatically. Travel disappeared. I sold my car. For the first time in my adult life, I no longer had the freedom that comes with getting behind the wheel and going wherever I wanted.

Perhaps that is one of the central lessons of becoming: something new often asks something old to be released.

For the first time in my life, I also had uninterrupted time to pursue creative work. Calling this a silver lining feels uncomfortable. Cancer, grief, disability, and the loss of my son are not gifts. And yet they led me to ask different questions.

What was I being called to learn?

What was I being called to create?

How could I make meaning of what was happening?

Because journaling has long been part of my daily practice, I was documenting much of what I was experiencing in real time. Through writing, painting, therapy, prayer, and reflection, I began to understand that meaning-making was becoming an important part of my healing.

Not healing in the sense of fixing.

Healing in the sense of integrating.

At some point, I began to wonder whether these reflections might be useful to others. That question became the seed of this book.

I wrote this book because I wanted to understand what it means to live—and lead—when life changes everything.

There is another reason I wrote it, one that is harder to explain.

In a way, I feel that Javier has been with me throughout this process.

Not in a way that I can prove or explain. It is simply my experience.

Since his death, there have been moments when I have felt his presence beside me—encouraging me, nudging me forward, reminding me not to give up on the work that still feels mine to do.

Grief has changed my understanding of relationships. I used to think that death ended them. Now I believe relationships continue, though in a different form.

Writing this book became one way of honoring that ongoing connection.

This book is for people who find themselves standing in the gap between the life they imagined and the life they are living.

For nearly thirty years, I worked in education and leadership. Much of my professional life was spent helping people and institutions navigate change. Whether the conversation was about leadership, equity, culture, belonging, or community, I found myself returning to the same fundamental question:

How do we become more fully ourselves?

Real transformation required reflection, humility, curiosity, and a willingness to be changed.

Over time, I came to understand that growth is an ongoing process of becoming.

For years, I have also been concerned about the ways we think about leadership.

Too often, leadership is measured by power, visibility, authority, certainty, or the ability to produce results quickly. Yet some of the qualities I value most—compassion, humility, integrity, self-awareness, and the willingness to listen deeply—are often treated as secondary.

As I watched events unfold in our communities, our institutions, and our broader society, I found myself wondering what might be possible if we expanded our definition of leadership.

What if leadership was not primarily about authority?

What if it was about how we show up for one another?

What if leadership began with self-awareness, honesty, and the courage to act in alignment with our values?

Javier and I often shared concerns about the state of the world and the ways people use—or misuse—power. We talked about fairness, compassion, and responsibility. While I cannot speak for him, I know those conversations shaped me. In many ways, this book is an extension of questions we both cared deeply about.

What does it mean to lead well?

And perhaps even more importantly:

What does it mean to live well?

This book is my attempt to explore those questions.

I am not writing as an expert. I am not offering formulas, guarantees, or answers. What I do bring is lived experience.

I hope Leading Bravely feels less like a prescription and more like a companion.

A companion for people navigating loss, uncertainty, illness, transition, or profound change.

A companion for leaders questioning old definitions of success.

A companion for those trying to integrate mind, body, heart, and spirit.

Most of all, a companion for anyone trying to live courageously when life has cracked them open.

If this book offers comfort, companionship, or encouragement to someone navigating their own season of loss or transformation, I will be grateful.

And if, in some small way, it also serves as a testament to the love I continue to carry for Javier, then it has already fulfilled one of its deepest purposes.