Leadership as Ancestral Work

There are days when I can feel them. 

Not in a ghostly way, but in my bones. 

The people who came before me. 

Whose names I may not know. Whose stories may have been lost or stolen. 

But whose survival made mine possible. 

When I sit in circles, when I teach, when I lead—there is something more than me at work. I used to think it was instinct or training. Now I know: it’s memory. Lineage. Echoes of wisdom passed down through spirit and blood. 

Leadership, for me, is not about title or hierarchy. 

It’s ancestral work. 

It is the daily practice of honoring those who made my path possible while shaping the path for those who will follow. It's a bridge—between what was and what could be. 

And that bridge isn’t always glamorous. Sometimes it looks like being the only voice in the room naming harm. Sometimes it’s carrying a load of emotional labor no one else sees. Sometimes it’s staying steady while others unravel. Sometimes it’s being misunderstood, or even erased, because you’re speaking a truth that wasn’t meant to survive. 

But we do it anyway. 

Because someone did it for us. 

I think often about how many of our ancestors led in ways that were never recorded. How many grandmothers led with pots of stew and stories whispered over laundry. How many elders led with silence and side-eyes and sacred rage. How many queer, disabled, Indigenous, Black, brown, and undocumented people led without recognition—but with immeasurable impact. 

Their leadership wasn’t always strategic in the corporate sense, but it was essential—keeping communities intact, wisdom alive, resistance moving. 

So, when I speak about leadership today, I’m not just talking about skills or competencies. I’m talking about legacy. About knowing where we come from and allowing that to shape how we show up. 

Ancestral leadership asks us to: 

• Lead with integrity, even when no one is watching. 

• Create not just for this moment, but for generations to come. 

• Rest, because our healing is part of our lineage’s repair. 

• Tell the truth, even when it’s inconvenient. 

• Remember that we are never alone in this work. 

I carry my ancestors into every room I enter. I speak their names in my heart before I speak my own aloud. I lead in ways that I hope would make them proud, or at the very least, would make them nod knowingly and say, “Yes. She remembers.” 

And I lead for those who are coming after me. For my son, his children, their children. For all the children. I want them to inherit not just a better world, but a deeper understanding of who they are and whose they are. 

Leadership is not just what we do—it’s what we carry. 
And if we carry it with care, with intention, with love— 
We become ancestors worth remembering. 

“I am my ancestors' wildest dreams.” 
—Anonymous, African American Proverb 

Let us lead like someone prayed for us to get here. 
Because someone did.