Leadership requires the ability to compartmentalize. This isn’t the same as negating feelings or the impacts of outside influences, but a leader must remain focused in spite of extenuating conditions.
It’s expected that a leader will be tougher than circumstances and continue leading, inspiring, and setting a sterling example without interruption. One doesn’t have to experience the trauma of interpersonal violence to be affected by difficult circumstances.
Regardless of their position, whether a political figure, military leader, church pastor, or a family’s matriarch, if something bad happens, by proxy leaders are expected to exude calmness and steadfast resolve. But if the leader is experiencing grief, much of that expectation is negated by human nature. One’s personal well of stoicism is only so deep.
The five stages of grief, as developed by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross are, denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. These don’t occur in sequence nor on a fixed schedule; the stages may overlap and each person’s grief journey is highly personalized. I know this through four, salient personal experiences.
Denial. I experienced denial when my father suddenly passed. My mother’s path to death was more protracted, so I skipped denial. When one of my men was killed, I couldn’t believe it, so I was in denial. My friend’s recent Leukemia diagnosis led me to bypass denial that it was happening and turn to acceptance of the situation, though not its inevitability.
Anger. I wasn’t mad when my father died. Nor with my mother. That came later when I found I didn’t achieve closure with them and there would be no further conversations or revelations. Our relationship was what it was. With my compatriot, I was furious, seeking revenge on the enemy. Removed from the wars, with my sick friend, I didn’t become angry. He isn’t gone yet. But I found I was angry he might be taken from me and there was nothing I could do about it. That makes me sad. All of the losses made me sad.
Bargaining. When I received the Red Cross Message, I wasn’t aware my father had suffered the stroke which led to his death. I feared the worst in that one of my children, or my wife, was the subject of the message. By the time I was informed it was him, I had already bargained with God. I asked him to take me over my children, me over my wife. With my mother, my dead Sailor, and my friend’s Leukemia, I didn’t make any bargains. I know how useless it is to try.
Depression. It goes hand-in-glove with grief. Loss of loved one, the demise of a relationship, not getting the job or being fired from one, being shunned by friends. All of these incidents can trigger emotions which establish a helix of depression-driven grief. With all of my own losses, I found depression impossible to escape. I still suffer from it.
Being a leader while navigating personally rough patches is expected. It is another issue altogether when grief has you overwhelmed. This can come in the form of bad news, an untimely death, sudden illness or any number of bad things. Grief becomes a blow that must be absorbed until you reach its last stage, acceptance.
Acceptance. I’m not good at accepting, the finality, which accompanies grief—ostensibly its final stage. I wouldn’t characterize myself as an optimist, however. I’m more of a cynic, which means I’m either correct or pleasantly surprised. In either case, it requires stubbornness. But I’ve accepted my parents’ and my men’s deaths, and I’m coming to terms with the fact that my friend may die. I don’t have to like it. It’s an is.
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Coupled with the stages of grief are the parallel feelings of isolation and loneliness, especially for a leader. There are no days off and the leader must press through the emotional storm while maintaining clarity. This combination of aspects creates a tremendous amount of pressure.
The pressure is relentless and a leader is expected to perform. Wearing a stoic countenance to match a brave posture doesn’t negate the roiling sea of frustration and angst within a leader. It isn’t as if this just goes away.
In my time in the military I only met one leader who carried on as if nothing was wrong or had happened after not only the death of his men, but that of one of his own children. Somewhere, the latter had to have affected him, but none of us would have known it. It would be cheap to call him a sociopath; none of us know how we deal with such things, though I have met other leaders who viewed their men as a means to an end, casualties being the cost of doing business.
I’m told my best writing is when I’m being authentic, vulnerable, when I express my thoughts in relatable ways. These may work well for an author, but for a leader in units where the people are immensely tough it can be detrimental.
After losing one of my men, I broke down in front of unit and my Platoon Sergeant, aptly nicknamed “Iceman,” pulled me away from them to console me. He understood my emotional state, but also cautioned I couldn’t do that any more.
“It rattles the boys, and they must see you a certain way.”
To this day I debate whether that’s true. An exhibition of humanity is sometimes necessary, though collapsing into a blubbering heap is certainly uninspiring.
The issue with grief is that a leader doesn’t get to decide when it will grip them, overwhelming their capacity to withhold it, subverting the decision making process. Grief can paralyze a leader, but they must work through it.
Like training for combat, you can train as much as you want and do so with realistic scenarios, but nothing can prepare you for the actual act. Delivering a eulogy because people view you as a stable presence can be equally daunting. It helps to steel your mind and resolve.
The opposite of fear is love. So, too, must the opposite of grief be joy. To all who are experiencing grief and unsure of how to lead yourself through it, or lead people around you while determining how you must deal with your own sadness, I wish you joy. I trust you find it, share it, and lead by example.
There is no fairer gift from life than a friend who listens. Thank you.