The isolation of leadership

Anyone in leadership knows: it can be a profoundly lonely place.

I’ve sat with politicians making nation-shaping decisions, with church leaders stewarding global movements, with founders launching projects no one fully understands yet—not even them.

I’ve also walked alongside organisational leaders determined to build something better, even when it means challenging the status quo.

It’s now been 7 years since “the World's First Loneliness Minister” made headlines here in Australia. It was 2018, and the UK wasn’t the only country starting to consider loneliness as a public health concern.

I’m not sure why that moment etched itself so clearly in my mind, but there was something unprecedented about seeing a senior government role dedicated solely to tackling loneliness.

Now, years later, I find myself writing on the very same theme—because in just the past week alone, I’ve lost count of how many conversations have circled back to that one word: loneliness.

The contexts have varied:

• Leadership — the isolation that seems to increase the more responsibility someone carries

• Young people — especially in the wake of digital saturation, with some calling for a national year of service to combat disconnection

• Mothers — navigating the relentlessness of raising children while aching for deeper relationships and more meaningful conversations

But today, I’m talking to the first.

Whether you're an entrepreneur, pastor, CEO, or policymaker—you’re likely forging something that hasn’t existed before. There’s no manual. No certainty. No roadmap that guarantees success.

Often, the job is to speak belief into being before the results exist. Like a duck gliding across a lake—serene above the surface while paddling frantically underneath—leaders are tasked with presenting calm clarity while shouldering the chaos of building something from scratch.

You’re casting vision, aligning stakeholders, securing resources, unblocking resistance, and trying not to lose momentum. All at once. And all while knowing that what you’re building is fragile—still unseen, still unproven.

In a role like that, trust becomes currency.
But who do you trust with the messy middle?
Who can hold the weight with you without tipping the boat?
Who can see what you see—and still stay steady when the way forward isn’t?

This is where loneliness creeps in. Not because you don’t have people around you—but because few people can carry the ambiguity, pressure, and responsibility that sits in your seat. You can be surrounded by good people and still be alone in the decision-making, in the risk, in the vision you’re trying to steward into life.

So what do we do with this?

Honestly? There’s no easy fix. Leadership—especially the kind that charts new territory—is lonely. It’s part of the cost. But it doesn’t have to be isolating.

The leaders who make it through are the ones who have at least one or two people who can help hold the vision and the cost. Who don’t flinch when things feel shaky. Who know how to ask the right questions. Who know when to say, “keep going,” and when to say, “pause, and come up for air.”

I’ve rarely talked publicly about those moments—because by design, I’m usually the one helping hold the tension, not narrating it. But I’m increasingly aware that if we don’t start naming this space, we’ll keep reinforcing the idea that to lead is to bear everything alone.

That’s not courage. That’s a slow collapse waiting to happen.

If you're in this place—

Carrying something no one else can quite see yet…
Feeling the strain of needing to speak success before it’s secure.
Wondering who you can trust—without needing to perform for them.

You’re not alone.

You probably don’t need someone to solve it all. But you do need someone who can see you in it.

Someone who knows what it means to hold the tension without tipping the boat.
Who can ask the right questions, sit with the ambiguity, and help you keep moving toward what matters most.

If that’s you—let this be your reminder:
You weren’t made to carry this alone.

We do need more people—men and women of integrity—willing to hold the messy middle with you.

To walk quietly alongside, to hold space for vision before it becomes visible, and to strengthen the arms of those carrying weight the rest of the world can’t see.

It’s a privilege to do that kind of work.
And if you’re someone who does—or wants to—don’t underestimate the role you’re playing.

But I’ve also learnt that sometimes, having someone outside the system—who’s walked this road with others—can make a significant difference. Not to take over, but to come alongside to provide perspective, structure, and the kind of adhoc or ongoing support that helps vision take shape.

If this is you—keep going! And if outside perspective could help, let’s talk.