- This topic has 16 replies, 9 voices, and was last updated 4 months, 2 weeks ago by Jessica Uiras.
There have been many moments on my journey where I could have stopped dreaming, but I did not.
Losing my mother to cancer during my first year at university, when I was only eighteen, altered everything I knew about life. I became the caretaker and breadwinner overnight, responsible for my grandmother and three younger sisters. At an age when many are still finding themselves, I was thrown into a world of funerals, medical bills, rent, tuition, and the quiet, invisible labour of holding a family together.
This was not the kind of leadership I was prepared for, but it became the essence of how I lead today. It taught me that leadership is not always about strategy or presence in a room. Sometimes it is about sacrifice. About continuing to show up. About giving what you never had the chance to receive. It is about anchoring others when you, yourself, feel adrift.
These lived experiences shaped my deepest values: compassion, justice, and faith. I lead not from perfection, but from the trenches of pain, resilience, and hard-won hope. I have learned to lead softly, to notice the unspoken, to choose integrity even when the cost is high. I am still learning, still rising, but I know now that true leadership is shaped in the fire and carried in love.
What has shaped your leadership journey? I would be honoured to hear your story.
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There have been many moments on my journey where I could have stopped dreaming, but I did not.
Losing my mother to cancer during my first year at university, when I was only eighteen, altered everything I knew about life. I became the caretaker and breadwinner overnight, responsible for my grandmother and three younger sisters. At an age when many are still finding themselves, I was thrown into a world of funerals, medical bills, rent, tuition, and the quiet, invisible labour of holding a family together.
This was not the kind of leadership I was prepared for, but it became the essence of how I lead today. It taught me that leadership is not always about strategy or presence in a room. Sometimes it is about sacrifice. About continuing to show up. About giving what you never had the chance to receive. It is about anchoring others when you, yourself, feel adrift.
These lived experiences shaped my deepest values: compassion, justice, and faith. I lead not from perfection, but from the trenches of pain, resilience, and hard-won hope. I have learned to lead softly, to notice the unspoken, to choose integrity even when the cost is high. I am still learning, still rising, but I know now that true leadership is shaped in the fire and carried in love.
What has shaped your leadership journey? I would be honoured to hear your story.
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Thank you for sharing such a powerful, heartfelt account of your journey. Your story reflects a depth of courage and emotional intelligence that many leaders spend a lifetime trying to understand. You lead with a kind of quiet strength that is both rare and deeply necessary in today’s world. Your experience—losing your mother so young and stepping into a leadership role under such pressure—resonates as a kind of leadership that doesn’t wear a title or sit at a podium but rather holds people together in silence and unseen effort. It’s leadership as presence, as responsibility, as deep care. That’s profound.
There are moments in life that split your world in two: before and after.
For me, that moment came when I lost both of my parents within the span of a single week.
Grief hit like a wave with no shoreline — chaotic, consuming, and surreal.
And yet, just one week later, I showed up at work.
Not because I had healed. Not because I had the strength. But because I understood something in my bones: that life doesn’t pause for pain. And more importantly, that showing up — even when broken — can be its own kind of courage.
That experience has shaped my leadership in irrevocable ways.
It taught me that leadership is not about titles or performance. It’s about presence. It’s about the quiet power of choosing to care. After losing the two people who gave me life, I found myself more attuned to the pain of others — the invisible griefs they carry into boardrooms, meetings, and everyday conversations.
I no longer lead with urgency. I lead with empathy.
I no longer seek perfection. I seek kindness.
Because at the end of the day, what people remember is not how brilliant you were, how fast you delivered, or how well you performed under pressure. What they remember is how you made them feel — if you saw them, if you listened, if you led with compassion.
Losing everything taught me that empathy is not soft — it’s the fiercest form of leadership there is.
And I carry that with me, every single day.-
Only pain can teach the kind of wisdom you shared, that we’re not remembered for being fast-paced, but for being kind. I hope I keep choosing kindness over perfection and learn to lead not just with urgency, but with empathy. I won’t forget your words in a hurry. Thank you so much for sharing, Dipika. And I’m truly sorry for your loss.
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I am deeply humbled and inspired. This kind of leadership you’ve had to embody at such tender age is something I can only imagine. It cannot be described, only lived. You have clearly learnt that leading is about sacrifice, not just strategy or head knowledge. I was especially moved by how other-centered your leadership journey is, when you said “It’s about giving what you never had the chance to receive. It is about anchoring others when you, yourself, feel adrift” Arrgh! It’s all so raw and real. Again, I am humbled and inspired. Thank you for sharing, Jessica.
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Wow! Thank you for sharing your stories! @Jessica, I can relate a bit to your experience as I also lost my mom in my early 20s. It brought a different kind of maturity and strength. And now while exploring the pieces of my essence, it made me realise how that sad incident awakened the “motherness” in me and my leadership. I carry that force into how I lead, mentor and collaborate.
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Jessica, Thankyou for sharing such a personal and poignant journey. This resonates with me as my father in law passed away suddenly following an unexpected accident. The pain of loss is immense and brings so many emotions to the surface. Questioning the behaviours and attitudes of others, leading to self reflection and a heightened awareness of our own presence and purpose.
Taking strength from trauma and tragedy is not easy but it can push us forward to lead in a powerful and emphatic way, being mindful of others and considering the wider context of challenging situations. This topic has much scope for further discussion as I feel we can all share experiences that intrinsically connect us together. -
If you remain generous,
Time will come good;
And you will find your feet
Again on fresh pastures of promise,
Where the air will be kind
And blushed with beginning.Try, as best you can, not to let
The wire brush of doubt
Scrape from your heart
All sense of yourself
And your hesitant light.Lie low to the wall
Until the bitter weather passes.Jessica, you mentioned that you never stopped dreaming. That stayed with me, and it reminded me of a poem by John O’Donohue, called ‘This is the time to be slow’. I wanted to share it with you all in the hopes that it might bring you some comfort and company:
Thank you for trusting us with your words and experiences. I can’t begin to imagine what such a loss must feel like, or how deeply it shifts your life. Sometimes I find myself without the right words in moments like these, and when that happens, I often turn to the words of others.
Dear Jessica, and everyone who shared their inner thoughts,
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I feel deep, heartfelt gratitude, Jessica, for sharing your story so vulnerably and to all others who have shared too. It takes immense courage to turn pain into power and silence into voice. Your words reminded me that we’re not alone.
My leadership has not come from privilege, but from pain, survival, and relentless self-belief. I am a survivor of sexual violence — abused by cousin brothers I once tied rakhi to, believing they would protect me. That betrayal left scars I couldn’t name then. Living in a remote village, mental health was an unknown concept. I slipped into deep depression, began cutting my own hair, and lived in emotional isolation. It was my mother — her quiet strength, her unwavering presence — who helped me survive when there were no therapists, no language for what I was feeling.
And yet, I rose. I became the first girl in my father’s family to complete a Master’s degree, the first to travel outside my hometown alone, the first to take up a job in another city. I chose the path of purpose. I began with Teach For India, working with children from under-resourced communities — and their resilience reminded me I wasn’t alone. I worked as a climate educator, cleaned garbage spots in Bangalore, only to be questioned by relatives: “Did you leave home to clean trash?”
But I’ve learned I don’t owe explanations. My leadership isn’t about validation. It’s rooted in dignity, empathy, and conviction. Every struggle — from my trauma to being questioned for my choices — has deepened my compassion and shaped how I lead.
I lead by holding space, by choosing love over silence, purpose over fear. Leadership, for me, is not loud — it’s layered, grounded, and quietly radical. I want to walk not just for myself, but for every girl who has been told to stay small.
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I am feeling a bit overwhelmed by your stories.
It has been a constant source of amazement to me that women achieve so much when so many have grown up with disappointment,desperation and discouragement.I will always thank a woman I met when I was 19. She was a long standing friend of my parents whom I knew from a distance. She said to me ‘don’t let your miserable childhood define you Julia. In some ways it is your strength. It’s up to you to make the rest of your life better’. She had a profound impact on me.
I have looked forward ever since and buried a lot. The world tells you that you have to go back and face the trauma, burying has worked far better for me. Why am I saying this? I worry that you may think I am judging or suggesting this as an approach that works for everyone. I am not. What I am saying is that we all deal with pain, in different ways, at different times. And the truth is that others have felt much worse pain than mine.
But one thing I can’t bury is that it all had an impact on how I lead and therefor on the people I lead. It gave me more empathy I hope, but also some triggers that send me in the wrong direction. I hope – slowly – I have learnt to counterbalance them.
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