A few years ago, the author met an old friend and mentor at a coffee shop near his house. He told his friend, whom he called Ray, about his first year as a director. He had gone from being a counselor, whose identity was built around listening and connecting, to managing budgets, writing evaluations, and holding people accountable.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” the author said. “And I feel like I’m bothering people every time I ask for help.”
Ray nodded and said, “Sounds tough. It makes sense that you’re struggling with the transition.”
The author kept adding to his list of complaints. He said that criticism from others did not help. People said he was too nice, not strong enough on policy, and did not hold firm enough on limits.
“I’m not sure how much longer I can do this,” he told Ray.
After the author finished speaking, Ray leaned forward. “Can I tell you something I’m noticing?” he asked.
“Of course,” the author said.
“You’re seeing yourself as a victim,” Ray said. “Like life is just happening to you and you’re waiting for it to stop.”
The author sat for a moment, hoping for advice. But he knew Ray would give him the truth and trust him to find his own way.
The author drove home with a headache. He told himself it was not fair, that Ray had not heard everything. But the word Ray had used stayed with him. It was still there when he tried to sleep, and still there at two in the morning when he was staring at the ceiling.
Victim.
He did not want the word, but he could not put it down. He turned it over in his mind, looking at it from every angle. He started to see something true inside of it. He had been holding onto grievances that he never expressed. He had been quietly accumulating a sense of being wronged without saying a word or trying to change things.
As he lay in the dark, a picture came to his mind. He saw himself wearing a wooden sign around his neck, like a label. The word on the sign was “Victim.”
The hard part was knowing he was not being punished by someone else. Some part of him was choosing to wear it. That image changed something.
He started asking himself what word he did want to carry. He ran through different words: hero, victor, agent, creator, survivor, overcomer. They all had something to teach him, but none were what he needed.
Then a word began to rise up from a deep place. The word that came to him was “Steward.”
He looked it up that night. At its root, the word meant the keeper of the house, someone trusted to look after what belonged to a larger story than their own.
He learned that a steward is someone who takes care of what has been given to them, stays present with intention, and recognizes that what they have been given, including the difficult parts, is worth caring for.
A victim is defined by what has been done to them. A steward is defined by what they choose to do with it.
Years later, the challenges of leadership are still present. The author still struggles with criticism, especially when he feels he is already giving his best. But what is different now is perspective.
A few weeks ago, one of his strongest staff members asked for a formal meeting. She sat down across from his desk and told him that the flexibility he was giving others was making her job harder.
“When people don’t follow through and there are no consequences, the ones who do the work end up carrying more than their share,” she said. “It doesn’t feel fair.”
Inside, the author was already forming a response. He wanted to tell her that he had been trying to ease the pressure people were feeling. But this was the victim talking. A steward does not protect himself from hard feedback. A steward tends to what he has been given.
“You’re right,” he said. “And I’m grateful you came to me directly.” He told her he had been working on holding clearer limits, and that her feedback would help him do that better.
The movement from victim to steward is an ongoing process. The author said he has not perfected it, and does not expect to. He still stumbles, still feels the sign settling back around his neck, and has to find his way back.
He used to experience the difficulty of leadership as something happening to him. What shifted was the recognition that this season of his life was asking something of him, not punishing him. He was being called into service whether he felt ready or not.
That night at the coffee shop, Ray knew the author well enough to tell him an uncomfortable truth. He was not gentle about it. But gentleness is not always what people need, the author wrote. Sometimes people need the sign around their neck pointed out to them by someone standing close enough to see it.
