A Leadership Reflection on Grief, Growth, and the Quiet Work of Wholeness

3 August 2025 | KL Edutropism Leadership Reflection

The Rhythm That Rebuilds

On 2 August, I did not write my daily reflection. This was not due to carelessness or a lapse in discipline, but rather a deliberate choice to prioritise physical rest. The day had begun at 4 a.m. and concluded close to midnight, encompassing approximately 20 hours of continuous effort, including eight hours of driving. Recognising the exhaustion, I made the decision to sleep.

Upon returning to my reflection the following night, I noticed how the act of pausing had allowed memories from the past two days to resurface. As I began to write, I was reminded of the quiet power of rhythm. When cultivated intentionally, it provides not only structure, but also space for unprocessed thoughts and feelings to emerge.

What surfaced that evening was not a new strategy or plan. It was a sense of sadness. Not the fleeting sadness that comes from minor disruptions, but the quiet, cumulative sorrow that builds over time and often remains unspoken.

The Helper, the Wall, the Burnout

Earlier this year, our helper informed us of her decision to return home. At the time, I felt deeply disappointed and frustrated. We had invested considerable time, energy, and financial resources to help her remain in Malaysia, particularly during a critical season when my wife was pregnant. Despite these efforts, she chose to leave.

In response, I found myself adopting a familiar emotional strategy. I began to suppress what I was feeling. I constructed a form of emotional insulation, similar to what a firefighter might wear to withstand intense heat. It was not an act of rejection, but rather a form of self-protection. I allowed myself to continue functioning while preventing the full intensity of the loss from reaching me.

I attempted to rationalise the situation by telling myself that she was just a helper. However, this statement did not reflect the truth. Over time, we had developed a genuine rapport. I had shared parts of my life with her, and she had responded with warmth and encouragement. There were moments when she seemed genuinely proud of what I was building. This was not a transactional relationship. It was one rooted in trust and shared humanity.

When I realised that her departure was inevitable, I emotionally withdrew. I shut down that part of the relationship because I did not know how to manage the grief that accompanied it. Unfortunately, this is not the first time I have responded in such a way. I have noticed this pattern in many areas of my life. When faced with emotional discomfort or relational complexity, I tend to disengage. I attempt to preserve normalcy by pretending that everything is fine, even when it is not.

This behaviour often manifests in subtle ways. For example, in our office pantry, I sometimes avoid eye contact. I walk in quickly, retrieve what I need, and leave without conversation. It is not because I do not care about others, but because I do not always know how to re-engage after feeling hurt or overwhelmed.

If there were one area in which I would welcome professional support or therapy, it would be this: learning how to remain emotionally available and engaged, even when it feels safer to withdraw.

Edutropism: The Journey of Return

The day after I skipped my reflection, I travelled to Kuala Lumpur with a group of teachers to attend the Edutropism summit. Although the event itself was significant, the journey to and from the venue proved to be equally valuable.

During the four-hour drive, I engaged in meaningful conversations with the teachers. I made an intentional effort to share honestly, to be vulnerable, and to remain approachable. I have found that this style of leadership—one rooted in authenticity—resonates most strongly with who I am. It is not always easy, but it is often the most effective way for me to build genuine trust.

While reflecting on this, I thought of Jensen Huang, the CEO of NVIDIA. He began his career as a waiter and has since become a globally respected leader in the technology sector. Despite his success, he remains grounded and emotionally accessible. This quality, the ability to connect with people at different levels, is increasingly rare. Yet it is immensely powerful.

At this point in my leadership journey, I recognise that I occupy a unique position. I am still relatively young, which allows me to relate to the next generation of leaders. At the same time, I hold a role of responsibility and influence that connects me with more senior counterparts. It is a privilege to be situated between these two worlds. It is also a reminder that humility must remain central to leadership, especially as one begins to navigate greater levels of authority.

Throughout the journey, I observed how easy it is for assumptions to hinder collaboration. Many of our colleagues have the potential to become future leaders, but relational distance—often unspoken—prevents meaningful progress. Unless we take deliberate steps to build bridges, succession planning will remain theoretical rather than practical.

One team member mentioned early in the trip that the journey was emotionally and physically challenging. However, by the end of the day, another colleague reflected that it had not been as difficult as initially expected. This shift revealed something deeper: our interpretation of effort often changes when we are emotionally supported and given opportunities to reflect.

The Summit of Subtraction: From Data to Depth

The Edutropism summit was filled with valuable insights and compelling narratives.

Paul opened the event by highlighting a global paradox. In today’s world, we have an abundance of information, opinions, data, and technological tools. However, we lack something more essential: empathy, wisdom, community, and purpose. His message reframed the conversation. It was not simply about educational strategies, but about the values that shape our work as educators and leaders.

Roshan followed with a powerful story. He spoke of a man who lost both his hands and legs, and who had to spend years relearning basic tasks. In time, that same man climbed a snow-covered mountain—an extraordinary achievement given his physical limitations. Roshan’s central message was that life is often difficult, but rarely impossible. His words echoed the unspoken challenges many of us carry in leadership.

He also offered a historical example of transition. Horses and cars coexisted for 55 years. Text and email coexisted for seven. These examples remind us that innovation does not always involve immediate replacement. Instead, new and old systems often overlap for extended periods. During such seasons, there are no standard answers. Adaptability becomes the essential skill.

Tony Fernandes, the founder of AirAsia, provided another example of insight and execution. By connecting three data points—the large number of Malaysians who had never flown, the profitability of half-filled flights, and the opportunity to purchase an airline at a nominal price—he transformed an entire industry. His success was not driven by invention, but by the ability to recognise opportunity and act decisively.

These examples prompted reflection on how we educate the next generation. We must move beyond content delivery. We must prepare students to solve real-world problems, to think resourcefully, and to act with conviction. Leadership, in this context, is not about control. It is about contribution.

Reflections from the Field

Following the formal sessions, our team participated in a debrief. The reflections they offered were thoughtful and sincere.

One colleague shared her desire to improve communication with various stakeholders. Another highlighted the value of cross-campus collaboration. A third emphasised the importance of building on existing strengths rather than focusing solely on weaknesses. Many expressed a wish to continue exchanging ideas and strategies beyond the summit.

Although each person’s takeaway was unique, a common thread emerged. There was a shared desire to grow—to become more effective, more connected, and more purposeful. The summit had provided more than professional development. It had fostered a renewed sense of clarity and motivation.

Sunday: Stillness, Grief, and Goodbye

The following day offered a change in pace.

I remained at home, spent time with my children, and said goodbye to our helper. The act of parting reopened emotional tensions from the days prior. This time, however, I allowed myself to sit with those feelings.

There was no dramatic outburst. It was simply a moment of stillness, a necessary pause to acknowledge what had changed. In that moment, I recognised the importance of creating emotional space—not merely through time, but through intentional presence.

That day reminded me that reflection is not an optional practice. It is a vital part of the leadership journey. It creates room for healing, renewal, and perspective.

The Reverse That Redefines It All

What remains most clearly from these two days is a single insight.

The real leadership gap is not between senior and junior roles. It is between the heart and the task.

One may develop systems, scale operations, and implement efficient strategies. However, without emotional presence, these efforts will fail to create lasting impact.

Leadership does not begin with control or competence. It begins with the willingness to remain emotionally available, even when that choice feels uncomfortable or costly.

To impact lives, one must live fully. Not in the sense of achieving balance or perfection, but by remaining open to feeling deeply and leading with integrity.

The journey is often difficult. But it is not impossible.

And that is what makes it worthwhile.