Not being in control is exactly what taught me the most.
“I didn’t know women could be ambitious too.”
Someone once said that to me, casually, like it was just an observation. But words like those have a way of piercing through your subconscious. And living there. They keep you on your toes. Make you want to prove yourself, take charge, stay ten steps ahead. And before you know it, you’re carrying the weight of every expectation, trying to control every outcome, every room, every moment.
That’s how I built a version of leadership that echoed predictability. It was all precision, forward motion, held tight in the grip of my hands.
And then I climbed Kilimanjaro.
When the grip loosened
They say Mt. Everest is your peak to conquer when you are obsessed with the summit, with leaving behind a legacy. But Mt. Kilimanjaro is your peak to reach when you are out to test yourself, stretch yourself, heal. At 5,895 meters above sea level, with air pressure dropping to half, it did all of the above for me, and more.
Summit night began at midnight. The wind cut through four layers of clothing. The oxygen was thin. My headlamp lit just a few feet of trail ahead as we moved slowly into the cold, quiet dark. Each step felt heavier than the last. I had no sense of time, or direction. It was only the mountain, my boots crunching snow, and the narrow trail ahead.
I could not dictate the speed. A little faster and our breaths would swell. A little slower and we would miss the window of sunrise. On a tight pinch-point, where the trail narrowed to a wall, all I could do was cling to the rock with my lips pressed to it along with hands and feet to get to the other side. Kissing Rock, they called it. I had to cross it. I could not analyse and identify alternate routes. I could not try roads less travelled. The path was fixed, leading straight up.
A moment of internal shift
There was a moment on that slope where I stopped trying to ‘win’ against the mountain. I fell into a rhythm that wasn’t mine. I began to follow. The terrain decided my speed. The altitude demanded my humility. And that’s when the real climb began, not just the physical one, but the internal one.
As someone used to leading from the front, this wasn’t easy. I have always valued clarity, momentum and control. But on that mountain, none of those were mine to have. I had to surrender my instinct to steer, and learn instead how to listen to my body, my team, and the mountain itself.
They who surrender, lead
That’s the thing they don’t teach you enough about leadership: it’s not always about steering. Sometimes it’s about yielding; to terrain, to timing, to other people’s wisdom. Most of all — to the path.
Talking from experience: you don’t lose yourself in that process. You meet a quieter, steadier version instead.
