When leadership breaks your heart—and how to fall in love again

I’ve been staring at my economics homework for the better half of the evening, pretending to complete equations, when my phone rings. 925— the area code is from an unknown California number. A weight lifts from my chest nonetheless. This is it. For no reason other than gut instinct, I know what this conversation is going to be about.

I take one long, shaky breath before answering the call.

“Hello? This is Kaila.” My voice is a pitch too high. I’ve never been good at feigning nonchalance, and I can’t help the excitement that seeps through.

“Hey, Kaila. I’m calling from 180 Degrees Consulting. I was one of your interviewers earlier today, I don’t know if you remember.”

“Yes, of course!” I didn’t think it was possible for my voice to get any higher, and yet it does, reaching a squeaky octave reminiscent of Alvin and the Chipmunks.

“I’m calling to get your feedback on today’s interview. How do you think it went?”

I’m pacing my dorm, now, as much as one can pace a 12x12-foot room. I’m almost sure I’m about to receive an offer from the student-led consulting group which I’ve spent the better part of a month vying for. I don’t want to be presumptuous, though. I reply to the question with a one-minute ramble about my subpar mental math abilities and conclude that I could’ve done a better job on the quantitative analysis question. Someone giggles on the other end of the line.

“Well,” says my interviewer, “we thought you did an amazing job. I’m actually calling to extend you an offer to join our Fall 2022 analyst class.”

And there it is. My roommate glances at me, and I wonder if my Cheshire Cat grin is making her question my sanity. I fight to keep myself from bouncing up and down.

“When can I start?”

Spellbound: Why I chose student leadership

Everyone wants to feel wanted. And as a new member of an organization that boasted its competitive application cycle and strong-as-blood connections, I felt exactly that.

As I accepted my offer, the chorus of cheers on the other end of the line uncorked a bottle of champagne within my chest. That effervescence remained over the next few months, as I was welcomed into the family with a torrent of texts, social events, and 1-on-1 chats. Even as my struggles with anxiety kept me from engaging as fully as I would have liked, a certain magic surrounded each of my interactions and kept me hungry for more.

I knew from that first phone call that I had joined something special—a network of brilliant minds committed to making a lasting impact on our planet. I am who I am today because of every person in my life who has supported and advocated for me. Many of those people came from my consulting group. That’s why, to me, leadership isn’t just giving back—it’s passing forward.

Passing forward the thoughtfulness that went into every meeting led by my first two Project Managers, Alvin and Kelly.

Passing forward the compassion shown to me by my predecessor, Michael, when I announced through thinly-veiled tears that I was taking a leave of absence from university.

Passing forward the kindness of every friend—Ariah, Laasya, Sharanya, Sanya, and so many more—who offered their couch during tough weeks and depressive episodes.

In the three years since I first joined my student organization, I’ve advanced from an analyst, to a Project Manager, to a Vice President of Client Strategy, to my current role as President. Even as my lengthening tenure has exposed me to the flaws present in my organization, flaws to which no group is immune, my love for my community, and what it represents, motivates me to lead each day with intention and heart.

Behind the curtain: What happens to the magic when you become the magician?

It’s a special thing, to lead an organization whose work is bigger than yourself. I’m grateful that my organization’s members trust me to represent them, and to be their mentor, cheerleader, and advocate in the same way that my predecessors were for me. But with leadership also comes a loss of innocence, as “magic and mystique” are replaced by a behind-the-scenes bureaucracy that cannot be unseen.

To be a leader is to commit to give, and give, and give, without any expectation to receive in return. You promise relentless work ethic and unwavering enthusiasm. Your greatest strength is your consistency—you meet conflict with compassion, criticism with diplomacy, and controversy with a commitment to make your best, better. On days of disillusionment, you wonder if the initial glitz and glamour that led you into this path was a curated product. Then you remind yourself of each authentic connection that grew you into who you are, and you make yourself into the kind of magician whose tricks are not tricks but rather manifestations of raw passion and resolve.

There is a line from my favorite television show, Andor, which has resonated with me since I first heard it in 2022: “Tell him I love him more than anything he could do wrong.”

To love something more than anything it could do wrong, and to see it not only for what it is, but for what it can become—that is what it takes to lead.

I do what I do because I love it. Because I believe my work matters, and I believe I am making a difference, no matter how small the impact might be. I hope for acknowledgement. I ask for compassion. I demand respect. But I can find peace in their scarcity, so long as I am passing on the magic that others once gifted to me.

The re-appearing act: How I make space for acknowledgement, compassion, and respect

Acknowledgement

There was a time in my life when I equated leadership with recognition. I thought that moving up meant being seen, celebrated, or at the very least, thanked. But true leadership—real, soul-deep leadership—is quiet. It is late nights editing slides no one will know you touched. It is staying back to debrief after a meeting while everyone else goes out to dinner. It is showing up, even when you’re tired, even when no one is watching.

I no longer lead to be acknowledged. I lead to acknowledge others. To spotlight the people who don’t yet know their worth. To catch the overlooked effort. To validate someone’s hard work with a “You did great today,” because I remember how much I once needed to hear it.

And I acknowledge myself, too. I try to pause—really pause—after a big deliverable or a hard conversation and say, “You did good.” I write myself notes of empowerment in the margins of my to-do lists. Some days, I scroll through old meeting decks to remember how much I’ve touched, even when it feels like I’m not doing enough. I remind myself, that while we may not notice the thread that holds the seams together, it’s the reason the fabric doesn’t fall apart. And sometimes, it’s doing its job best when no one sees it at all.

Compassion

Leadership taught me that nobody shows up as their best every day. We miss deadlines. We cancel last minute. We say the wrong things. Each one of us is a flawed being—including me—and that’s perfectly okay. Compassion is what turns an organization into a community. It’s what gives people permission to be human, to struggle out loud, and to keep coming back anyway. Compassion is why I join calls at a moments’ notice, forgive mistakes after a simple apology, and end each meeting with a motivational speech nobody asked for. Because someone once did that for me.

I offer that same compassion to myself. I’m unlearning the instinct to treat myself as a project in constant need of improvement. I give myself permission to just be: messy, imperfect, emotional, tired. When I cancel a meeting to protect my peace or miss a small detail in a presentation, I don’t spiral into shame, but I do listen to what my anxiety is telling me. And when I need a break, I take it.

Respect

Respect is about the boundaries you set and hold not just for others, but for yourself. As a leader, I’ve learned that respect isn’t given automatically; it must be earned and reinforced by how I carry myself. It means saying “no” when I’m stretched too thin, speaking out against unfairness, and demanding fair treatment without apology.

For myself, respect means protecting my wellbeing fiercely. I don’t have to prove my worth by sacrificing my health or my happiness, and my limits need to be honored by myself and others. I ask for feedback in order to grow, but I don’t chase people-pleasing or perfection. This balance is how I sustain my passion without losing myself.

A final trick: Let the light live on

Leadership is a delicate dance between magic and reality. It begins with wonder—a spark of possibility that pulls you in. As you step behind the curtain, you see the complexity, the imperfections, the grind that keeps the show running. That view can shake your faith, challenge your enthusiasm, and test your resilience.

True leadership is not about clinging to the illusion of perfection. It’s about embracing the whole story—the beauty and the brokenness—and choosing to show up anyway. It’s about nurturing the magic within yourself and others, even when the sparkle feels faint. It’s about practicing radical acknowledgement, compassion, and respect; not only for those you lead but also for the leader you are becoming. That means honoring your limits, forgiving your mistakes, and celebrating the small victories that often go unseen.

So, to anyone who finds themselves worn down by the weight of leadership, I say this: hold fast to your why. Be the magician who creates real magic, rooted in passion, authenticity, and care. Remember the first time someone believed in you: maybe when your voice was shaking with disbelief, like mine did on that very first phone call. Pass the light forward. It is that gentle, unwavering flame—no matter how small—that casts the brightest spells, weaving together communities and sparking the kind of change that lasts.

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