The irony of leadership is that the more people you pour into, the more invisible your own needs can become. I’ve had seasons where I was so busy showing up for everyone else—my team, my kids, my church—that I didn’t realize how empty I had become. I was running on fumes, but still expected to keep giving as if my tank were full.
The truth is, you can’t fake fullness. Eventually, it shows—sometimes in burnout, sometimes in irritation, sometimes in just feeling numb. I’ve been there, and maybe you have too. That’s why I’ve learned to treat staying filled as an act of stewardship. It’s not selfish—it’s necessary.
For me, it doesn’t look glamorous. Most days, it starts in the quiet before the house wakes up. Coffee in one hand, Bible in the other. I’ve discovered that if I don’t give God the first word, the world will gladly rush in with its noise and demands. Even 15 minutes in Scripture shifts the whole tone of my day. It reminds me that I’m not carrying this alone. Leadership without that anchor feels like striving. Leadership feels like an overflow.
Another way I stay filled is by fiercely protecting gratitude. It sounds like a cliché, but it’s become oxygen to me. Gratitude reframes the hard parts of leadership. Instead of obsessing over what’s not working or who’s not listening, I practice noticing what God is doing. I write it down, I speak it out, I let it reshape my perspective. Gratitude is what keeps me tender instead of bitter, hopeful instead of cynical.
But here’s the other side of it—boundaries. I used to think being a good leader meant saying yes to everything, to everyone, all the time. But the older I get, the more I realize that saying yes to everything eventually means saying no to God’s best. I can’t lead well if I’m spread so thin that I have nothing left to give. Boundaries don’t make me less available—they make me more intentional.
And then, there’s community. The people I let speak into me matter just as much as the people I speak to. I need friends who remind me who I am when I forget, mentors who stretch me when I get comfortable, and family who keep me grounded in what actually matters. We talk a lot about leadership being lonely, but it doesn’t have to be. When I let myself be poured into, I can pour out more freely.
So how do I stay filled while leading others? By remembering that leadership isn’t a solo performance—it’s an overflow. My strength doesn’t come from working harder; it comes from staying connected to the Source. When I’m filled with His presence, I can show up for others with joy instead of resentment, with peace instead of pressure, with hope instead of heaviness.
Maybe you’ve been running on empty without even realizing it. Maybe you’ve been leading from a dry place. Let me remind you: God has more than enough for you, too. You don’t have to grind your way to fullness. You just have to open your hands and let Him fill you again.
What would it look like for you to slow down long enough to refill this week? Maybe it’s five quiet minutes with Scripture, maybe it’s writing down three things you’re thankful for, maybe it’s giving yourself permission to rest. Whatever it is, don’t wait until you’re empty to start filling back up.
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