When Fear Seems to Blot Out the Sun

Most leadership journeys don’t begin with power.
They begin with care.

Yesterday, I was in conversation with a client—also a colleague and a friend. At one point she paused and asked, “Have you always been like this? Have you always really cared this much?”

Yes-ish.

I’m not perfect—especially up close. I can be quirky. I can be impatient. But I have always carried a clear-eyed sense that something could work better. A desire to reduce friction, create fairness, and make space for people to do meaningful work with dignity.

Early on, leadership felt like possibility. If you brought enough effort, clarity, and goodwill, progress should follow. My life’s work has been alongside people who largely felt the same—people who noticed what wasn’t working and believed, sincerely, that care plus commitment could move things forward.

This is the call of the hero’s journey.
Earnest. Hopeful. Necessary.

But leadership, as it turns out, does not unfold in straight lines.

When Care Meets Reality

What follows the call is not failure—it’s friction.

The friction of systems that move slowly.
Of incentives that reward safety over sense-making.
Of “no” delivered politely, repeatedly, and without clear ownership.

At first, you assume you just need to try harder. Explain better. Build more alignment. Anticipate objections before they surface. You work longer hours, carry more context, and take on responsibility that technically isn’t yours—because the work matters.

And for a while, that works.

Until it doesn’t.

You begin to see that resistance is rarely dramatic. It doesn’t announce itself as opposition. It shows up as process. As precedent. As reasonable concerns raised at exactly the wrong moment.

This is where leadership stops being aspirational and becomes embodied.

When Fear Becomes the Climate

Over time, something subtle happens.

You start editing yourself before you speak.
You learn which questions stall momentum and which ones quietly mark you as “difficult.”
You become fluent in the unspoken rules.

Fear doesn’t arrive as panic.
It arrives as atmosphere.

It shapes what gets said, what gets deferred, and what gets normalized. Optimism erodes not through a single loss, but through accumulation. Confidence thins under constant constraint. Care—once expansive—becomes guarded.

This is the part of the journey many leaders misunderstand.

They read exhaustion as inadequacy.
They assume their hesitation means they’re losing their edge.
They tell themselves the cost of caring this much is simply too high.

But this is not weakness.
It is initiation.

The Turn Inward

Eventually, the question changes.

Not How do I get permission?
But What do I know to be true—even if it’s inconvenient?

This is the turning point of the hero’s journey—the moment where leadership can no longer be sustained by external validation alone.

You realize that what has been most draining is not resistance itself, but the constant outsourcing of authority: to approval, to consensus, to reassurance, to being liked.

And you see clearly that if your legitimacy depends on others saying yes, fear will always have leverage.

Something else is required.

Inner Authority: The Next Chapter of Leadership

Inner Authority is not certainty.
It is not control.
It is not the absence of doubt.

Inner Authority is the capacity to remain grounded in your judgment, values, and purpose—especially when conditions are ambiguous and approval is not guaranteed.

It is the shift from “Is this allowed?” to “Is this aligned?”

Leaders with Inner Authority don’t stop listening—but they stop disappearing. They don’t rush to resolve tension by self-editing or over-explaining. They can tolerate complexity without abandoning themselves.

This authority is not bestowed.
It is earned—through experience, discernment, and the willingness to stay present when fear narrows the field of vision.

When Fear No Longer Decides

If fear feels especially present right now, it may be because you are standing at the threshold of this next chapter.

Not a chapter defined by proving, pleasing, or pushing uphill alone—but one shaped by wisdom already formed. Wisdom forged through care, disappointment, responsibility, and choice.

You do not arrive here empty-handed.

You bring judgment sharpened by experience.
Strength built through endurance.
And the possibility of community—others who are also learning to lead from deeper ground.

Fear may still pass through.
But it no longer gets to decide.

When leadership is rooted in Inner Authority, the sun does not need to be chased.

It reappears—because you’ve learned how to stand steady long enough to see it.

Hoping the Sun is Shining on Your Face,

DeEtta