This past weekend, my best friend Graham passed away after an eighteen-month battle with ALS.
For twenty-three years, he was one of the people I could count on. We met regularly, spoke openly, and shared a friendship that spanned some of the most formative chapters of my life.
ALS took nearly everything physical from him. It took his ability to walk, speak, eat, and eventually breathe independently.
What it never took was his spirit.
In some ways, I thought I was prepared.
I had watched the illness progress. I had witnessed the losses as they happened. I had sat beside him as he made sense of what was being taken from him.
But over the last few days, I’ve noticed something unexpected.
Disorientation.
Not simply sadness. Not only grief.
Disorientation.
As though a landmark I had been navigating by for decades was suddenly gone.
Part of me wanted to solve that feeling. To understand it. To find my footing as quickly as possible.
Instead, I’ve been noticing that grief doesn’t respond particularly well to problem-solving.
It asks for something else.
And in the middle of that, I’ve found myself thinking about leadership. Because we don’t talk very much about grief and leadership.
We talk about resilience.
We talk about overcoming adversity.
We talk about bouncing back.
But we rarely talk about what it means to lead while carrying loss. Life doesn’t pause while we’re grieving.
People still need us.
Work still exists.
Responsibilities remain.
And yet we’re not quite the same person we were a week ago.
Over the last few days, here are a few things I’ve been noticing.
1. Not every feeling needs to be fixed.
My instinct is often to make sense of difficult experiences.
To find the lesson.
To identify the next step.
To move forward.
Grief has been gently challenging that instinct. Some experiences aren’t asking for solutions.
They’re asking for space.
For attention.
For time.
2. Capacity changes, and that’s okay.
I’ve noticed moments where my concentration drifts more easily.
Moments where I feel more tired than usual.
Moments where emotions arrive unexpectedly.
For a long time, I might have interpreted those changes as weakness or a lack of resilience. Now I’m wondering if they’re simply part of being human.
Grief changes what resources we have available. Acknowledging that reality feels healthier than pretending it doesn’t exist.
3. Letting people see the struggle creates connection.
This one has surprised me.
I’ve been honest with my team and colleagues that I’m grieving. Not dramatically. Not as an explanation for everything.
Just honestly.
And what I’ve received in return has been incredibly tender.
People have checked in.
Offered support.
Given grace.
Shown care.
It has reminded me that when we allow others to see us as whole people, not just competent professionals, we create opportunities for them to show up too.
Leadership can sometimes feel like an expectation to have everything together.
But there is something deeply human about saying, “I’m having a hard week.”
Not because we are seeking rescue. But because we are allowing ourselves to be known.
4. Showing up imperfectly is still showing up.
I haven’t brought my best self to every room this week.
But I’ve shown up.
I’ve listened.
I’ve contributed.
I’ve cared.
And I’ve started to realize that people don’t need perfection from us nearly as much as they need presence.
For much of my life, I believed strength meant pushing through. Lately, I’m wondering if strength sometimes looks different.
Maybe strength is allowing ourselves to be affected by what matters.
Maybe it’s accepting help.
Maybe it’s grieving.
Maybe it’s showing up honestly instead of flawlessly.
I don’t know that grief has made me a better leader.
It’s far too early for conclusions like that.
What I do know is that losing Graham has reminded me how deeply our lives are shaped by the people we love.
When someone has been part of your world for twenty-three years, their absence isn’t simply a missing person. It changes the landscape itself. And perhaps that is part of what I’ve been feeling these last few days.
Not just grief.
But learning how to orient myself in a place that has changed shape.
For now, I’m trying not to rush that process.
I’m trying not to turn grief into a lesson too quickly.
Not to solve it.
Not to outwork it.
Not to convince myself that I’m fine.
Instead, I’m trying to make room for it. To let people help. To accept that some days my capacity may be different. To trust that showing up imperfectly is still a meaningful way of showing up.
Most of all, I’m trying to remember that being human and being a leader are not competing realities.
They are the same reality.
This week, leadership has looked less like having answers and more like being honest about where I am.
And perhaps there is something valuable in that too.
Not despite the grief. But because of the humanity it reveals.
-sd