I grew up in an evangelical community where I was taught to be a moral person, to behave well, and to be socially appropriate. Faith mattered. Scripture mattered. The church mattered. But what I was never exposed to—at least not explicitly—was the intentional work of spiritual and emotional formation.
A significant part of my early formation centered on the conviction that following Jesus meant denying yourself. And of course, Jesus does say, “If anyone wants to follow me, let them deny themselves, take up their cross, and follow me.” But in the community that shaped me, that call was interpreted in a way that taught me something unintended and ultimately unhealthy: that paying attention to my inner life was dangerous, indulgent, or even unfaithful.
What I absorbed, often without words, was that any awareness of weakness, brokenness, fear, or sin needed to be hidden, managed, or covered over.
Faithfulness meant projecting strength. Struggle was something you kept hidden deep within—if you acknowledged it at all.
Self-reflection easily slid into self-criticism or shame, so it was safer not to look too closely. As a result, the practices that cultivate self-awareness—honest reflection, naming emotions, curiosity about what’s happening inside—were largely unavailable to me.
It took many years for me to learn something I now say often: self-awareness isn’t self-absorption; it’s stewardship, especially for leaders. Jesus consistently invited leaders to look inward before addressing others. “Why do you look at the speck in your neighbor’s eye and pay no attention to the log in your own?” That wasn’t shame. It was wisdom about influence. Jesus understood that unexamined leaders inevitably burden others with what they refuse to face in themselves.
What I’ve learned—sometimes painfully—is that when leaders don’t know what they’re feeling or why, those unexamined emotions don’t disappear. They get carried by the system. Anxiety shows up as urgency. Fear shows up as control. Insecurity shows up as unrealistic expectations. The leader may feel composed, but the organization feels tense.
Over time, I’ve come to believe that self-awareness is one of the most loving practices a leader can cultivate. It lowers anxiety, builds trust, and creates space for others to show up more fully.
And importantly, growing self-awareness isn’t about fixing yourself. It’s about faithfully tending what belongs to you so others don’t have to carry it for you.
Like all formation, this has been a developmental process for me—one I’ve practiced imperfectly and returned to again and again. My capacity for self-awareness has grown through the practice of the disciplines of silence and solitude, through small groups where authenticity was valued, through years of therapy and spiritual direction, and more recently through the gift of having a coach who helps me notice patterns I still miss on my own.
What I’m still learning is that formation doesn’t make me immune to being triggered. I can still get activated. I still react at times.
The difference now is that the work is no longer to judge myself or suppress what I’m feeling, but to notice myself honestly and compassionately. When I can pause, name that I’ve been triggered, and get curious about what’s happening in me, I regain the freedom to respond as my best self rather than react from my anxiety.
So I’m left with a question—one I continue to ask myself and the leaders I work with:
What emotions do you most often ask your team to carry for you? And how are you growing your own self-awareness so they don’t have to?
