The fact that I am here today, addressing you as a leader, is something I will never quite internalize.

I come from a family full of what most people would consider leaders. My grandfather was a United States Senator. My uncle, a well-known author and Latin American correspondent for the Huntley-Brinkley Report, once landed in Castro’s jail for chasing the story. My father earned his doctorate from Princeton, has written over 300 chapters, books, and articles, and was regarded as a leading voice in his field.

So, you can imagine, my perception of leadership came with a very high bar. I remember once being at a conference hosted by Sam Quinlan, and she casually mentioned there was a breakfast for CEOs and leaders. I told her that sounded great. The next day, she asked why I hadn’t come. It had not even occurred to me that I belonged in that room.

Leadership, for me, has been a journey of reimagining what leadership can and should be. I’ve never aspired to be the best. I’ve simply tried to do my best, an honest job rooted in ethics and a deep sense of responsibility to my patients, the families I serve, and my team.

Growing up with a father who was a professor at Emory, academics were everything. By the time I was four, I could count to ten in six different languages. The messaging was clear: be smart, look good, and perform well. But what was missing was the emotional safety, the sense of being held and feeling seen and secure. That gap, that ache, is what led me from being a studious child to someone battling full-blown addiction by the age of 15.

I often wonder what grace, what divine intervention, allowed me at 21 to reach out for help and check myself into treatment. I believe part of it was the few adults who saw something in me when I could not. But more than anything, I believe it was my relationship with horses that planted a seed of confidence, of connection, of unconditional trust.

Even in the chaos of my adolescence, horses were a constant, offering me a kind of grounding that nothing else could. In their presence, I found a language beyond words, one built on integrity, attunement, and mutual respect.

Riding hunter-jumpers and leading people might seem like two entirely different worlds, but both demand a quality I have come to think of as a different kind of strength. It’s not the loudest voice or the firmest grip that defines a great rider, or a great leader. It’s the quiet integrity behind every cue, the presence to read the moment, and the humility to adjust when things don’t go as planned

When you are on a horse, especially a sensitive, powerful one like a jumper, strength does not come from force. It comes from balance. It comes from the trust that has been built slowly, over time. It comes from your ability to communicate with clarity, calm, and consistency. There’s no faking it in the saddle. The horse knows. They feel your energy before you ever touch the reins.

And that’s where my real understanding of leadership began, not in a classroom or a boardroom or through a title, but in the quiet, breath-held moments before a jump. It came through learning to sit with fear, stay present, and still move forward.

The barn taught me what my family system could not always model: that real leadership is not about control or performance. It is about connection, integrity, and responsiveness. And it is about staying both resolute and soft in the face of struggle because that softness is what allows you to feel, to pivot, and to lead with heart.

In many ways, riding prepared me for the hardest and most important work of my life: holding space for others in pain. Whether I am walking into a crisis, supporting a grieving family, or leading my team through uncertainty, I draw on the same qualities that helped me stay grounded in the saddle: attunement, breath, rhythm, and trust.

Just like with a horse, people do not always remember what you say but they remember how they felt in your presence. Were they respected? Were they seen? Did they feel safe? That, to me, is leadership. Not a title. Not a spotlight. But a responsibility to show up with consistency, humility, and the kind of strength that doesn’t dominate, but dignifies.  It has always been important to me to remain open, to keep learning.

Just as I have always had a trainer on the ground helping me with my riding, I have made it a point to surround myself with mentors, supervisors, and wise colleagues in my clinical work. I believe deeply in continuing my education as a therapist, and just as importantly, I stay in therapy myself. Because I hold a core belief: we can’t help others move or heal if we haven’t done that work ourselves.

Having worked in this field for over 40 years, I can attest that some of my most powerful lessons didn’t come from classrooms or conferences. They came from the barn and the back of a horse, and they’ve shaped who I am, both as a clinician and as a leader.

1. The Power of Subtle Signals

Leadership is not about control. It is about connection. Just like with a sensitive horse, the most effective communication is often quiet but intentional. You do not need to bark or dominate to be heard. The best leaders move with clarity, calm, and consistency. They know where they are headed, but they stay flexible, ready to adjust when the path shifts.

Early in my career, one of my professors gave me a piece of advice I have never forgotten. He said, “We don’t make people better. We don’t save lives. We offer opportunities for healing—and we do that by being ethical and well-trained.”

He told us that if anyone claimed they “saved lives,” we should run the other way. Because if we take credit for the wins, we’ll have to take blame for the losses. That stuck with me. Leaders don’t announce they’re leaders. They create conditions where others can rise.

2. Trust Over Control

You cannot muscle a horse over a fence. You prepare, you guide, you practice and then, in that critical moment, you let go and trust.

Leadership is the same. Micromanagement crushes morale. Empowerment builds it. A different kind of strong means knowing when to hold the reins and when to let your team soar. Letting go is not weakness, it is wisdom. And it reminds us that we are only as strong as the people we surround ourselves with.

3. Stay Present, Feel Everything

A great rider feels every flick of an ear, every shift in stride. They respond to what’s happening, not what they wish were happening. Leadership requires the same presence. You do not lead from behind a desk or through a rigid plan. You lead from that quiet place beneath logic, your awareness, your integrity, and your ability to read emotional cues. When things change, and they always do, leaders respond with agility, not rigidity.

4. Confidence with Humility

In the show ring, courage is essential, but overconfidence can land you in the dirt. The best riders stay humble and teachable. Every ride is a new ride. The same goes for leadership. Strong leaders are willing to say, “I was wrong.” They adjust. They learn. And when they fall, they get back up. That blend of strength, surrender and perseverance—that balance—is the mark of real integrity and constructive leadership.

5. Grace Under Pressure

There is nothing like the pressure of a Nationals or a big class; it is exhilarating, stressful, and high stakes. Leadership in crisis is not so different. When things feel uncertain, your team doesn’t look to you for perfection. They look for steadiness.

Just like a rider calming the horse with their own breath, a leader’s job is to regulate themselves first, to be the ground others can stand on. We can only offer that when we are taking care of ourselves. That means building lives that are not just about work. It means making space for joy, for family, for friendship, and for purpose beyond the job.

6. Gratitude

Above all, I hold this work with deep gratitude. It is a calling and a privilege to do what we do. It’s a privilege every time I sit on a horse. And it is an honor every time a family lets me into their lives, their heartbreak, their hope.

This work is hard. We bear witness to grief, trauma, transformation. We do not always get the outcomes we pray for. But we keep showing up. And we do it together. So never forget, as you climb, always keep one hand on the ladder and the other free to reach back and help someone else up. Because that is a different kind of strong. Ride forward with Integrity.

In the end, real leadership is not about being out in front. It’s about being deeply in the moment. It’s about showing up with integrity, staying connected to your values, and moving through the world with quiet strength. It is about knowing that power is not in how hard you pull the reins but in how gently you guide, that respect is earned not through authority, but through presence, and that healing is not about fixing, it is about holding space.

And strength? Real strength? It is not loud. It does not need to prove itself. It is steady. It is principled. It adjusts with humility. It rests when needed. And it always leaves room for others to rise. I never set out to be a leader; I set out to be of service, and along the way, I have come to understand that service is the heart of leadership.

Whether I am holding reins or holding space, I am committed to these principles:

Be honest.

Be kind.

Stay teachable.

And when in doubt breathe, listen, and lead with love.