It was an unusually quiet Sunday evening. The kind where the house is warm with the soft clatter of post-dinner moments, and your heart, though surrounded by family, feels strangely distant. May 18, 2025 — a date etched not for its noise, but for what it revealed in the silence.

The Japanese call it Ma (間) — the silence between moments. A pause that speaks. That night, the house wasn’t just quiet. It was full of Ma — the kind of stillness that doesn’t empty you, but reveals what’s quietly been waiting to surface.

I found myself reflecting on conversations I had this week. Some soft and spirit-lifting, others difficult and exposing. Leadership does that. It forces you to listen when it’s easier to speak. To stay when it’s tempting to walk. To love when disappointment knocks.

The Paradox of Servant Leadership

There’s a paradox in servant leadership: the more personally you lead, the more personally you’ll feel the friction. We grow through conflict, yes. But growth doesn’t require pain to be noble. Sometimes, pain is a signal — not just of stretching, but of unclear expectations, unmet needs, or broken systems.

When Tough Conversations Become Turning Points

There are two kinds of tough conversations. The first comes during a crisis — when something is ending, or already has. There’s nothing left to protect, no façade left to maintain. And so, raw honesty surfaces. The kind that comes when someone has nothing left to lose. These conversations are like standing emotionally naked — not always dignified, but often necessary.

The second kind is more courageous. It happens not out of desperation, but out of intention. It happens when two people decide that truth matters more than comfort. That alignment matters more than appearance. These conversations are rare because they require emotional maturity, humility, and the willingness to risk discomfort for deeper understanding.

I’ve been thinking about both types. About conversations that could have been honest, but weren’t. Conversations that started too late. And conversations that never happened, because the cost of truth felt higher than the price of silence.

Gratitude Is the Gap

What is the real difference between a tough conversation that builds trust and one that breaks it? It’s not timing. It’s not intention. It’s gratitude.

When people feel seen — when they know their journey, growth, and contribution have been recognised — it creates a kind of emotional glue. It doesn’t prevent tension, but it cushions it. But when there’s no gratitude, no pause to appreciate the shared journey, then conflict feels like abandonment. Sudden exits feel like rejection.

Especially when the relationship was never just transactional. When it was built on shared sacrifice, long hours, whispered hopes, and unspoken dreams — to walk away without acknowledgment doesn’t just feel like moving on. It feels like erasure.

The Blessing and Risk of Building with People

I’ve always believed in building a people-driven organisation. Not policy-driven. Not profit-driven. People-driven. That’s the beauty of it — we get to build futures together, layer by layer, life by life. But there’s a cost.

The more we invest in people, the more open we become to emotional risk. The risk of misalignment. Of misunderstandings. Of someone you’ve poured into quietly deciding they’re done — not with the job, but with the journey.

There were days I wanted to defend myself. To explain. To clarify timelines, intentions, sacrifices. But I remembered the wisdom of a mentor: “You don’t need to prove anything. Just walk on.”

Jesus and One-Sided Love

There is a deeper wisdom here. One I’ve seen modelled in the life of Jesus — love that gives without condition. Love that serves without guarantee. He wasn’t protected by contracts or backed by policies. He came, knowing many would leave. He gave, knowing most wouldn’t stay.

Leadership isn’t just about launching initiatives. Sometimes it’s about showing up with grace when the relationship doesn’t go the way you hoped. And that’s okay.

Even Jesus washed the feet of the one who would walk away.

When Expansion Isn’t a Strategy — It’s a Sacrifice

Years ago, we said yes to expansion. Not because it was the most profitable move. In fact, many thought it was foolish. We said yes because it was the right thing to do for someone’s growth. Because we believed in giving platforms, not just protecting ourselves.

There were no contracts. No safeguards. Just a handshake and a heart full of belief.

It reminded me of Howard Schultz’s decision in 2008 — shutting down over 7,000 Starbucks stores not for profit, but to restore soul. He wasn’t optimizing margins. He was protecting the mission. Like him, we didn’t expand for visibility. We expanded because someone’s growth mattered more than our caution.

Looking back, would I still do it again?

Maybe. But differently.

Because leadership is not about protecting ourselves from disappointment. It’s about giving others a chance to rise — even if it means they may eventually walk a different path.

But intentional doesn’t mean informal. And love doesn’t cancel out the need for clear commitments.

The Danger of Undefined Commitments

And yet, I’ve learned this: when there is no shared definition of commitment, even the most sincere intentions can unravel. Just like marriage has a covenant to protect the relationship, perhaps we too need clearer agreements in leadership.

Netflix famously declared, “We’re a team, not a family.” It’s a clean model — transactional, efficient, adult-to-adult. But we chose a harder path. Not out of naivety, but conviction. Because families fight. Families forgive. And families grow not by performance alone, but by shared promise.

A promise is not a placeholder. It’s a weight. A weight we must carry, even when things get inconvenient. If it becomes just a wish — “I thought this was what I wanted” — then we’ve reduced sacred trust into a transaction.

Holding the Pain, Without Letting It Harden You

If you asked me how I feel, truthfully — I am hurt. Not angry. Just hurt. Not because someone left, but because of how. When we offer grace, we hope it will be reciprocated. When we build relationally, we hope it will be honoured.

But that hope doesn’t always hold. And that’s okay too.

This is not a failure of leadership. It is a reminder of the fragility of trust. A reminder that love must be chosen, not assumed.

Hurt isn’t a badge of honor. It’s a mirror. And I’m still learning what it reflects. And yet — I still choose to believe. In people. In second chances. In building again.

The Reverse That Redefines It All

The paradox of servant leadership is this: we grow strongest in the moments we feel weakest.

When our hearts are tested. When our intentions are misunderstood. When what we’ve built seems under-appreciated — it is precisely then that we deepen our roots.

Just like muscles grow through resistance, our leadership matures through heartbreak.

We go to the gym to feel weak, so we can grow stronger.

What Still Matters

I zoomed out this week. Away from that one painful exit. Away from that one difficult conversation. And I saw the bigger picture: a team still standing, still committed, still full of hope.

I saw the long arc of this journey — how far we’ve come. The seeds we’ve sown. The lives we’ve impacted. And I reminded myself: one misalignment does not define the mission.

At the end of the day, I don’t speak for others. I speak for what we still believe in.

• We still believe in shaping future-ready learners.
• We still believe in people before process.
• We still believe in second chances — and in the wisdom to build better next time.

Who Matters. What Matters.

And so, this quiet Sunday came to a close.

My children got their haircuts. My wife had a good meal. My parents are well. And my team — they still believe in our vision.

This journey isn’t defined by one exit or one pain. It’s defined by how we respond — whether we let pain harden us or refine us. Whether we choose clearer paths without losing our compassion.

In the end, maybe that’s all that matters.

Who matters. What matters.

The rest… doesn’t matter.