No one tells you how lonely leadership can be.
They don’t talk about the moments when you’re standing in a room full of people you love, serve, and pour into, and still feel invisible. They don’t prepare you for the ache of always being the encourager, the planner, the prayer warrior… while quietly wondering if anyone sees you.
I’ve spent years in ministry, called by God, passionate about students, faithful to build a community where belonging is sacred and safe. And somewhere along the way, as I created that space for others, I exiled myself from having it too.
Because here’s the thing: leadership often looks like standing strong. Holding the clipboard. Running the small group. Holding it together. But what happens when the one who holds others up starts to sink?
The Iceberg
There have been seasons where I’ve felt like I was standing on an iceberg part of the same ocean as everyone else, but just far enough away to feel the chill of isolation. And the higher the expectations, the greater the distance can feel.
I didn’t choose ministry to stand alone. I stepped into it not only because I felt called by God, but because I longed for community. I wanted to experience the beauty of genuine friendships forged through faith. I tried to lock arms with others who cared deeply about the Kingdom.
But often, the deeper I went into leadership, the more I silenced my own needs. I became the safe space for others and forgot that I needed one too.
The Double-Edged Sword
Community is what I preach because it’s what I know heals, transforms, and sustains us. I’ve watched teenagers come alive when they’re truly known and loved. I’ve led mission trips, small groups, worship nights, and cried happy tears when a student found their people.
But here’s the tension: how do you create something for others that you’re starving for yourself?
Ministry is personal. Leadership is vulnerable. And yet so often, we’re told (or we assume) we must be “above” the need—to keep it all together, keep it professional, keep the tears in the car on the way home.
Where’s the Balance?
Here’s what I’ve learned the hard way: boundaries aren’t walls, but they do need doors.
I can’t spill my deepest hurts to my students, and I shouldn’t. But I also can’t keep pretending that being strong means being silent. I need mentors. I need friends who don’t see me as “just the ministry girl.” I need a small circle where I can say, “I’m not okay,” and not feel like I’m letting down the whole kingdom.
The balance isn’t found in pretending. It’s found in intentional, appropriate vulnerability. It’s found in seeking out life-giving friendships outside your team, outside your age group, even outside your church staff if needed. It’s found in therapy, spiritual direction, long walks with trusted people, and not apologizing for needing care.
The Solution Isn’t Simple, but It’s Sacred
If you’re a leader who feels left out—please hear me: you’re not alone, even when it feels like you are.
Don’t ignore the ache. It’s not a weakness; it’s a sign you’re human. And God didn’t create leaders to function as lone islands of strength. Even Jesus surrounded Himself with community, and they weren’t perfect, but He didn’t walk alone.
So, step off the iceberg. You don’t have to stay there.
Pursue your people, even if it’s outside the places you serve. Let someone pray for you for once. Seek the counselor. Send the text. Join the group. Try again, even if past friendships have hurt.
And when you feel like no one sees you, remember that the God who called you does. The One who placed you in leadership doesn’t expect you to lead without being led. He knows your name, not your title.
He’s not just your Master, He’s your Friend.