Making Meaning as a Leadership Practice

I have survived every adversity in my life by making meaning of it.

Because I can.

Because I have agency.

And so do you.

You are the narrator of your life.

You get to tell your story.

It doesn’t have to be objectively true.

It only needs to be true for you.

If you choose, you can be the heroine of your story, not the victim.

Meaning-making and holding on to hope involve finding purpose in life’s experiences and cultivating an outlook that allows you to see light even in the darkest moments, through struggle, pain, and loss.

To own our story is one of the most powerful things we can do.

When we take ownership, we reclaim our narrative from the hands of circumstance, from the voices of others who have tried to define us, and from the noise of fear and shame that can so easily drown out our inner truth. Meaning-making is how we remember who we are, even when the world forgets. It is how we transform pain into wisdom, and chaos into coherence.

I begin by asking questions:

What does this mean?

Why did this happen?

This is what I’m doing when I reflect, when I write, when I paint. I am not simply recounting events—I’m weaving them together into something that makes sense. I’m turning fragments into form. In making meaning, I learn self-awareness. I find purpose. I give my life shape and hope.

In my story, there are no mistakes, only humans doing human things: stumbling, learning, trying again. Every heartbreak, every wrong turn, every detour has brought me closer to understanding myself and the world around me.

In my story, there are no coincidences. Nothing happens by chance. Every encounter, every loss, every moment of grace holds a lesson if I’m willing to look for it. Meaning-making is an act of faith; the belief that life is not random, that our suffering can be transformed into something useful, something sacred.

I have survived every adversity in my life by making meaning of it.

Because I can.

Because I have agency.

And so do you.

You are the narrator of your life.

You get to tell your story.

It doesn’t have to be objectively true—who even knows what the truth is?

It only needs to be true for you.

If you choose, you can be the heroine of your story, not the victim.

Meaning-making and holding on to hope involve finding purpose in life’s experiences and cultivating an outlook that allows you to see light even in the darkest moments—through struggle, pain, and loss.

To own our stories is the most powerful thing we can do.

When we take ownership, we reclaim our narrative from the hands of circumstance, from the voices of others who have tried to define us, and from the noise of fear and shame that can so easily drown out our inner truth. Meaning-making is how we remember who we are, even when the world forgets. It is how we transform pain into wisdom, and chaos into coherence.

I begin by asking questions:

What does this mean?

Why did this happen?

This is what I’m doing when I reflect, when I write, when I paint. I am not simply recounting events—I’m weaving them together into something that makes sense. I’m turning fragments into form. In making meaning, I learn self-awareness. I find purpose. I give my life shape and hope.

In my story, there are no mistakes—only humans doing human things: stumbling, learning, trying again. Every heartbreak, every wrong turn, every detour has brought me closer to understanding myself and the world around me.

In my story, there are no coincidences. Nothing happens by chance. Every encounter, every loss, every moment of grace holds a lesson if I’m willing to look for it. Meaning-making is an act of faith—the belief that life is not random, that our suffering can be transformed into something useful, something sacred.

In my story, we are all interconnected. What I do matters. My choices ripple outward in ways I may never see. I am not alone in my becoming. I am part of a web that stretches across generations—linked to my ancestors, to the people I love, and to those I will never meet but whose lives I can still touch through my actions.

This awareness keeps my ego, my greed, and my fear in check. It reminds me that my power is not for hoarding but for sharing. It keeps me honest. It keeps me humble. It keeps me in service of others, not in service to self.

From that awareness, I choose abundance instead of scarcity.

I choose love instead of fear.

Think about what this means—as a mother, as a community member, as a leader.

Where might you reclaim authorship in your own story?

What meaning might you make from the parts of your life that still ache?

For me, this awareness changes everything about leadership. It means my work is not about control, but about care. It means I am called to hold space for others to make meaning of their own stories—to see their strength, and to find their purpose.

It calls me to think strategically about what is needed now, and what will be needed in the future.

To ask what is sustainable—what kind of world I want to leave behind.

To think about what will benefit the collective, not just the individual.

To bring everyone in and recognize each person’s contribution.

It means thinking about the growth and evolution of the people and things I’m responsible for.

It means I must have courage—not just for myself, but for others. Because courage is contagious. When one person stands in truth, others find the strength to do the same.

It means I have to take care of myself, so I can take care of others.

Because healing is not selfish. It is an act of leadership.

I cannot control the events of my life, but I can control how I respond to them.

I can choose how I will remember them.

I can choose what they will mean.

That is how I lead.

That is how I live.

By making meaning.

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