The Space After the Fire
Part of the Navigating Crisis Series — How Nourished Leaders Lead Through Uncertainty
The summit is behind me, and I’ll share its recap and lessons soon. For now, I’m choosing to write from where I am — mid-integration, post-crisis, still finding language for what’s changed.
These reflections are part of my Navigating Crisis series — how Nourished Leaders lead through uncertainty.
People keep asking how my mother is.
And I never know how to answer.
We’re no longer in the height of crisis — the alarms have quieted, the hospital room feels less urgent — but we’re also not “okay.” We’re somewhere in between: that strange post-crisis liminal space where reality hasn’t caught up to relief yet.
It’s like standing on a bridge after the fire. The worst is over, but the air still smells like smoke. You’re safe, technically. But you’re also shaken, singed, and unsure what’s next.
The Language Problem of Crisis
When people ask “How is she?” — I freeze.
Because what do you say when “better” and “not better” are both true?
If I say she’s fine, I erase the complexity.
If I say she’s not, I risk reinforcing a story that isn’t the whole truth either.
The truth is that she’s defying odds — as she always has with sickle cell disease — yet the numbers still flag red.
We’ve left the emergency, but we haven’t reached ease.
And that’s where so many of us live after crisis: not in chaos, not in calm — but in the corridor between them.
The Corridor Leaders Don’t Talk About
Leadership has its own version of this corridor.
It’s the moment after a major reorg, when the team is safe but disoriented.
After the layoffs, when the remaining employees look at you for direction — and you’re still catching your breath.
After the pitch that didn’t land, or the vision that almost fell apart, but somehow didn’t.
You’re expected to be grateful the fire’s out — and you are — but no one tells you how to lead when you’re still coughing on the smoke.
We often think leadership in crisis is about quick action.
But leadership after crisis is about slow integration.
It’s about learning to breathe again without bracing for the next alarm.
What “Well” Really Means
When I say my mom is well, I’m not talking about lab results.
I’m talking about how she holds herself in the in-between.
She chooses wellness — not as denial, but as discipline.
She’s teaching me that the real crisis lies in the mind, never in the reality of the moment.
The real crisis lies in the mind, never in the reality of the moment.
And that’s leadership too: to choose clarity when the outcome is still uncertain.
To define wellness — or stability, or success — as something deeper than circumstances.
What Leaders Can Practice
If you’re leading through post-crisis recovery — at home, at work, or in your own body — here’s what helps me stay anchored:
Name the liminal. Say, “We’re not in crisis, but we’re not in calm either.” Language gives legitimacy to the in-between.
Pause before projecting. Don’t rush to label things “fixed” or “broken.” They can simply be becoming.
Choose wellness as focus. Not because everything’s perfect, but because your focus directs your energy.
Let integration take time. Healing isn’t linear. Neither is organizational recovery.
Lead with tenderness. Others might still be breathing smoke too. Meet them where they are.
Closing Reflection
So when people ask, “How’s your mom?”
Maybe the truest answer is this:
“She’s in the space after the fire — still standing, still healing, still radiant.”
And maybe that’s the answer for all of us learning to lead after the flames:
We are still standing.
We are still healing.
We are still radiant.
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