A Reflection on Leadership, Marriage, Mentorship, and Emotional Restraint

Beginning the Day with a Heavy Heart

Today was a long and emotionally complex day. It is now past 10 p.m., and by 4:30 a.m., I will need to be up again to prepare for a trip to Kuala Lumpur. In many ways, I should feel exhausted and frustrated. And yet, I find myself choosing to name this day as a fruitful one, not because it was smooth or ideal, but because of what it revealed to me.

The day began with a sense of unease. I felt unsettled. As a leader, I sensed that I was being bypassed in decision-making, particularly concerning the recent Parent–Teacher Conference. The outcomes and processes did not align with what I had hoped for. That dissatisfaction grew over time. In my mind, I began contemplating extreme responses: rebuilding from the ground up, withdrawing from certain efforts, or stepping back altogether.

This pattern of thought is not unfamiliar to me. In earlier seasons of my life, especially within relationships, I often found myself considering giving up when things became too difficult. When I voiced such thoughts, those around me, perhaps out of care, tended to agree or remain silent. Their quiet consent rarely helped. Instead, it reinforced the spiral I was already in.

Over time, this tendency began to take root in ways that were unhelpful. That is why today’s experience holds particular significance.

When a Gentle Question Disarms the Storm

My wife responded differently. In moments when I expressed the desire to give up or to dismantle what had been built, she did not simply reflect my emotions back to me. Rather, she asked calm, sincere questions that prompted deeper thought.

“Is that really necessary?”

“Are you sure that’s the right response?”

She has posed questions like these many times before. Early in our marriage, I did not fully appreciate her approach. I had grown used to people who allowed me to speak without interruption, who rarely challenged my conclusions, even when they stemmed from tiredness or frustration.

But she engages in a different way. She listens fully. And when necessary, she offers a gentle, thoughtful interruption that invites reflection. Her tone is not argumentative, nor is it dismissive. It is steady, grounded, and respectful. And today, once again, her presence helped me pause long enough to reconsider.

Later in the day, I reviewed the feedback data from the Parent–Teacher Conference. I anticipated results that would confirm my dissatisfaction. I expected poor ratings that would justify my emotional state. Instead, I saw an average satisfaction score of eight out of ten.

It was not exceptional. Nor was it dismal.

In truth, it served as a quiet reminder that my initial perspective may not have captured the full picture. My feelings were valid, but they did not align entirely with the facts. That distinction made a significant difference in how I proceeded.

Why Emotional Space Matters More Than We Realize

This experience also brought to mind a biological reality that is easy to forget. When we encounter moments of high tension or perceived threat, the amygdala, the part of the brain responsible for emotional responses, activates almost instantly. It urges us to fight or flee. But the prefrontal cortex, which governs rational thinking and long-term judgment, requires more time to engage.

That space between reaction and reflection is often where leadership decisions are either redeemed or regretted.

For me, that pause was created in two ways today. First, through the questions my wife asked. Second, through the clarity offered by data. Both helped interrupt my assumptions and gradually returned me to a more grounded way of thinking.

It is not always easy to wait for the mind to catch up with the heart. But when we do, we often see differently.

Obedience, Not Superiority

As I reflected more deeply, I remembered an important decision we faced during the early days of building Stellar. My wife had suggested we consider purchasing a franchise. It seemed practical. It appeared safe. My mentor, however, encouraged me to build a brand from scratch.

That decision shaped our future in ways we could not fully predict.

Looking back now, I do not believe that choosing the more difficult path made me wiser or more capable. I chose that route because I trusted my mentor. I listened, and I followed. The outcome was influenced by that alignment more than by any brilliance on my part.

Had we chosen the franchise route, we may still have found success. It would have been a different kind of journey, but not necessarily a lesser one. The outcome alone cannot determine the quality of the decision.

At times, success is not merely the product of sound decision-making, but also the result of grace and providence.

The Parenting Lens That Shaped My Leadership

As a parent, I am continually reminded that my children will face difficulties and setbacks, sometimes more than once. These experiences can stir disappointment or frustration within me. Even so, I choose to remain committed. I stay, not out of obligation, but out of love and the understanding that presence matters more than perfection.

Parenthood is not built on transactions. It does not operate on performance metrics. It is shaped by patience, long-term thinking, and consistent care.

This led me to consider whether leadership should carry similar qualities. Should we not also see the people we lead as individuals in process, capable of growth, learning, and renewal?

This does not mean we ignore accountability. Rather, it means we create room for development. We accept that progress is rarely immediate and that growth, by its very nature, includes failure.

Learning from the Quiet Examples Around Me

Throughout the day, my thoughts also turned to mentors and leaders who have impacted my life. Pastor Timothy. Dr. Peter. These are individuals who, despite their many responsibilities, continue to make time for others. They invest in people without seeking recognition. They give, even when their time is limited.

When I reflect on what they have done for me, I find myself humbled. Their generosity challenges me to do the same, to lead not only with structure and strategy, but also with compassion and availability.

A passage from Scripture came to mind: “Be wise as serpents, and harmless as doves.” It is a paradox I have returned to often.

It is not always simple to hold both wisdom and gentleness. To see clearly, while still choosing grace. To lead with strength, while remaining anchored in kindness.

Yet that is the challenge leadership requires.

It involves noticing the areas that need attention, while still choosing a response that protects and preserves rather than tears down.

A Different View of My Mother’s Intentions

Later, I found myself thinking about my mother. She has always been a very organized person. At times, she would show me invoices or records of what she has done for our family, perhaps as a way to make me more aware of her contributions.

In the past, I felt frustrated by this. I saw it as overly calculated. But with time, I have come to see it differently.

She may not have intended to guilt me. She may simply have been offering a way to help me understand how much she had given, something I had not always recognized on my own.

This insight has shaped how I now speak to my children. I try not to provoke them into gratitude. Rather, I share in the hope of inviting them to reflect. The difference is subtle, but important.

One seeks compliance. The other encourages awareness.

Living in the Future and Losing the Present

Ironically, the part of today that weighed heaviest on me was not what occurred during the day, but what I knew would unfold tomorrow. A long day of travel. A full agenda of events. A limited window of rest.

That anticipation began to affect how I experienced the present. It distracted me. It made me impatient.

I often remind others not to live in the past, where regret can grow. Nor in the future, where anxiety often lives. The present, though often overlooked, is the only place where one may truly experience a sense of peace.

Today I forgot that.

But I managed to return. I focused again on the people around me: my wife, my sister-in-law, my children, and our newborn baby. I reminded myself to breathe deeply and remain in the moment.

And in that moment, I found clarity again.

A Final Reflection

As this day comes to an end, I do not look back with frustration, but with a quiet sense of gratitude. Today helped me remember that leadership is not defined by certainty or control. It is shaped by how we respond when things do not go according to plan.

It reminded me that emotional intelligence is not simply a skill. It is a stewardship. And sometimes, the greatest contribution we can make is to simply remain present.

In certain moments, it is the quiet decision to preserve rather than dismantle that carries the greatest weight and meaning.