The Official site of TJ Wright

We often hear about the glamorous side of leadership – the victories, the achievements, the moments of triumph. But today, I want to talk about something raw and real: what happens when the ground beneath your feet suddenly gives way.

After three years of positive reviews and what seemed like solid success, I found myself facing an unexpected reversal. One moment, I was the leader helping others find their worth, negotiate better conditions, and achieve work-life balance. The next, I was watching everything I’d built crumble over a single setback.

Here’s the truth that rarely makes it into leadership books: Sometimes you can do everything right for years, and still face a fall. Sometimes the very people you’ve lifted up aren’t there to catch you when you stumble. And sometimes, your entire professional identity can be questioned based on a single moment of difficulty.

But here’s what I’ve learned: Your worth isn’t determined by your title. Your impact isn’t erased by a demotion. The lives you’ve touched, the positive changes you’ve facilitated – those remain real, regardless of your position on an organizational chart.

The hardest part? Watching years of demonstrated leadership ability be questioned over one setback. It’s like having your entire history rewritten because of one challenging chapter. Yet, this experience has taught me something profound about resilience and self-worth.

The Myth of Hypocrisy: When the Helper Needs Help

There’s a peculiar shame that comes with finding yourself in the depths after spending years helping others climb out of their own valleys. That nagging voice whispers, “How dare you preach resilience when you’re struggling to stand?” It’s a weight heavier than the challenges themselves – the fear that you’ve somehow failed not just yourself, but everyone you’ve ever guided.

But here’s the truth I’ve discovered: Being a helper doesn’t make you immune to needing help.

Think about it – would we call a doctor a hypocrite for catching a cold? Or a financial advisor for facing unexpected expenses? Then why do we hold ourselves to this impossible standard of perpetual strength?

The reality is beautifully human: We’re all walking this path together, taking turns being both the supported and the supporter. Those moments when we find ourselves needing help don’t invalidate the help we’ve given others – they authenticate it. They remind us what it feels like to be on both sides of the helping hand.

I’ve learned that strength isn’t about never falling; it’s about having the humility to accept help when you need it. Sometimes, that help comes from family. Sometimes from friends. And sometimes, as I’ve experienced, it comes from faith – that mustard seed of belief that reminds us we’re not alone in our struggles.

This isn’t hypocrisy – it’s humanity in its most authentic form.

Faith, like a mustard seed, often appears deceptively small in our darkest moments. It’s that tiny spark of belief that whispers “maybe” when everything else screams “impossible.” In my own journey, I’ve come to understand this metaphor in a deeply personal way.

Think about a mustard seed – it’s barely visible in your palm, almost laughably small against life’s mountains. Yet, within that tiny shell lies an unstoppable force of nature. Just as a mustard seed doesn’t question its ability to grow into something thousands of times its size, we too must nurture that small seed of belief.

When I lost my position, when my professional identity was stripped away, my faith felt as small as that mustard seed. But here’s the beautiful paradox – it’s not about the size of your faith, it’s about what you do with it. Just as a mustard seed doesn’t need to be a mighty oak to start growing, we don’t need to have everything figured out to begin rebuilding.

Sometimes, that mustard seed looks like:

• A single word document opened after weeks of not writing
• One small step toward a new goal
• A quiet moment of believing in yourself when no one else does
• The courage to start again, even if it’s from the ground up

Like the mustard seed that grows into a sprawling plant offering shelter to others, our small acts of faith can grow into something far greater than we initially imagined.

The Power of Starting Over: Finding Your True Path

There’s a common misconception about starting over – that it’s a step backward. But standing here at the base of my mountain, I’ve discovered something profound: sometimes what looks like a descent is actually an opportunity to find a better path.

Picture a mountain with its well-worn paved road to the summit. It’s the path I’ve known well – the technology career that’s been my safety net since my teenage years. It’s familiar, predictable, and by all conventional measures, “successful.” For years, I followed this path because I knew I could, not necessarily because I should.

But here’s what I’ve learned about mountains: they don’t just have one route to the top.

Off to the side, there are these little footpaths – less traveled, more challenging, and infinitely more intriguing. These are the paths that make your heart race not from fear, but from excitement. For me, that path revealed itself through storytelling, through creating worlds and characters that resonate with readers.

When my first book found its way into readers’ hands, something magical happened. Despite the imperfections (because what first attempt doesn’t have them?), it connected. It wasn’t just words on paper – it was a piece of my soul that found its audience. This wasn’t just success measured in numbers; it was success measured in fulfillment.

Starting over doesn’t mean erasing your past – it means using everything you’ve learned to forge a new path. My technical background wasn’t wasted; it became part of my unique perspective as a writer. Those problem-solving skills, that attention to detail – they’re all part of who I am as a storyteller.

The footpath might not be as smooth as the paved road. It might require more careful navigation, more patience, more faith. But with each step, I’m discovering that the view is entirely different – and breathtakingly beautiful in its own right.

It’s funny how life imitates art – or perhaps how art unconsciously prepares us for life’s journey. Years ago, I wrote about a character navigating the treacherous Spine of the World, where “teleportation spells were out of the question, and travel along the roads was ill-advised.” Little did I know I was writing my own story.

Like my character Darkwind, I find myself at a crossroads where the familiar paths – my “teleportation spells” of technical expertise – no longer serve as the easy solution. The “paved road” of my tech career, while safe and predictable, isn’t where my story truly lies.

In my novel, Darkwind discovers that sometimes the most meaningful growth happens when we’re forced to take the harder path, to navigate without our usual tools and safety nets. She finds unexpected allies (like that winter wolf in the cave) when she least expects them. Similarly, I’m discovering that stepping away from the “paved road” of tech has led me to my own unexpected allies – readers who connect with my stories, fellow writers who understand this journey, and a community that appreciates the worlds I create.

The parallel is almost uncanny – just as Darkwind must approach her challenges with “uncanny caution” because “this quest was personal,” I too am learning that this transition isn’t just about changing careers; it’s about answering a deeper calling. The footpath of creative writing, while more challenging than my familiar tech route, offers something the paved road never could – the chance to create something truly mine, something that resonates with others on a soul level.

When my first book found its readers, it wasn’t just words on paper being accepted – it was validation that this less-traveled path, this creative journey, had merit. Just as Darkwind discovers her true strength when stripped of her usual resources, I’m finding my authentic voice now that I’ve stepped away from the safety of my technical comfort zone.

Moving Forward: The Interconnected Path

It’s a humbling experience when your own words return to guide you. Like finding an old map you drew years ago, only to discover it charts the very territory you’re now traversing. When someone pointed out how my character Darkwind’s journey through the Spine of the World mirrors my current path, it was more than just coincidence – it was a reminder that sometimes we already know the way forward, even if we can’t see it yet.

This revelation brings me to a profound truth: our journeys are never truly solo expeditions. Just as my characters find unexpected allies and wisdom in their darkest moments, I’ve discovered that wisdom can come from the most unexpected sources – even from words I wrote years ago, waiting patiently to be understood when I needed them most.

Life has a beautiful way of weaving our stories together. Like the intricate magic systems I write about, we’re all connected in this vast tapestry of existence. Your struggle might be someone else’s guide map. Your triumph could be another’s beacon of hope. Even your setbacks, when shared honestly, might help someone else navigate their own challenging terrain.

We’re not just individual travelers on separate paths – we’re a caravan of souls, each with our own stories, yet all moving forward together. Yes, we may differ in our viewpoints, argue about which path is best, or disagree on how to read the map. But underneath all of that, we share the same fundamental desires: to live meaningfully, to love deeply, and to know that someone’s got our back when the path gets steep.

So here I stand, at what feels like the beginning again, but with a new understanding. Every story I write, every hand I reach out to help, and yes, every time I need to accept help myself – it’s all part of this beautiful, interconnected journey we call life.

Let’s build this community together. Share your stories. Extend your hand to others. Accept help when you need it. Because in the end, the most magical stories aren’t just the ones we write – they’re the ones we live together.