When Life Forces the Leader to Slow Down

The Truth Leaders Rarely Say Out Loud

There I was, sitting at home while many of my friends were attending the John Maxwell conference in Florida.

I was supposed to be there with them.

Instead, I’m recovering from surgery after tearing my biceps tendon.

I’ll be honest: I’m dealing with a lot of mixed emotions.

I’m missing more than a conference. I’m missing a book signing, possible speaking opportunities, time with friends, and the chance to use Healing the Leader Within as the foundation for the speaking business I want to build.

Part of me believes I should be there. Part of me feels like I should be doing much more than I’m doing right now.

But my body has given me a different assignment:

Rest.

That may sound simple. For someone like me, it isn’t.

When Doing Nothing Feels Like Failure

I didn’t learn leadership in a classroom.

I learned it on the shop floor, under pressure, and in moments most people never see.

For more than three decades, I’ve worked in manufacturing, aerospace, and maintenance—places where mistakes cost time, money, and sometimes lives. I learned to solve problems, carry responsibility, and keep moving when everyone was counting on me.

I’ve been the guy who worked more than 100 hours in a week.

I’ve been the guy who felt the weight of leadership before he knew how to handle it.

I’ve been the guy who looked strong on the outside while fighting battles no one could see.

For years, pushing through wasn’t just something I did. It became part of who I thought I was.

So even now, after everything I’ve learned through addiction, recovery, loss, leadership, and writing this book, I still hear that old voice:

You have all this time off. You should be productive. You should build something. You should keep moving.

Meanwhile, my body is saying:

Slow down. Heal. Give this time.

That inner struggle is real—even for me.

The Lesson Became Personal Again

In Healing the Leader Within, I write about the pressure, shame, self-doubt, and hidden struggles many leaders carry. I write about facing what’s happening beneath the surface instead of hiding behind work, strength, or achievement.

One of the central truths in the book is this:

Real leadership doesn’t start with strategy, tactics, or productivity. It starts with dealing honestly with your inner self.

Well, here I am—being asked to live that lesson again.

The honest truth is that I don’t want to slow down.

I’m in the middle of launching and promoting a book. I want to speak. I want to connect with people. I want to build something that matters and give a voice to leaders who carry enormous weight but rarely talk about it.

At 60, I’m more aware than ever that life isn’t unlimited. I believe some of my best work is still ahead of me, but I also feel pressure to make the time count.

I don’t want to look back and wonder whether I made the impact I was capable of making.

That urgency can be useful. It can also pull me back into the same destructive pattern I thought I had left behind: tying my value to how much I accomplish.

Apparently, growth likes to give pop quizzes.

Owning My Part

There comes a point when you have to stop fighting reality and own your part in it.

Right now, there’s no strategy that will make my tendon heal overnight.

I can’t outwork recovery.

I can’t grind my way back to full strength.

I can’t bully my body into following my business plan.

If I refuse to slow down willingly, life will slow me down anyway.

Maybe that’s part of the message.

I don’t yet know the full meaning of this season. I do know that surrender isn’t the same as quitting. Rest isn’t weakness. Healing isn’t wasted time.

Sometimes leadership means taking action.

Sometimes leadership means accepting that action isn’t what the moment requires.

That’s harder for many of us than we admit. We know how to work. We know how to solve problems. We know how to carry the load.

What we don’t always know is how to set it down without feeling guilty.

Healing the Leader—Inside and Out

I wish I could tell you I’ve mastered this.

I haven’t.

I’ve healed a great deal of the leader within me, but that doesn’t mean the work is finished. Old habits don’t always disappear. Sometimes they wait for a hard moment and ask whether you’d like to take them for another spin.

Today, I’m choosing something different.

I can still create, but I don’t have to push.

I can still move forward, but I can move one step at a time.

I can work when it supports my healing and rest when my body tells me it’s time.

This post itself is an example.

I didn’t sit at a keyboard and type it. I used speech-to-text because I currently have only one working arm. It allowed me to express what I’m feeling, create something meaningful, and feel a sense of progress without pretending I’m at full strength.

That may be the balance I need right now.

Not doing nothing.

Not doing everything.

Doing what I can—and allowing that to be enough.

A Word for the Leader Who Can’t Slow Down

If you’re the person everyone depends on, you may believe you can’t stop.

You may feel guilty when you rest. You may even fear that if you slow down, everything you’ve worked for will pass you by.

I understand.

But the pressure, doubt, and emotional weight you carry aren’t proof that you’re weak. They’re part of carrying responsibility—and you don’t have to carry them alone.

Strong leadership isn’t pretending nothing affects you. It’s being honest enough to notice what’s happening inside you and wise enough to respond before life makes the decision for you.

I would rather be in Florida today.

I would rather be signing books, meeting people, and opening doors for what comes next.

But I’m here.

So, for today, my job is to heal. My job is to trust that another opportunity will come. My job is to let go of the belief that every day must produce something visible to have value.

I’m still learning to lead myself.

Maybe we all are.

And maybe this is Chapter 13⅓ of Healing the Leader Within—the chapter that could only be written after I thought the book was finished.

Because sometimes the next step forward is learning when to stop.