Nothing just happens to you
I haven't written to you in two weeks.
A very close family member passed away, suddenly, far too young. I flew home to Singapore to be with my family. Part of me is still there, even back at my desk.
I thought about skipping past it and picking the newsletter back up as though nothing had happened. But this is the closest thing I have to a letter to you, and skipping past doesn't feel right. So here's some of what these two weeks have taught me, and what I think it has to do with how we lead and show up for people we care about.
If you're carrying something right now that you didn't choose and can't undo, grief or a decision that was never yours to make, this one's for you.
What held us
The thing that has given my family the most peace isn't that he was taken too soon, although he was. It's what everyone who knew him kept saying, on their own, without being asked. That he was present. That nothing he ever did for the people around him, his parents, his wife, his nieces and nephews, my own parents, came from ego. He gave because he cared. Not one person had a bad word to say about him.
Knowing that gave us ground to stand on. In my faith, there's a word for it: ridha رضا. Acceptance, surrender, contentment. Not resignation. Not passivity. A decision to trust what's beyond your control while you keep showing up inside it.
Where I've felt this before
I've disagreed with decisions in leadership rooms, decisions that weren't always mine to make. I accepted that they were what they were. But accepting them didn't mean I switched off. It meant I went back to my own principles and asked what still stayed in alignment, then acted from there instead of from reaction and resentment.
That's the line I want to name for you. In grief, you have no control over what happened. You do have control over how you show up for the people who need you, and for your own healing. In leadership, a decision you didn't make and can't undo isn't always yours to fight. Your response is. The test isn't whether you agree. It's whether you disengage or whether you stay, aligned with who you want to be and how you communicate and support your team through the process.
Checking out can look like acceptance from the outside. It isn't. Resignation and apathy are close cousins, and I've watched both curdle into something worse over time. The acceptance worth having keeps you in the room.
The choice
Nothing just happens to you. Not the loss, not the decision you disagreed with, not the year that didn't go the way you planned. Each one is a test of how you're going to show up, for yourself and for the people around you, and what you choose to build from it.
You can wallow. Or you can honour the person, the moment, the version of yourself that's being asked to grow, and let it move you forward, maybe even move someone else.
Reflection invitation
Where have you had to accept something you couldn't change, recently or long ago?
Looking back, did that acceptance keep you in the room, or was it closer to checking out?
What would it look like to honour that moment instead of just getting through it?
Ready to Go Deeper?
Your next step is within reach
I would genuinely love to hear from you. Where have you had to accept something outside your control, and what did you choose to do inside it?
Write to me in the comments!
With yo
