Mirror, Mirror, On the Wall
LYF Series #1: You Don't Need a Plan. You Need a Mirror.
Mirror, mirror on the wall… We were taught to ask who’s the fairest of them all. But the real question I sometimes find myself asking is this—who do you think you are?—and it's not asked kindly. It doesn’t come from confidence or curiosity. It comes from a place of doubt. Of judgment. A voice that doesn’t believe I belong in the room. It’s a voice that doesn’t want an answer so much as it wants to shame me for even asking the question at all.
If you’re rejoining me after a short break, welcome back. This essay begins the Lead Yourself First series, where we’ve been exploring what it means to lead from sovereignty rather than survival. In the last piece, "The Way Back", I shared what it looked like to step away from striving and return to myself. Today, I want to introduce the Leadership Compass—a tool that emerged from that very return. The Compass helped me make sense of the noise. And more importantly, it helped me make decisions I could actually live with.
For years, I ran on the logic of effort. If I could just show up harder, stay later, push through—eventually it would click. Eventually, someone (me?!?) would call it “success,” and I could finally rest. But it didn’t work like that. I crossed finish lines and still felt unfinished. I checked the boxes and still felt lost. The criticism got louder just as my own voice got quieter. And somewhere in all of that—achievement, exhaustion, high-functioning doubt—I started asking a different question. What if I didn’t need a map? What if I just needed a mirror? The Compass that I’m introducing you today doesn’t tell you where to go. It shows you where and who you already are. That’s why it feels less like a map—and more like a mirror.
Because when that voice inside (mine’s called SWINI– She Who Is Never Impressed) sneers, who do you think you are, the Compass doesn’t answer with shame. It doesn’t posture. It doesn’t sell me a rebrand. It holds up something steadier.
It reflects what’s already there: The values I live by, even when no one’s looking; the quiet boundaries I’ve drawn without applause; the inner knowing I’ve carried all along, beneath the noise.
The Compass doesn’t yell over the voice of doubt. It just refuses to lie. And in that way, it teaches me to do the same.