It was 9:30 p.m. when I finally pulled up to our home after a long, full day. I’d been running between work and kids’ volleyball, juggling the many moving pieces that make up modern life. Then I saw it—every light on the work side of our lives–work space blazing—and my blood instantly boiled.
It’s a small thing, but it landed heavy. The lights felt symbolic—of how I’m often the one who notices, catches, completes.
And right on cue, the familiar narrative arrived: If I don’t take responsibility for everything, no one will. My body tightened. My mind started tallying. My tone sharpened before I even spoke.
I walked into the house hot. Kids at the table. Nathan eating dinner. “Why are all the lights still on?” He looked up, calm, and said, “You’re right. I forgot.”
Nothing to debate. Nothing dramatic. Just an ordinary moment with an old storyline that knew exactly how to find me.
If I’d kept following the script, I knew how it would end: me resentful, him guilty, everyone bracing for the next round.
But that night, as I went to bed irritated, I caught it. I could see the story playing out in real time. I wanted to meet it differently.
The Morning After
The next morning, I woke up still feeling it—the residue, the righteousness, the weariness that comes from holding it all. I know myself well enough to know: if I don’t shift this energy, it will shape my whole day.
So before Nathan got out of bed, I said, “Hey—I want to try something.” Not to erase what happened, but to change how I met it.
I began naming things I appreciate about him: the way he makes our kids laugh, how present he is when he’s inspired, how his energy fills a room when he’s connected to his purpose.
About fifteen in, my breath slowed. My body softened. The story loosened its grip.
He offered reflections back to me. Nothing external had changed. But inside, I had moved—from control to connection, from accusation to presence.
That’s what it looks like to meet the same story differently.
What I Keep Learning
1. Stories are sticky.
We all have them—that inner narrative that says, “I’m the only one who sees what needs to be done,” or “If I don’t catch it, it won’t happen.” The work is noticing when a story has taken the wheel.
2. Repair is a practice, not a performance.
Repair doesn’t always mean a big conversation or perfect apology. Sometimes it’s a personal decision to reset your nervous system—to choose connection over control.
3. Awareness isn’t bypassing.
This practice wasn’t about pretending the lights didn’t matter; it was about not letting them become the only thing that mattered.
4. Connection isn’t always symmetrical.
Nathan didn’t feel disconnected. I did. And that’s okay. Repair is about self-responsibility, not balance-sheet fairness.
5. Love—and leadership—live in the ordinary.
We romanticize transformation as something dramatic, but real evolution happens in the mundane moments: the pause before reacting, the breath before speaking, the willingness to come back to center.
Coming Back to Awareness
Whether at home or in leadership, the principle is the same. The story will return—it always does. But each time, we have a chance to see it differently.
That’s what transformational leadership really is: the ability to see your own patterns in real time, to take responsibility for your energy, and to return to what matters most.
As this year comes to a close, I invite you to consider:
What stories have been replaying for you in the realm of…
- Relationships—family dynamics, friendships, partners, colleagues, teams, community
- Work—expectations, boundaries, purpose, leadership presence
- Health—your body’s signals, stress patterns, habits, vitality
- Wealth—your relationship with resources, trust, expansion, security
- Inner Truth—the part of you beneath the roles, the noise, and the performance
What could it look like to meet those stories differently than you have before?
Reflecting on these questions over the next few weeks—and writing down whatever arises—is one of the most potent ways to close the year. Patterns don’t dissolve through insight alone; they shift when you bring consistent awareness to the places where you’ve gone unconscious.
And this is where real transformation lives. Not in the dramatic moments, but in the steady, honest practice of meeting the same old story with new awareness.
If you’re noticing that some of the same stories keep resurfacing—and you’re tired of navigating them alone—this is the exact work I do with clients. Together, we track the patterns that quietly shape your leadership, your relationships, your decisions, and your sense of aliveness. We create space for clarity, emotional mastery, and a deeper capacity to respond rather than react.
If you feel the pull to step into that kind of work, I invite you to explore Transformational Leadership Coaching and schedule a conversation about what’s possible for you.
Let’s stay connected—join my community:
Leave A Comment