This week, I had an experience that surprised me—and then taught me something important about leadership.
Claire, a woman who generously offered support with the details of the Lewes Leadership Lunch (L3), stepped in to help in a few very practical ways. Initially, she offered to find a great food option, place the order, and pick it up. I gave her my credit card number, and off she went.
Then she noticed something else.
We needed to send an email to our member list encouraging them to sign up for the next L3. Recognizing the need, she simply wrote the email and sent it to me. The questions she included at the bottom were gold. I thanked her profusely for taking the initiative.
After this week’s L3, she did it again.
Without being asked, Claire wrote a thoughtful thank-you email to our list—recapping what our facilitator covered and sharing details about the next L3, including the topic and presenter. It was well-written, clear, and engaging.
And that’s when a very human thought crossed my mind:
But that’s my job.
She’s doing my job.
I love writing these emails.
Instead of shutting it down or telling her not to do it anymore, I sat with the feeling. I brought it to my higher power and asked what I was meant to do with it.
What I heard was simple and unsettling:
This frees you up to focus on other things.
My immediate response was resistance.
But I like doing this.
I’m good at it.
Writing gives me a sense of accomplishment and contribution.
The longer I sat with it, the more I realized how often we hold tightly to the things we enjoy—and the things we know—because they feel safe. They give us evidence that we are useful, productive, and needed.
But sometimes leadership isn’t about doing what we can do.
Sometimes it’s about allowing others to do what they can do.
When we allow people to share their gifts, we create space. And space is where transformation happens.
That space might be external—freeing up time and energy.
Or it might be internal—quieting the need to control, prove, or produce.
In that space, something else becomes possible.
I have plenty of time right now to write these emails, and I enjoy doing it. But perhaps I won’t always. Perhaps this is preparation. Perhaps I’m being invited toward work that more fully calls on my highest talents.
And perhaps Claire needs the opportunity to shine, contribute, and grow in her own leadership.
Allowing is not passive.
Allowing is not abdication.
Allowing is an active, intentional leadership practice.
It requires trust.
It requires humility.
And often, it requires us to loosen our grip on the things that make us feel competent and comfortable.
But when we do, we make room—for others to rise, and for ourselves to be transformed.
What are you still doing because you love it, know it, or feel needed there—and what might you be preventing by not allowing someone else to take it on?