Brainspace

I once worked under a leader whose presence could silence a room with a single glance. Meetings weren’t moments of collaboration—they were battlegrounds for survival. Every word spoken was monitored, every mistake magnified. There was this unspoken anxiety that gripped us all, like walking on eggshells that kept getting thinner.

At first, I told myself, “This is just how leadership works—tough love, high standards, accountability.” But over time, it became painfully clear: this wasn’t strength, it was control. And it wasn’t leadership, it was fear.

We performed, yes—but never freely. We followed orders but stopped offering ideas. The spark that made our team innovative dulled into obedience and quiet resentment. People started avoiding eye contact, taking fewer risks, and retreating into themselves. Even those who stayed busy, who looked “productive,” carried a quiet fatigue. We were surviving, not thriving.

Then one day, a colleague—someone once full of energy and creativity—quit without warning. During her exit, she said, “I love the work, but I can’t keep losing myself here.” Her words hit me harder than I expected. That’s when I began to look at leadership roles differently—not as power over people, but as responsibility for them.

Later in my career, I worked with another individual who couldn’t have been more different. She led with empathy, clarity, and genuine curiosity. When mistakes happened, she didn’t scold—she asked questions. When we succeeded, she celebrated us, not herself. Her leadership style wasn’t loud or intimidating, yet it moved us more powerfully than fear ever could. We felt seen, valued, trusted. And something magical happened: we began to lead ourselves and each other.

Empathy didn’t make her “soft”; it made her effective. It bred connection, not compliance. Collaboration, not competition. She taught us that leadership isn’t about demanding respect—it’s about earning it through grace, consistency, and shared purpose.

Fear-based leadership may get results in the short term, but it leaves behind fragments—of morale, of creativity, of people. Empathic leadership, on the other hand, builds something enduring: trust, pride, and loyalty.

So now, I think about the impact I want to leave in any group I’m part of. Do I want people to remember how afraid they were of making mistakes near me, or how empowered they felt to grow beside me?

I’ve felt both kinds of leadership—and I know which one I’ll choose to embody.