Swimming with Sharks: Recovery, Leadership, and the Ocean Within

As a child, it showed up as crocodile-filled pools of fear, swirling and inescapable. As an adult, particularly during the decade I spent navigating PTSD and depression, it became something else: tsunamis. Towering, relentless, terrifying. But in those years, I learned to swim into them. To survive. To breathe. Eventually, to befriend them.

Fortunately, the ocean and I have grown together. We understand each other more deeply now. I can watch those tsunamis from the shore; fondly, cautiously and know I’m no longer caught in their pull.

But 2 years ago, the tide changed.

Our organisation, the Jeder Institute, the place that helped me recover, the community I helped shape, came under attack. And not by strangers, but by people who once held my hand. People who said they loved me, who promised everything would be okay.

And just like that, I was thrown back into the deepest part of the ocean.

But I’m not who I was. I’ve learned how to weather storms. This time, my dreams shifted. I wasn’t drowning; I was steering.

I dreamed of a large ship I was trying desperately to bring to shore. I wasn’t on the bridge. I was below the surface, rope tied around my waist, diving again and again to adjust the rudder. Above deck, others were keeping things moving. I trusted them. I saw glimpses of them, and they looked well. But my work was underneath.

There were sharks around me; I knew they were there. I chose not to focus on them. They weren’t the mission. The mission was to get us to land. To keep the ship steady. To protect the people onboard.

For months, this dream stayed with me. Each night, I tied myself to the task. Each day, I lived the tension of holding both pain and purpose.

And strangely, I found beauty in the deep. Stillness. Calm. Something I had never known before.

Then one night, in my dream, the ship finally reached land.

There were no waves. No celebration. Just murky water. Shadows of sharks still circling. A broken dock I had to navigate. But I dove in again; rope in one hand, a clenched fist in the other. Determined to tie us off. To ground us.

And today, we’re back on land. The dock needs work, but the sun is shining. We’re together. And I’ve returned with new deep-sea friends; insights, truths, stillness to share with my deckhands.

I’m scanning the horizon for the next tsunami, as those of us in recovery tend to do. But I think we’re safe. For now.

My fist is still clenched. I’m still ready to punch sharks.

But maybe next time, I won’t need to.

I share this not just as personal reflection, but as an offering for anyone navigating leadership through pain, crisis, or betrayal. It’s a reminder that:

You can steer even when you’re submerged.

• Trusting others above deck is a form of leadership.
• Healing and leading are not separate paths; they often happen together.
• The sharks are real, but they are not more powerful than your purpose.
• The ocean (like community) is vast enough to hold your grief and your hope at the same time.
• This is the kind of leadership I believe in. One that holds emergence, depth, stillness, and fight. One that doesn’t pretend the ocean isn’t dangerous but dares to swim anyway.

If you’re in the depths right now, I see you. If you’re above deck, thank you. If you’re fixing the dock, keep going. We need all of us.

And if the next wave comes, we’ll be ready. Together.