A Year of Reflection Through Writing

How Grief Became Growth, and Writing Became Leadership

9:12 a.m., 7 April 2025.
I’m on the road again. And like always, travel invites reflection.

But this morning hits different—it’s exactly one year since I began writing consistently. What started in grief turned into something that changed not just how I lead… but how I live.

1. It Began With Loss

One year ago, my aunt passed away. I didn’t know how to process the sadness. So I opened WordPress, typed a few lines, and hit publish.

No audience. No marketing plan.
Just an honest post—between me, God, and the void.

I didn’t expect it to last.

I’ve stopped more things than I’ve finished in life. But this time, something stuck.
Thanks to one great friend—Karyn—who kept encouraging me. She wasn’t the first. But she said it at the right time, and said it often.

And so, I just kept showing up.

2. Writing Revealed What Was Hidden

At first, it felt aimless.

I’d voice-record thoughts during my walk. Or type short lines at night while my kids slept.

But slowly, something deeper started surfacing.

Writing became a mirror. And a map.

It showed me what I really believed. It clarified what I couldn’t articulate out loud.
It helped me think in ink—and feel in clarity.

There’s an ocean inside all of us. Most of it stays murky—until we name it.

3. Writing Was Folding My Mental Laundry

I’ve always hated dirt, but tolerated clutter.
In our first house without a helper, I’d wash clothes… but never fold them.
Eventually, my kids started playing hide-and-seek inside the laundry mountain.

One day I stared at that pile and thought: this is how my brain feels.

Writing became the folding.

Each sentence: one shirt, one thought, put back where it belonged.
Each paragraph: one drawer sorted.
Each post: less mental mess.

The more I wrote, the more I could think clearly—even in high-pressure conversations.

Now I naturally ask:

• Is this actionable?
• Is it impactful?
• Is it low effort?

That filter didn’t come from a book. It came from writing.
Over and over and over again.

4. It Taught Me Quiet Discipline

At first, writing felt like a chore.
Late nights, screen glare, tension.
My wife thought I was being a workaholic. My kids couldn’t sleep with the glow of my Mac.

It wasn’t discipline. It was disturbance.

So I changed the rhythm.
I started walking with my dog, Loki. Added a small weight on my knee for rehab.
And I’d speak my thoughts into my phone, then convert them into blog posts later.

Now it’s part of life. Like brushing teeth.

Writing doesn’t save the world.
But it keeps the mental decay away.

5. Good Habits Leak — In the Best Way

Once writing became natural, it started showing up everywhere.

How I pack my bag.
How I lead meetings.
How I parent.

I stopped reacting.
I started responding—with thought, pause, and intent.

Good habits leak.
And when they do… let them.

6. Writing Became a New Language of Appreciation

I’ve always struggled to affirm people—especially those I admire.

But writing changed that.

When I write about someone, it’s not casual.
It’s: “You mattered enough to be documented.”

And that kind of appreciation lingers.
You may forget a compliment.
But you won’t forget a post.

7. Why I Stopped Posting… But Never Stopped Writing

People ask:
“Why did you stop posting every blog?”
“Are you okay?”

Actually—I’m more okay than ever.

I just stopped writing to impress.
Now I write to understand.
To sharpen.
To clarify.

I don’t need likes.
I need alignment.

I’m not writing for you.
I’m writing for the father I want to become.
For the decisions I need to make next week.
For the children who’ll read this one day.

If no one else reads it, that’s fine.
Because I will.

8. Unexpected Connection

I once wrote about blindspots. No agenda—just honesty.
A mentor asked to share it widely. Not for clicks, but to start deeper conversations.

Another business leader read it and said it helped him shift focus—from growth to generosity.

That’s when I learned:

Reflection scales.
When one person tells the truth, others feel permission to do the same.

9. Writing Became My Leadership Dashboard

Looking back, I now have a meta-log. A leadership dashboard.

I can scroll and ask:

• What was I wrestling with three months ago?
• Am I drifting or staying aligned?
• Is my leadership rooted… or reacting?

Leadership isn’t just KPIs.
It’s being brave enough to reread your own growth in public.

10. From Grief to Award — But That’s Not the Point

Somewhere along the journey, I was surprised to receive a Business Transformation Award.

Not for launching a product.
Not for raising capital.

But for one year of writing with clarity.

And yet… I almost forgot I got it.

Because the real transformation wasn’t external.
It was internal.

Grief birthed reflection.
Reflection built rhythm.
Rhythm became identity.
And identity unlocked impact.

So, What’s the Wrap-Up?

The truth?

I used to hate being told to write.
I found it annoying. I dismissed it. I didn’t believe it would last.

But slowly, writing became the very thing I couldn’t stop.
Even on my most tired days, I show up. No excuse. No negotiation.
Because it’s no longer a task — it’s part of me.

And the most beautiful part?

It didn’t just change me.
It’s now inspired close friends and fellow leaders to begin writing too.

What started as grief has become a legacy practice.

The “WRITE” Framework: A Quiet Leadership Model

Looking back, I realised my journey mapped into a repeatable framework anyone can use — especially leaders and educators:

The “WRITE” Framework	A Quiet Leadership Model
W – Witness Your World	Reflect on what you see, feel, and wrestle with. Life is content.
R – Reflect Before Reacting	Writing slows down the story. It lets truth rise before noise takes over.
I – Integrate, Don’t Impress	Don’t write to prove. Write to align your internal compass.
T – Tidy Your Thoughts	Writing is mental decluttering. It’s folding your inner laundry.
E – Extend It Forward	Your reflection might just unlock someone else’s insight.

Final Thought: This Is Leadership, Too.

Not strategy decks.
Not viral talks.
Not product launches.

But presence-based leadership.
Shared one thought at a time.
For no applause.
Just clarity.

So if you’re tired of noise—write.

Not to be heard, but to become.

Because writing isn’t the loudest leadership.
But it might just be the truest.