The Unspoken Language of Leadership

Understanding emotion to build trust, resilience, and cohesion

For much of my early career, emotions were treated like weaknesses - inconveniences that had no place in “real leadership.” Long before mental health became a corporate buzzword, the hospitality world ran on one principle: sink or swim. And many of us swam through the murky depths of exhaustion, isolation, and pressure few people ever saw.

I can recall with unfavorable discontent, my early days at the Hyatt Regency hotel in Auckland. I was young, eager, and completely alone most nights. I would set up, serve, and clear full banquets - sometimes up to 80-100 guests - entirely by myself. No one checked in. No one asked how I was holding up. Once, after carrying an entire event on my shoulders, my Assistant F&B Manager scolded me for neglecting one minor detail. Meanwhile, not a word of acknowledgment for my heroic, solo efforts. Just correction without compassion. It was immensely demoralizing - and it would be a defining moment when I told myself that if I were ever entrusted with leadership, I would never treat people the way I had been treated. Even if I were to admonish, it would not be without empathy. Never without seeing the person.

Years later, God gave me my greatest test of that promise.

Fast forward almost twenty years to my final years at Shakespeare and Co, in the early 2020's where we were immersed in a storm unlike anything I had faced before. The company was ravaged by financial turmoil. Salaries were several months late. Cash flow had dried up. Staff were resigning one after another. We were teetering on the edge of bankruptcy for nearly two years. It felt like walking through fire daily - and trying to shield the 700 brave souls who remained across 35 stores from the flames.

Yet even then, I chose empathy. Not because it was easy, but because it was the only way I could honor God and honor the people who showed up despite everything. I didn’t bark orders. I made requests. I didn’t hide behind authority. I listened. I asked about their hardships - their families depending on them back home, the rent they couldn’t pay, the shame they carried for things that weren’t their fault. Many would say they were “fine.” But I knew better. I pushed gently, because holding pain inside corrodes the spirit. And slowly, they opened up.

The result still humbles me.

Despite the chaos, despite the uncertainty, the vast majority of that 700-strong team stayed. They'd perform deep cleanings of the restaurant without being told, and despite being terribly short-staffed. They still cared deeply about their customers, and followed every sliver of training to a T, and it was truly remarkable that they were able to execute our standards despite being shorthanded and scarce on resources. They did their very best to smile, while suppressing their trauma and suffering within. They held the line until the very end. Not for a salary. Not for a promotion. But because they felt seen, valued, and carried - even while everything around us was collapsing.

Looking back, I don’t pretend I did everything perfectly. I made mistakes. I learned hard lessons. Crisis leadership exposes your psychological and emotional limits like nothing else. But I also know, sincerely, that I led with the heart I promised myself I would have - the heart God has been shaping in me since those lonely nights at the Hyatt.

Leadership isn’t about suppressing emotion. It’s about stewarding it - your own and your team’s. It’s about understanding that people don’t follow titles. They follow sincerity. They follow someone who cares enough to notice when their shoulders drop, when their voice dims, when their “I’m fine” is anything but.

And as I’ve learned through 25 years in this industry:

Logic may run the operation, but emotion holds the team together.

Compassion isn’t a distraction. It’s a calling.

And leadership, at its core, is an act of service -one God uses to refine us, humble us, and teach us how to love people even in the hardest seasons.