What Grief Taught Me About Leading Humans, Not Just Systems

There are moments that split our lives in two. Moments when the world keeps spinning, but we find ourselves standing still, no longer the same person, no longer the same leader.

For me, one of those moments was grief. Not just the emotion, but the slow, invisible unraveling that comes with loss. And like many of us in senior roles, I had no luxury to step away for long. The team still needed me. The operations still ran. Decisions still had to be made.

What I didn’t realize at the time is that this experience would quietly reshape my leadership from the inside out.

When Strength Meant Letting Go

I used to believe strong leadership meant carrying everything. Being the calm in the storm, the expert in the room, the one who holds the line.

But grief challenged that. It left me with less capacity, fewer answers, and a profound sense of vulnerability. I had to let go of the illusion of control. I had to trust my team, delegate more than I ever had, and accept that I couldn’t, and shouldn’t, do it all.

And then something unexpected happened.

In the space I left behind, others stepped forward. I watched my deputy grow into his potential. I saw individuals take ownership not just because I asked them to—but because they could see I trusted them to. That shift, forced by circumstance, became a cornerstone of how I’ve led ever since.

In safety-critical environments, this isn’t a soft story. It’s a real one. It shows us that trust isn’t a luxury; it’s a prerequisite for resilience. Because no one leads alone. Not really.

A Sharpened Focus on What Matters

There’s something about grief that makes you impatient with surface-level things. With performative meetings, political games, or endless procedures that no one truly believes in. My tolerance for what I call “safety theatre” dropped dramatically.

And oddly enough, that was clarifying.

It helped me refocus my attention, on conversations that mattered, risks that were real, and systems that could make a lasting difference. It made me a better listener. I became more curious about what wasn’t being said. I learned to pick up on the silent signals in a room: who was checked out, who needed support, who was carrying something invisible.

That awareness made me not just a more effective leader, but a more human one.

Becoming the Leader I Once Needed

In the years since, I’ve sat across from team members in their own moments of crisis. I’ve walked the site with people whose partner had just passed away. I’ve made the call no leader wants to make to a grieving family. And I’ve come to realize: these are not edge cases. These moments are part of the fabric of leadership.

We talk often about psychological safety in teams—but not enough about emotional literacy in leaders. About the capacity to hold space, to be present without fixing, to lead without pretending to be unbreakable.

Through those experiences, I learned that being the leader I once needed meant showing up fully. Quietly. With care.

Not every leader wants to talk about grief. But every leader, at some point, walks through it, either their own, or someone else's.

Crisis Doesn’t Create Character, It Reveals It

In safety, we’re trained for emergencies. But the real test comes when we least expect it: the unplanned outage, the serious incident, the overnight shift when everything goes wrong.

What I found, unexpectedly, is that grief prepared me for those moments in a different way. It gave me emotional muscle memory for staying grounded when the world gets shaky.

I stopped reacting to urgency. I started responding to what was essential. I brought calm, not because I had all the answers, but because I knew how it felt to be lost and still keep going.

That calm, I’ve learned, is contagious. In a crisis, it gives others permission to pause, prioritize, and perform.

And that’s not just helpful in operations. It’s essential.

Why This Story Matters

I don’t share this for sympathy. I share it because I know I’m not alone.

Many leaders carry stories like this. Grief. Burnout. Loss. Quiet struggles that sit just beneath the surface of a high-functioning exterior. And yet we rarely talk about how those stories shape our leadership—for better or worse.

But here’s what I’ve learned: The best safety cultures are not built on systems alone. They’re built on leaders who lead as humans, flawed, honest, and present.

What did grief teach you?

**************************************************************

That’s what Be Human Be Safe is all about.

It’s why I now dedicate my work to helping other leaders find that clarity. To speak so they’re heard. To influence beyond authority. To build cultures where care isn’t a cost, it’s a catalyst.

So if you’ve ever led with a broken heart, or stood steady in someone else’s storm, know this: you’re already doing the work.

If you want to take it further, I invite you to join me.

→ Download the FREE Engineer Your Influence guide

→ Bring me in for a keynote or workshop, check it out at www.behumanbesafe.com

→ Or explore the Safety Influencer journey with the ESSSENTIALS e-learning and build your leadership presence, without losing who you are.

Because when we lead with humanity, safety stops being a checkbox. It becomes a shared responsibility.

#Leadership #GriefAndLeadership #PsychologicalSafety #SafetyCulture #ResilientLeadership #EmotionalIntelligence #RawSafetyTruths