The Climb

Category: The Climb Continues

  • Even Leaders Need to Breathe

    It’s been a minute.
    Life has a way of doing that. One day you’re writing, reflecting, pouring your heart onto the page. The next day you’re knee-deep in responsibilities, meetings, phone calls, deadlines, and trying to keep everything moving.
    That’s where I’ve been.
    The past several weeks haven’t been glamorous. They’ve been necessary.
    I’ve spent time sitting across the table from attorneys. Working through my bankruptcy. Looking over paperwork that forces you to take an honest look at every decision you’ve made. I’ve been rebuilding my financial foundation one step at a time, making sure my bills are handled, my creditors are addressed, and my future is built on something stronger than my past.
    None of that is exciting.
    But all of it is part of the climb.
    One thing I’ve learned is that leadership doesn’t stop when life gets hard. If anything, that’s when leadership matters the most. Not because people are watching, but because the person in the mirror is.
    There comes a point where you stop asking, “Why is this happening to me?” and start asking, “What is this teaching me?”
    For me, it’s teaching patience.
    It’s teaching discipline.
    It’s teaching peace.
    And then, right in the middle of all those responsibilities, God reminded me of something I almost forgot.
    Breathe.
    My sister came all the way from Virginia to spend a week with us before celebrating her seventy-first birthday. We laughed. We explored. We made memories that no bank account can measure and no courtroom can take away.
    For a little while, I wasn’t thinking about legal documents.
    I wasn’t thinking about financial obligations.
    I wasn’t thinking about work.
    I was simply a brother.
    A husband.
    A son grateful for the family God has allowed me to love while we’re still here together.
    Those moments reminded me that success isn’t measured only by promotions, investments, or accomplishments. Sometimes success is sitting around a table with the people you love, sharing a meal, telling old stories, and thanking God for another day.
    As leaders, we carry a lot.
    People depend on us.
    Families depend on us.
    Our teams depend on us.
    Sometimes we become so focused on carrying everyone else that we forget to set the weight down for a moment.
    Not to quit.
    Not to escape.
    Just long enough to breathe.
    The climb isn’t going anywhere.
    The work will still be waiting tomorrow.
    The emails will still be there.
    The meetings will still be scheduled.
    But today’s laughter…
    Today’s conversation…
    Today’s hug from someone you love…
    Those are moments you don’t get back.
    So if you’ve been grinding, rebuilding, fighting battles no one else knows about, let me encourage you.
    Keep climbing.
    Keep growing.
    Keep honoring your responsibilities.
    But don’t forget to live while you’re building the life you’re praying for.
    Even leaders need to breathe.
    And sometimes, taking a deep breath isn’t stepping away from the climb.
    It’s part of it.

    Nothing Beats It!

  • Now That’s a Question!

    In what ways do you communicate online?

    I don’t communicate online to be liked.
    I communicate to be clear.
    That already puts me at odds with most of the internet.
    Online spaces reward performance not truth.
    Tone gets polished. Edges get sanded. Language gets diluted so nobody feels “called out,” even when they should be called up.
    That’s not how I use my voice.
    I Communicate the Same Way I Lead
    Direct. Observant. Responsible.
    I don’t post to posture. I post to document what I’m seeing.
    I write from the floor level, where work actually happens, where decisions land, where consequences live long after a meeting ends.


    If something is broken, I name it.
    If someone does it right, I acknowledge it.
    If a system rewards silence, I say so.
    That honesty doesn’t always travel well online. I’m fine with that.
    I Don’t Confuse Engagement With Impact.
    Likes are easy.
    Applause is cheap.
    Silence is often the loudest feedback there is.
    When I write, I’m not chasing reactions. I’m leaving markers.
    Something a leader might come back to later.
    Something a worker might feel seen by.
    Something that makes someone pause before repeating the same mistake.
    If a post makes you uncomfortable, but still thinking hours later  it worked.
    I Choose Precision Over Volume
    I don’t flood feeds.
    I don’t trend-hop.
    I don’t post because the algorithm is hungry.
    I post when there’s weight behind the words I speak.
    Every sentence should earn its place.
    Every observation should come from experience, not opinion.
    Every critique should carry responsibility, not contempt.
    If I can’t stand behind it in person, it doesn’t belong online.
    I Communicate With Memory in Mind
    The internet forgets fast.
    People don’t.
    I write knowing someone may screenshot it.
    Quote it.
    Challenge it.
    Carry it into a room I’m not in.
    That’s fine. I write accordingly.
    No anonymous shots.
    No vague accusations.
    No borrowed outrage.
    Just lived experience, articulated cleanly.
    This Is How I Communicate Online
    I speak the way I wish more leaders would:
    With clarity instead of comfort
    With accountability instead of performance
    With respect for the people doing the work
    Not everything needs to be said.
    But what does get said should mean something.


    That’s the climb

  • When Peace Costs Too Much

    Today should’ve been a day of celebration. I got the job — the one I prayed for, the one that came after months of walking, waiting, doubting, and holding on to faith when it didn’t make sense. Servicon finally called. God delivered. But right now, I don’t feel victorious. I feel exhausted.

    I came home ready to share the good news, ready to exhale for once. Instead, I walked into a storm. My wife didn’t want to hear me out. She didn’t want to celebrate or sit down and talk. She was angry. Loud. Frustrated. And me — I was just tired. Tired of defending myself when I haven’t done anything wrong. Tired of being the one who has to stay calm while everything inside me is on fire.

    I found a stuffed toy earlier, lying on the street. It reminded me of something innocent, something sweet — so I picked it up. But when I brought it home, it turned into an interrogation. “Where did you get it?” “Who gave it to you?” “Why did it take you so long?”
    The peace I was trying to hold onto got crushed right there on the living room floor.
    She threw it away like it meant nothing.

    And that’s when it hit me: sometimes sacrifice doesn’t feel holy — it feels heavy.
    Sometimes being a man means swallowing your words, your pride, your pain, just to keep the walls from shaking.

    But here’s what I’m learning — peace isn’t the absence of noise; it’s the presence of restraint.
    It’s choosing silence when you could explode.
    It’s carrying the cross of self-control even when your heart feels misunderstood.
    It’s trusting that God sees the things people ignore — the man who cleans, cooks, prays, provides, protects, and still gets questioned.

    So tonight, I’m swallowing my frustration not because I’m weak, but because I’m stronger than I’ve ever been.
    Because I’m a man walking a divine tightrope between flesh and faith.
    Because I know my blessing didn’t come from man — it came from God.

    And when it comes from God, no argument, no misunderstanding, no doubt can take it away.

    This climb ain’t easy, but it’s real.
    And I’m still on it.

    — T. Salih Ramsey
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