Stepping into the role of a young lady boss at an early age is a bittersweet reality—an achievement many dream of, yet one that carries invisible burdens. From the outside, my life might look enviable, even aspirational. But behind the scenes, there’s a quiet storm of emotions I rarely allow myself to express.
Life doesn’t play fair.
That’s a hard truth I’ve come to learn as I grow. With each step into adulthood, life reveals more of its complexities. At times, I feel emotionally unprepared for the weight I carry—but I carry it anyway. Because if it's not me, then who?
Just recently, one of my staff members came to me, asking for an early paycheck. His child had fallen in an oil plantation, and in that moment, my heart sank. I wished I could do more—solve everything, ease his pain. But all I could offer was an early payment, knowing it was just a small comfort in a much bigger storm. I wanted to scream, to cry, to let it all out—but I couldn’t. Leadership demands composure, even when your soul feels heavy.
Just the other day, while I was trying to unwind and enjoy a long-awaited vacation, my phone rang. On the other end was one of my staffs. Her daughter had just passed away from tuberculosis.
In that moment, the world around me seemed to blur. I didn’t know what to feel. Was it okay for me to be happy here? Did I even deserve this moment of rest when someone else was experiencing such a profound loss?
Tears welled up in my eyes, but I turned away and quickly wiped them before my mother could see. I didn’t want to explain. I didn’t want to burden her with the weight I carry so quietly.
Sometimes I wonder—am I wrong for hiding my emotions? For carrying this grief in silence while trying to keep life moving forward?
Another story that quietly broke my heart came from one of my staff members—a father, a husband, and a son. He carries the weight of providing for his family while also caring for a parent battling a terminal illness.
I put myself in his shoes for a moment and felt the desperation that could drive anyone to consider online loans, just to keep things afloat. In his position, I might have done the same.
But our company stands firm on a rule: no online gambling, no online loans. Judol and pinjol are strictly off-limits—not to punish, but to protect them from spiraling deeper into financial hardship. Still, knowing that doesn’t make it easier when someone is standing at the edge, simply trying to survive.
I wanted to do more. I wished I could do more. But within the boundaries of what I could offer, the best I could do was give him a small incentive—just enough to lighten his burden, even if only slightly.
It’s moments like these that remind me how heavy leadership can feel—when rules clash with empathy, and the heart aches quietly behind the scenes.
Some might say I’m lucky—that I’ve never had to face the kind of hardships my team endures. No looming debts, no hospital visits for a dying parent, no tragedy knocking at my door.
But luck is a strange thing. While I may be spared from certain battles, I carry an emotional weight that often goes unseen.
Behind every decision, every smile, every firm company policy, there’s a quiet ache. A part of me that absorbs the sorrow of others, that wrestles with helplessness, that breaks silently while trying to stay strong for everyone else.
This kind of pain doesn’t leave visible scars. But it’s real. And not everyone understands what it means to endure it.
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