The Leader in the Mirror: What Crisis Reveals About Identity
Before you lead others through crisis, you’d better know who’s staring back at you in the mirror.
That truth came rushing back to me on an ordinary day, in a quiet moment, while my sons were just playing dress-up. Two little brothers were giggling in front of the mirror—wearing my Marine Corps covers like they were in some grand ceremony. But then, as quickly as the laughter had come, they paused. They just stood there, silently looking at themselves in the mirror. No longer just boys pretending to be Marines. Something about the way they looked at their reflection made them seem older. Wiser. Like they were trying to see if the image staring back felt real.
And I stood behind them, not saying a word—just watching them in that moment of stillness. It was a powerful reminder that identity is shaped long before we ever step into a leadership role. And when crisis strikes, it’s not your job title or your plan that holds the line—it’s your internal foundation. Who you are. What you believe. What you’re made of.
I’ve led through combat, tragedy, organizational dysfunction, and moments of personal devastation. I’ve been called to lead in times when uncertainty wasn’t just an obstacle—it was the entire environment. Over the years, I’ve come to understand that crisis doesn’t just test your strategy. It tests your identity.
Because in those moments when the room is quiet and eyes are on you, your people aren’t just listening for a solution. They’re watching you. They’re asking themselves, even if subconsciously, “Does this leader still recognize themselves? Or have they lost their reflection in the chaos?”
And if you’ve done the inner work beforehand—if you’ve faced yourself, if you’ve built a foundation rooted in character rather than charisma—then you’ll be able to hold the mirror steady, even when everything else is shaking.
That’s not a dramatic metaphor. That’s lived experience.
The Storm Always Comes
We like to talk about leadership like it’s a position of control. But real leadership—especially in crisis—is a position of clarity. And clarity only comes from knowing who you are before the storm hits.
During my 2006 Iraq deployment, we operated under a constant hum of tension. You didn’t always know where the threat would come from. We were a Quick Reaction Force, meaning we were always one call away from running toward the worst situations. There was no margin for hesitation, and very little room for pretense. I saw firsthand that in those moments, it wasn’t technical skills or tactical brilliance that carried the day—it was calm. Steadiness. Presence.
And you can’t manufacture presence under pressure. It has to be forged long before the crisis arrives.
You have to ask yourself the hard questions early. Who are you when no one’s watching? What do you fall back on when there’s nothing left to hide behind? Can you be the same person under stress that you are when everything’s going right?
Because if you can’t answer those questions for yourself, the crisis will answer them for you.
The Myth of the Title
I’ve known leaders with impressive resumes who folded under pressure. I’ve also known leaders who didn’t have a single stripe on their sleeve or letter behind their name, but when everything went sideways, people naturally followed them. Why?
Because true leadership doesn’t flow from title—it flows from trust.
In the Marine Corps, we emphasize rank, structure, and formality. But the truth is, the rank doesn’t lead the people—the person does. And the most trusted leaders I’ve ever known were the ones who stayed grounded. They didn’t need to bark orders or remind everyone who was in charge. Their character did the talking.
In fact, some of the best leadership I’ve ever witnessed came from junior Marines who simply showed up with integrity, consistency, and calm. They knew who they were, and in knowing that, they gave others permission to trust them—even if they didn’t have the authority on paper.
What Identity Looks Like in Action
Let me give you a real example.
Years ago, I served in a unit where the previous senior enlisted leader had been relieved for misconduct. The aftermath left the team fractured, distrustful, and emotionally fatigued. When I arrived, I could feel the tension before I even stepped into my office. Everyone was looking for direction, but what they were really looking for was stability.
And I didn’t walk in with a big speech or a fancy plan. I just started showing up—consistently. I walked sections. I listened more than I talked. I gave people space to be honest without fearing blowback. Slowly but surely, I started to rebuild relationships. Not through power plays—but through presence.
What turned the corner wasn’t a strategic overhaul. It was identity. It was my refusal to become another loud voice in an already loud space. I knew who I was, and I led from that place. Over time, they started to see their reflection again too. The unit came back to life—not because of me, but because trust returned to the room.
Reflections Worth Passing On
When I watched my boys looking into that mirror, I saw something I didn’t expect. I saw the weight of legacy. Not in some grandiose, egotistical way—but in the quiet understanding that they’re watching. They’re learning what it means to lead before they ever wear a uniform.
And that’s what leaders often forget: we don’t just shape outcomes—we shape observers.
If you’re a leader today, someone is watching how you show up in crisis. They’re watching to see if you flinch. If you react. If you lose your composure. They’re watching to see if your reflection changes—or stays true.
Leadership in crisis isn’t about control. It’s about identity.
So Let Me Ask You This:
Do you know the person staring back at you in the mirror?
Are you grounded enough to lead when nothing feels certain?
Have you done the hard, internal work to hold your reflection steady when everything else gets distorted?
Because if you haven’t, you still have time. Leadership doesn’t begin with a directive. It begins with a decision: to become someone worth following when the pressure hits.
So the next time you’re tempted to focus solely on strategy, pause for a moment. Step back. Look in the mirror. And ask yourself: Is this the person I want others to see in their moment of need?
Because if the answer is yes—then you’re already ahead of most.
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