When Leadership Feels Lonely: Why I Wrote About Shadow Work

​When things go wrong inside an organisation, relationships break down—and the higher up you are, the fewer safe places you have to talk about it.
Boards often lack the tools—or the will—to address what’s really happening. Colleagues may be too burned out or afraid to speak honestly. And for many managers—especially women and people in values-led roles—the unspoken message is clear: "Hold it all together or quietly leave."
So we do. We leave. But we carry the story with us.
Shadow work—the process of facing what’s hidden or suppressed—was the only way I could make sense of what I’d been through. But healing shouldn’t be a solo mission.
I believe we need safer, braver spaces to talk about power, pain, and leadership. We need new tools—not just to survive, but to lead with clarity and compassion.
Rena was a program manager at a values-based organisation doing community outreach. She was passionate, smart, and deeply committed to the mission. She worked long hours—not because anyone asked her to, but because she cared. Because she believed in the cause.
But the culture around her was slowly changing.
The board had become disconnected. Decisions were made in closed-door meetings. Staff were burning out, but no one felt safe enough to speak up. When Rena did raise concerns, she was labelled “negative.” When she advocated for her team, she was told she wasn’t “strategic” enough.
Over time, she started doubting herself.
She went home exhausted, questioning whether she was the problem. Her boundaries blurred. Her confidence eroded. And still, she kept showing up—holding space for her team, trying to be the glue in an unravelling system.
Eventually, Rena left. Not with anger. Not with a grand exit speech. Just quietly.
No one asked her why. No one looked back.
I wrote about Rena—because there are thousands of Renas.
And they’re not weak. They’re not broken. They are the ones who hold the line until it breaks them.
If you’ve ever felt like Rena, this book is for you. If you’re still in that space, know this: your empathy is not a liability. Your clarity is not a threat. And your voice matters—even when others try to silence it.